Russell Wiley Is Out to Lunch Read Online Free
list of projects she and Roger are “collaborating” on. She’s wearing a crisp white blouse with a pearl choker around her neck. I jot down the client names she mentions. Each one falls squarely within the categories Cindy is supposed to be covering by herself. She should have had no need to get Roger involved.
As far as my department goes, I made a big mistake when I hired Cindy four months ago. Right from her first day, I realized she was something less than the hardworking, quick-thinking, creative-yet-analytical, perpetual-motion productivity machine she had claimed to be when I interviewed her.
As the weeks have turned into months, she has done little more than repackage the work produced by my other managers or joined teams that allow her to skate by without making any kind of visible contribution to a project. Cindy’s corporate skill set doesn’t get activated until after a project is completed. That’s when she displays her special talent for presenting herself as the mastermind behind the finished work. While her other team members don’t have the luxury to pause between projects, let alone reflect on their successes, Cindy invests most of her time in making sure management—Henry in particular—is aware of what’s being accomplished. In just a few months, her relentless self-marketing has convinced Henry that she’s the only one on my team who knows how to get anything done. Within the pressure cooker of my department, Cindy has created the kind of simmering resentment that usually takes years to blow the lid off. My whole team hates her. They’re practically begging me to fire her before the end of her six-month probation period. But as long as Henry loves her, my hands are tied.
“OK,” I say. “Anything else you’re working on?”
Cindy starts running through a second list of projects. These are assignments I know are being handled by either Meg Wilson or Pete Hughes. Clearly, Cindy is preparing to attach her name to as many projects as possible over the next couple of months. There’s an impressive amount of work going on. I remind myself that I—as the boss to Cindy, Meg, Pete and Roger—should be receiving more credit for it all.
“Wow,” I say. “You’ve taken on a hell of a lot. Tell you what, though. While Roger’s out, why don’t you just devote yourself a hundred percent to that first list? I’ll crack the whip with Meg and Pete on the rest. Clearly, I need to do a better job supervising everyone’s workload. Make sure everyone’s doing their fair share.”
I notice a flash of fear in Cindy’s eyes. But then she steadies herself. “OK,” she says, then nods, clenches her jaw, and gets up to leave.
“Hey, Cindy,” I say. “Thanks so much for bringing this to my attention. Could you pull the door closed behind you till you hear it click?”
It’s only ten fifteen. But it’s already been a three-interruption morning. I look over at Lucky Cat. He’s smiling inscrutably at the closed door, challenging me to put him to the test.
I stare at the papers spread out on my desk.
Focus, Russell.
But what if Lucky Cat lets me down again? If I lose faith in him, what will I have left to believe in?
At 10:17, I gather up my files and head to the small conference room. It’s a quiet spot where I can hide out undisturbed till lunchtime.
CHAPTER THREE
Fabrice is Henry’s favorite hangout. It’s the signature restaurant of New York chef du jour Fabrice de Monbrison, the gathering place for the power people in the media industry. Along with its food, Fabrice offers an appropriately sumptuous setting in which relationships can be nurtured, alliances formed and deals struck.
Henry surveys the room as we’re led through. Connie Darwin, the CEO of Burke-Hart Publishing, is at a window table with her boss—the boss of us all—Larry Ghosh.
Ghosh looks several years older than the pointillized version of his face that still appears frequently in the Wall Street Journal
As far as my department goes, I made a big mistake when I hired Cindy four months ago. Right from her first day, I realized she was something less than the hardworking, quick-thinking, creative-yet-analytical, perpetual-motion productivity machine she had claimed to be when I interviewed her.
As the weeks have turned into months, she has done little more than repackage the work produced by my other managers or joined teams that allow her to skate by without making any kind of visible contribution to a project. Cindy’s corporate skill set doesn’t get activated until after a project is completed. That’s when she displays her special talent for presenting herself as the mastermind behind the finished work. While her other team members don’t have the luxury to pause between projects, let alone reflect on their successes, Cindy invests most of her time in making sure management—Henry in particular—is aware of what’s being accomplished. In just a few months, her relentless self-marketing has convinced Henry that she’s the only one on my team who knows how to get anything done. Within the pressure cooker of my department, Cindy has created the kind of simmering resentment that usually takes years to blow the lid off. My whole team hates her. They’re practically begging me to fire her before the end of her six-month probation period. But as long as Henry loves her, my hands are tied.
“OK,” I say. “Anything else you’re working on?”
Cindy starts running through a second list of projects. These are assignments I know are being handled by either Meg Wilson or Pete Hughes. Clearly, Cindy is preparing to attach her name to as many projects as possible over the next couple of months. There’s an impressive amount of work going on. I remind myself that I—as the boss to Cindy, Meg, Pete and Roger—should be receiving more credit for it all.
“Wow,” I say. “You’ve taken on a hell of a lot. Tell you what, though. While Roger’s out, why don’t you just devote yourself a hundred percent to that first list? I’ll crack the whip with Meg and Pete on the rest. Clearly, I need to do a better job supervising everyone’s workload. Make sure everyone’s doing their fair share.”
I notice a flash of fear in Cindy’s eyes. But then she steadies herself. “OK,” she says, then nods, clenches her jaw, and gets up to leave.
“Hey, Cindy,” I say. “Thanks so much for bringing this to my attention. Could you pull the door closed behind you till you hear it click?”
It’s only ten fifteen. But it’s already been a three-interruption morning. I look over at Lucky Cat. He’s smiling inscrutably at the closed door, challenging me to put him to the test.
I stare at the papers spread out on my desk.
Focus, Russell.
But what if Lucky Cat lets me down again? If I lose faith in him, what will I have left to believe in?
At 10:17, I gather up my files and head to the small conference room. It’s a quiet spot where I can hide out undisturbed till lunchtime.
CHAPTER THREE
Fabrice is Henry’s favorite hangout. It’s the signature restaurant of New York chef du jour Fabrice de Monbrison, the gathering place for the power people in the media industry. Along with its food, Fabrice offers an appropriately sumptuous setting in which relationships can be nurtured, alliances formed and deals struck.
Henry surveys the room as we’re led through. Connie Darwin, the CEO of Burke-Hart Publishing, is at a window table with her boss—the boss of us all—Larry Ghosh.
Ghosh looks several years older than the pointillized version of his face that still appears frequently in the Wall Street Journal
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