Made Here Business Partner Ousted by Board Following Affair
The link was to an article in a New York newspaper from a few months ago. I checked out the photo of Bryan’s ex-business partner, a standard sort of average-looking guy. As I read the article, several lines stood out. “At the board’s insistence, Kramer Wilco has stepped down as co-chief executive of Made Here, the high-flying manufacturing startup that’s been earning tidy profits in the last several quarters. Wilco admitted to being involved with an intern at the Made Here factory outside of Philadelphia. When it was discovered the intern was seventeen and a senior in high school, the board made it clear he needed to go. Wilco started Made Here with his business partner Bryan Leighton four years ago. Leighton did not return calls for comment, but a spokesperson said he will run the company solo now.”
I slumped back in my chair. I’d had no idea his firm had been touched by this sort of scandal. Was Bryan the one who discovered the affair? How had he handled it? Was he cool and clinical? Or pissed off and fuming like I would be? I Googled Wilco next and clicked on an interview he’d done with a business news channel a year ago after Made Here inked a new deal with a large retailer.
“What’s the biggest challenge your company faces in the quarter ahead?” the reporter asked at the end of the piece.
“Honestly, now’s not the time to talk about challenges. Now’s the time to just focus on our new partnership,” Wilco said, but there was a curtness to his answer and a snappish sort of tone in his voice. He wasn’t the most affable guy, that was for sure. Bryan would have done a much better job with the interview, coming across as warm and smart.
Then I shook my head as if I could rid myself of the thoughts. Why was I wasting any mental energy on how Bryan would have managed a cable news interview? Much less on how he felt when his business partner got caught canoodling? Bryan’s feelings didn’t matter to me anymore. I read a few more articles on Made Here’s business strategy, then researched the skatewear gal so I was prepped for tomorrow. I shifted gears and tended to some online orders, responded to some emails, and checked out a few of my favorite European design blogs. Then I worked on my other classwork, keeping a laser focus the whole time. It was nearly midnight when my roommate Jill, with her dark blond hair and deep blue eyes, threw open the door and announced she was home from an epic dress rehearsal in which the cast of Les Mis had kicked unholy musical ass. I laughed and listened to her report.
When she was done, I clasped my hands together. “You will never believe what happened today.”
“Tell me.”
I proceeded to share every single detail of my afternoon. “Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard? I’m marching into my professor’s office and requesting a new mentor tomorrow.”
Jill smirked.
“What?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Okay, what now?”
Then came a shrug and a knowing look. “I’m just saying, it doesn’t sound like you hated the kiss as much as you’re making it sound like you hated the kiss.”
“I hated every second of it,” I said through tight lips.
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, my kitty cat.”
*****
The next morning Jill woke me up bright and early by throwing a sports bra on my face. “Rise and burn, sunshine. Rise and burn.”
I rolled over in bed and shielded my eyes. “Go away.”
That made Jill jump onto my bed and bounce up and down.
“How is it you can rehearse til midnight and have the energy to go for a run at seven in the morning?”
“I’m a vampire. I don’t need sleep. I survive off the nectar of my Broadway ambitions. And let’s not forget I was actually up til past midnight listening to you tell me all about Mr. Hottie McCufflinks.”
I swatted Jill with a pillow, then sat up in bed.
Jill clapped. “I won. Let’s go run.”
She was already in her leggings, sports bra and a tight tee-shirt, with her long blond hair looped in a hair tie.
“Fine,” I said, then brushed my teeth, yanked my hair into a ponytail and pulled on workout clothes. We ran when we hit the sidewalk of Twenty-Second Street heading for the West Side Bike Path. The sun was rising, and it promised a warm September day, free of rain.
“So what’s your plan? How are you going to resist him during your mentorship?” Jill started, arms tucked properly by her body, feet hitting the ground in perfect runner’s stride. Back in high school, when Jill wasn’t nabbing starring roles in musical theater productions, she was a runner for her cross-country team. Oh, have I mentioned she’s also finished five marathons? I must have been crazy to run with her because when it comes to sports I specialized in walking, just walking, and only walking. That’s why I only ran with her once a week and even then I spent most of the thirty minutes consumed by one singular, solitary, painful thought: Please let this be over as soon as humanly possible.
“I’m asking for a transfer. But even if I can’t get one, I don’t like Bryan, so it’ll be fine.”
“Ha.”
“Besides, he doesn’t like me either,” I said in between breaths.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Jill, he didn’t like me five years ago. Why would he like me now?”
She gave me a sideways glance. “He did like you then. He just freaked out. Got scared or something. That’s what I’ve always believed and you know it. As for why he likes you now – duh. You’re you and you’re hot.” Jill slowed down her running. Delighted, I followed her lead into a more comfortable jog. “Besides. He. Kissed. You.”