Page 52 of Negotiation Tactics

19

Josh

MynervesflareasI walk into Devon Holidays’ HQ at ten twenty-five.

“Hello. I’m Joshua Anderson, Workers First Union Rep. I’m here to discuss our demands with Mr. Wallis,” I say to the young, well-dressed receptionist.

She checks something on her computer and smiles at me, pointing me toward the elevator. “Mr. Wallis is expecting you at Meeting Room Three, on the second floor.”

After she hands me a visitor’s pass, I make my way to a small but modern room, which is a bit similar to the one where Alistair and I first discussed the union’s demands. A queasy feeling clutches my stomach and adrenaline pumps through my veins, but I pep-talk myself and stifle the anxiety as far down as I can.

It will be fine. All I need to do it what I do best—present my case and arguments and leave Mr. Wallis no choice but to bend over. I got this.

Pausing in front of Meeting Room Three, I pull out my phone and unlock the screen. There are no messages from Alistair. If I wasn’t already high on nerves and excitement, I’d probably worry, but that could wait until after I am done here. What matters right now is for me to do my job.

The deep voice from the phone call yesterday invites me in after I knock. I don’t know why, but as I enter, a heavy feeling lodges itself in my stomach. I don’t get stage fright, but I guess the gravity of this case is getting to me.

A tall man in his fifties with white streaks in his hickory hair and beard shakes my hand. “Good morning, Mr. Anderson,” he says, pointing at the free chair next to his. It’s Mr. Wallis who I spoke with on the phone. “Please, take a seat.”

“Good morning,” I greet back and take my seat. I expected more people to attend, but seeing as he is the vice-director, maybe that’s unnecessary.

Opening up the folder that’s been placed in front of him, he slides the documents over to me, directing my attention to the red stamp and the paragraph below it. He says something but I don’t really catch any of it because my brain is too busy trying to comprehend why the bold red letters read ‘rejected’.

“Mr. Anderson?”

I tune back in, utterly confused as my heart threatens to rip a hole out of my chest.This makes no sense! What the fuck is going on? We haven’t even discussed anything yet!

Wide-eyed, I gape at Mr. Wallis as he repeats what he just said. “Devon Holidays will forfeit the pay cuts for those employees who agree to relocate to one of our new hotels in Korea or Singapore. The company will also cover the cost of the move.”

Hold on,what? You can’t just make people move like this! They have families here, lives. This is not what should be happening. “This is not what… the union terms were.” It’s not even close to them.

Some fleeting feeling crosses the man’s expression, but it’s gone way too quickly for me to decipher it. “This isthe company’s stance,” he says, voice leveled in a professional manner. “The decision has been made at an executive level.”

I pull the printout of my proposal closer to me and stare at the rejection stamped on top of it. From what Alistair has been telling me about the case’s progress, things were looking great… like they might even agree to all our terms! He was so onboard with it, so excited! Just last week we were discussing how to improve the benefits package in order to boost employee morale!

What the fuck happened?

The feeling I had as soon as I walked into this fancy-ass meeting room worsens tenfold, taking my stomach and heartbeat hostage. I’m at a loss, completely thrown off. I didn’t expect this kind of disaster. This is… unacceptable, not at all what should’ve happened today!

“At an executive level?” I echo back dumbly, my brain latching onto that part. “What do you mean the decision was made at an executive level?”

Mr. Wallis laces his fingers together. “We were… instructed to cease our evaluation of your proposal as the board has decided it is unwilling to meet any further demands pertaining pay cut rollback.”

“Can they even dothat?” I raise my voice, doing my best not to outright shout at the man, because it doesn’t sound like it was even his fault.

“Usually no, unless everyone on the board has unanimously agreed.”

My throat is suddenly dry, and a headache makes my temples throb. Through gritted teeth, I say, “Does that include Alistair Devon?”

There is a pause in which I’m sure both me and Mr. Wallis can hear my thumping heart. “It was his suggestionactually, after he withdrew his prior recommendation. He no longer wishes for us to continue the negotiations with the Union unless you agree to our proposal. It will become effective immediately and last until we reach an agreement.”

Which could take ages! So what, are people supposed to suck it up and struggle unless they are willing to move to another country? What is this bullshit?! Why is Alistair doing this—it makes no sense! He was on my side; he was as excited for this to work as I was. Why is he going back on his word without talking to me first?

I forget how to breathe or maybe the shock is too much and I just can’t manage it. This has to be a mistake. Alistair can’t be throwing me under the bus like this. “Sorry, are you saying that Alistair is the one who told you to reject my proposal without listening to me?”

He considers my question for a few moments and smiles tersely. “Yes.”

The room closes in on me. That same fury from my first meeting with Alistair rises inside me, red-hot and all-consuming. The only way that what’s happening now makes sense is if Alistair lied to me. He played me, much like I was planning to play him. My heart hurts and my anger flares. I have to clench my hands into fists so I don’t do something stupid like punch this man across from me who’s technically just the messenger and has nothing to do with this.

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