Page 75 of My Ruthless Neighbor

They noticed that each time a new client contacted us for hiring us, Genesis Media latched on to them. They offered great discounts on the same services we provide.

But that’s not it, they mimic our style too. Or at least try to. Raleigh and Hannah conduct Marketing research in a trendy way that usually attracts a lot of attention.

My people noted that they began using similar strategies to ours.

I didn’t give it much thought at first. They were copying our style, true. But that doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things.

I tried telling them that by doing this, they can only land deals. If the clients keep returning to them, then that means they have talent. And if they can’t sustain them, then no matter how much they plagiarize our work, they would never flourish.

So I let it slide. But when I began noticing similar ad campaigns, I knew they were blatantly recreating our old work.

Sadly, the world doesn’t care who the original content creator is as long as they get the product at a cheaper rate.

So that’s how they were able to defeat us not once, not twice but three times. Just because they charge way lesser than us.

“We need to do something, boss,” Hannah says, bringing me to the present.

“Yes. This is not great for our agency’s image in the market.”

“You are unbeatable, Archer. Those three deals wouldn’t affect our revenue, nor would they stop the billionaires from choosing us. But Raleigh is right.” She props her elbows on the desk and interlinks her fingers, brows pulled together in deep concentration. “We have to create something impactful to give all of our competitors a message. And for that, we need you.”

I pace the room. Up until now, Hannah and Raleigh were handling all this. I didn’t interfere, simply observed from afar. But I guess I’ve been silent long enough. It’s time I step in and take over the reins.

A minute later, a plan begins to take form in my head. Piece by piece like a puzzle, it creates a picture. When the final piece falls in its place, the picture becomes crystal clear.

I stop pacing. Reaching down for the dart, I pick it up and turn to face the dartboard sideways.

“Get your creative department ready,” I command as I put my right foot forward. Gripping the barrel of the dart with three fingers, I raise it to eye level.

Both of them stay silent, their focus entirely on the dart between my fingers.

I aim and throw. It lands dead center, striking the bullseye.

The silence is pierced by their loud clapping.

I face them. “Let’s conquer the world, shall we?”

???

I am striding toward the meeting room when my latest assistant Chad calls out my name from behind. He falls into step beside me.

He is wearing a gray shirt and black pants.

On this floor, there is no dress code. You are free to wear casuals. But he favors formal attire. Just like me. He is also by far the only assistant who is proving his worth.

He doesn’t lie. He is efficient. Works well under pressure.

“Speak,” I tell him without slowing my pace.

“Ms. Carver called again.”

Meagan. I shake my head. She should quit trying to reach me. She is wasting her time. And mine.

“She was crying,” Chad informs, making me stop.

I stopped not because he told me about Meagan crying over the phone but because Chad’s hands were full of binders and an iPad.

He is not going to attend the meeting, so there’s no meaning in making him jog all the way to the meeting room while carrying all the stuff.

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