The Palm Beach Murders by James Patterson (the read aloud family .TXT) 📕

business—or anywhere else for that matter—except the military. Anyway, how are you? Ready to rock?”

“Yeah. Just wanted to thank you for the opportunity. Hope I don’t screw it up.”

“Girl, you won’t. I know you won’t. Now you need to know it. Got it?”

“Yeah, yes…yeah, I’ve got it, thanks. See you downstairs.”

My mind is wandering.…

Will we be through with this meeting in time for a late lunch?

It’s a sixty-minute meeting. Done. No wordy slides. No extraneous BS. We headline the pitch with an innovative brand strategy to convey that Chubb understands life’s risks, and can relate to customers’ needs. Two fabulous ideas, both on strategy: the one with the most potential upside scarier than the other.

Mary Claire describes the brand personality in the colorful language she authored herself.

Then our creative director reads the last scripted line from another satisfied Chubb customer appearing in the TV spot and turns to me for the capper, the tagline that will separate this client’s business from the rest of the category.…

I look the CMO in the eye and announce in my rehearsed voiceover “Insurance Against Regret”…and the room is as quiet as a funeral. For an instant. And then an uncommon reaction in the agency business: applause! Our clients are smiling from ear to ear, and clapping!

They buy it on the spot. Damn, I love this business.

“Tim,” said the Chubb CMO, Kevin Magnus, shaking my hand, “you’ve just reminded me in dramatic fashion why I hired you guys in the first place. Send me the summary and a production estimate, and let’s get it done!”

My team hears all this and responds with enthusiastic, polite applause of their own. The client’s not out the front door before we’re gathering into a group hug, backslaps all around.

“Guys, this is the result of some fabulous teamwork. Never forget that. Together, we make shit happen.

“Now, get your asses back to work!” I say with a broad smile, which is returned in kind by every one of them.

Perfect timing for a lunch break. And I think I’ve earned a long one.

Chapter 3

By the time I get back, it’s four-ish, and the proverbial cocktail hour is within reach.

“Well done, MacGhee!” Paul Marterelli is at my door before I can get my jacket off. “Magnus just called me to say how excited he is about the possibilities! I’ve never heard him so enthusiastic. Must have been great. Obviously he bought the big one.…”

“Absolutely. Thanks, Paul, really appreciate it. It’s days like today that remind me why I came back to work with you,” I tell him. Hey, I’m an adman.

“Wanna grab a beverage?”

“Damn, man, would love to. Can’t. Got plans.”

“Ah, okay, see you tomorrow,” Paul says, and heads downstairs.

I first met Paul Marterelli right out of the Marines. With my Columbia journalism degree there was only one gig for me: adman! Soon enough some good networking connected me with Paul, and we clicked instantly.

Paul was a creative guy, a writer, and a good one. Clean-cut, glasses, conservative dresser; would have assumed he was an account guy if you didn’t know better. Met him the first time downtown at McSorley’s. We hung out, had beers, told stories. Tells me he’s got the CrawDaddy account, an up-and-coming tech company, with their kick-ass cowboy CEO—an ex-Marine!—and wants my own Marine self to take him on. Perfect—at least for an advertising moment. More on that later.

Paul founded Marterelli & Partners in 2003, positioning his team as a feisty “ad store,” and soon established his agency as an early and proactive user of social media on behalf of their clients.

On my first day, he called the agency team together to introduce me. “Okay, guys, listen up,” he said. “It is my great pleasure to introduce Tim MacGhee, a kindred spirit if there ever was one. An adman in the truest sense of the word. New to our business, but he’s got a couple of years and some genuine leadership experience under his…ammo belt. A natural leader. A teammate. He’s joining us to, well, call CrawDaddy’s bluff and help us get their kick-ass brand on the Super Bowl!”

There was warm applause all around. A couple of whistles.

“Tim, as a small token of our sincere welcome, I want you to have this, a present from all of us.” He handed me a gift-wrapped box.

“Wow, this is amazing!” I patted my heart a few times. “Thank you, Paul. Thank you all.” They’d given me a really nice canvas attaché. I recognize the maker—J.W. Hulme. Damn!

“And by no means does this suggest that you are a bag-carrier.”

“Beautiful. And it sure beats the hell out of my Marine assault backpack!”

A genuinely wonderful reception. Turns out it was the perfect gift. I offered a few positive words of appreciation, and Paul showed me to my desk. That was day one, about three lifetimes ago.

Now I’m on my way back up to my corner cubicle on the fifth floor, and I’m getting universal smiles and nods in the hallways, colleagues glowing in the shared success of our Chubb meeting. Feels good. Word travels fast.

I’ve got time to kill, and here’s Ramon to help. As you can tell by now, I’m not one of those stuffed suits that wears his title on his tailored sleeve, looking down his nose. I love the troops. I’m a team guy. And over the years I’ve discovered I have a lot more in common with some of these guys than I do with my so-called peers.

“Everything work?” he asks.

“Like a charm. Thanks, as always. Well done.”

“I’m here to serve,” he says with a grin.

“So, meet you up on the roof?” I say.

“Let’s do it,” Ramon says. What a good guy. And a good partner.

“Okay, man. I’ll get it wrapped here—then I’ve got to run out for a quick stop. Back in a flash. Sun’s already dropping. See you upstairs.”

The agency occupies the top three stories of a five-story brownstone in downtown Manhattan, so we have exclusive access to the roof, a convenient escape that offers a view of historic surroundings and