Wendy
She pushes open Alan’s office door without knocking and crosses the room in four decisive steps.
“I don’t care what their counter is! Close the deal,” he shouts into the phone, voice clipped, like this should’ve been handled two conversations ago.
Wendy plants herself in front of his desk. “Alan. I need five minutes.”
He raises a hand at her. A clear hold. Then, into the phone: “Put a clock on it. I don’t like wasting time.”
He ends the call without another word, then leans back in his chair, finally giving her his gaze. “What do you need, Wendy? Five minutes is more than I’ve got.”
“I’ll make it quick,” she says, lifting her chin. “We’ve talked about this since day one—client engagement, brand expansion. It’s not just about representation anymore. It’s integration. Content, collaborations, cross-industry synergy—”
Alan raises a hand, cutting her off. “If you’re about to pitch some half-baked influencer summit, save it.”
“Not influencers,” she says, correcting him. “Experiences. We say we want a footprint in events, but we’ve never actually built one. We dip a toe in, then walk away. It’s time to go all in.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He settles back into his chair, performing patience with the thinnest veneer of civility. “And you think we turn into Live Nation overnight? These things take far too much investment. And risk. Trees don’t grow to the sky, Wendy.”
“We’re losing money by playing it safe. Leaving deals on the table. Clients want a full-service engine behind them. Why shouldn’t it be us? Just because a tree doesn’t grow to the sky doesn’t mean you chop it down.”
Alan leans back with a sigh, already halfway out of the conversation. “And your answer is what, exactly?”
“Boots Plotkin.”
“Boots Plotkin? Why would she want to work for us?”
“Because she’s been hustling on her own for too long. NDA provides structure and takes the burden off running her own business. She gains full access to our resources, our complete roster. In return, we get the top event producer in the business.”
“Sure, but she already runs the scene. Why trade that for a desk job?”
“SVP of Events is hardly a desk job, Alan. She’s built an empire, but she’s doing it solo. We offer a title. Staff. An expense account. Hell, a wardrobe budget. I know women like Boots. Give her infrastructure, the illusion of power, plus the perks, and she’ll take the deal.”
Alan leans back, watching her like he’s not sure if this is brilliance or bullshit. “You really think she’d bite?”
“She’s smart enough to see the upside. And we’d be idiots not to ask.”
He doesn’t speak right away. Just nods once, like the idea tastes better than he expected. “Fine. See if she’s interested. Loop in Evelyn and Finance. Quietly. I don’t want this blowing up if she tells you to fuck off.”
Wendy smiles, not to reassure him, but to remind him she doesn’t miss. “She won’t.”
“Good. Start pulling levers. See what you can make happen.”
“I always do,” she says, already moving, like the matter was settled the moment she walked in.