Page 32 of Denying Davis
But I wasn’t listening to the discussion. Not one word of it.
Instead, I was thinking about the text message from Samantha, the one I saw while my phone was charged. The one that said the dinner we’d shared was a nice distraction from her daily life and the problems with her mother.
It had a been a nice distraction for me too. More than nice. I wanted more of it as soon as I could get it.
And get it I will.
“Davis, what do you think about that? What if we call their offices this afternoon?” Phillip Wentworth asked. He sat across from me at the patio table that overlooked the rectangular pool with one eyebrow raised. “What is your opinion?”
I blinked at him. “Well, I—”
“Did you hear anything we’ve been talking about?” my grandfather demanded. “We need your input, son.”
“I know.” I glanced back and forth at the two of them, struggling for a response. No, I hadn’t heard what they’d said at all. I couldn’t have been further away. “Whatever you all decide.” I gestured at Philip. “You’re the expert in public relations, not me.”
Phillip cleared his throat. “From my experience, it’s better to engage the client actively in the decision-making. You’re as much a part of this as we are, and you should have a say in how we roll out this strategy. So, what are your thoughts?”
Good grief.Shit.This was not me—I wasn’t usually this disorganized or disinterested. I was not a fuck-up.
Get it together, Davis…
“Please, go over it again. I want to make sure it’s clear to me.” I pulled at the collar of my golf shirt. “I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind regarding all the changes that are coming to this company. I know we have a lot to do during the next few weeks and months.”
A weak excuse. Pathetic. I could do better than this.
My grandfather grunted. He wasn’t pleased with my behavior either.
“Certainly, Mr. Armstrong. It’s never simple to run a global business with interests in a variety of sectors. Armstrong International is complicated, but that’s part of the beauty of it all.” Phillip looked down at the folio next to his plate of breakfast. “With that in mind, I am thinking we roll out this announcement with a multi-pronged approach. First, we can grantWall Street Financialan exclusive interview. They’ve looking for a January cover story after their profile of Terrek Hardy fell through. We’re not Silicon Valley like Terrek, but we do have a variety of legacy interests that continue to have impact on daily American life. WSF readers will want to hear from us.”
“Fine,” I replied. “Perfect.”
“After that, we’ll have an official press conference. Something slick and set in New York. I can investigate booking the Plaza or the Four Seasons, if you’d like. We need something formal.” He fanned his fingers then spread apart his hands as if he was envisioning a billboard. “A location that really says, this is the future of Armstrong International.”
“What about the lobby of the headquarters?” I asked.
Phillip nodded. “We can do it there.”
“I approve. Let’s go for it,” Grandad said, and folded his hands together. “I’d also like to see if we can work with60 Minutes. I owe them, and they’ve been hankering for a sit-down ever since we acquired Westing Brand Investments two years ago.” He winked. “Gotta keep them happy, right?”
“Journalists are insatiable. Relentless. Never hurts to toss them something here and there.” Phillip wrote a few comments on a legal pad. “That can help us later if something unexpected arises.”
“Good ideas,” I said. “Let’s do it all.”
My grandfather agreed, and I felt my shoulders relax. The meeting would soon wrap up, and I looked forward to it. When it did, I’d still have time to stop at the hospital before hitting the links for round of afternoon golf with Aaron. Samantha hadn’t invited me to visit at the hospital, but I didn’t care.
I was going anyway.
I pulled into the JFK Medical Center parking lot around two. This time, I parked the car in the visitor’s lot and entered the building through the front doors. In the gift shop, I purchased a large bouquet of yellow roses, some fashion magazines, and a few candy bars. Then I asked the receptionist for information on a room number and headed to the third floor.
I found room 312 just off the elevator, around the corner from the nurses’ station. The door hung slightly ajar, and I gave it a soft tap with my knuckle.
“Knock, knock,” I said softly as I walked across the threshold. “Anyone here?”
“Davis?”
Samantha rose from the armchair in the corner of the room as she saw me enter. She held her index finger to her lips and dashed across the room. “Shh. She’s still sleeping,” she whispered. “The doctor says that’s the best thing for her at this point.”
“Okay,” I said, and backed out of the room. Samantha followed me into the busy hallway and pulled the door partially closed. “I know you didn’t invite me to come, but I couldn’t resist.”
