The Billionaire Game(20)
For a long time there was no talking, or any sound other than two adrenaline-flooded people trying to shove as much food into their mouths as possible while still retaining a tiny semblance of dignity.
“So,” I blurted in between sips of sangria, “your Fembot girlfriends really don’t mind you taking other women out in your helicopter for gourmet candlelit meals at secluded luxury resorts?”
Asher grinned as he refilled my glass. “I conduct my business affairs as I see fit, regardless of my relationship status, though I’m actually single at the moment. Woefully so.”
“How sad for you,” I shot back, ignoring my quickening pulse and diving into my enchiladas with renewed vigor. “Please accept my sincere condolences.”
Eventually the banter died down and it was time to get down to brass tacks, so I pushed my drink aside and laid out my pitch: “My main problem moving forward is a lack of capital to expand my business into something prospective clients, investors, and advertisers will automatically take seriously. I do good work, but I just don’t come off as professional right now—I have a good client base, very loyal, but my lack of funds makes the whole operation look more fly-by-night and hobbyist than it really is.” I lifted my chin and fixed him with a gaze more confident than I felt at that moment. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Assuming you secured those funds, what’s your plan to legitimize the operation and forge ahead?” Asher asked, leaning forward.
“First I’d get a real studio,” I said, ticking my points off on my fingers. “And then I’d start hiring apprentices and training them in my techniques, to increase production. Obviously I’d increase inventory and continue to source materials as needed.”
“You mentioned advertisers,” he pointed out. “What would be your strategy there?”
“I’ve done well on word of mouth, but that can only take you so far,” I said. “Still, at the same time, the kind of high-end stuff I do isn’t really the right fit for a thirty second TV spot or a local radio ad. I’d like to sponsor some fashion podcasts, get the word out that way. Maybe send some of my products to fashion bloggers in exchange for reviews. A few appearances at fashion shows or in art films wouldn’t hurt either; do you have any connections there we could use?”
“A few,” he said, but before he could expand on that, dessert was served, and the conversation was derailed by a discussion of the crispy warm flan with pear liqueur sauce and whipped cream, the fried ice cream made with freshly ground vanilla beans, and the grilled watermelon slices dusted with chili powder and chocolate—hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. And try someone else’s slice, because I am eating mine.
Yup, the whole meal was going pretty much perfectly, until Asher decided to ruin everything by opening up his big mouth.
“So here’s the main strength I see with your business,” he said, wiping said big mouth with a napkin. “You’ve built up a good client base, and established a brand identity that’s got a lot of trust and reputation behind it. But the main problem I see with your business as it stands: high production costs, and low output. Fortunately, that’s a pretty simple issue to tackle.”
I leaned forward, interested.
Asher pulled up some maps on his phone and showed them to me. “This is an unused factory in China. It’s an area with high unemployment, so we should be able to keep wages low without much discontent, and the officials will be less likely to come down on us with a bunch of regulations about foreign companies. You would move solely to design work, and we’d outsource production to the China factory.”
I could feel the floor falling out from under my feet. “You want me to outsource to a factory?” I said, horrified, hoping that somehow I had misheard. “In China?”
Asher misunderstood my reaction. “Well, just one factory for now,” he said placatingly, “but with the sales I’m projecting, by 2018 we could have as many as—”
I felt my rage building inside me, like the magma of a volcano simmering and bubbling and threatening to blow the top off of a mountain. “That goes against everything I love about my designs! My whole thing is that they’re special, that thought goes into them, that they’re hand-made—”
“Oh, they’ll still be hand-made if you want,” Asher said, as if he were throwing me a bone. “That’s good for the brand, and that saves us the cost of sewing machines for the factories. Every little bit adds up.”
I imagined nine-year-old little Chinese girls carefully hand-stitching lingerie until their fingers bled, and I felt sick.
“You’re not listening!” I said, biting my tongue and trying to keep my voice even. If I could just make him understand… “I put thought and consideration into every design for every client—”
“That could be our slogan!” Asher said enthusiastically. “‘Thought and consideration in every design’—I can see it on a billboard, just above a mall. It sounds just high-class enough to tempt people into making an unbudgeted purchase.”
“A mall?!” I said, aghast.
If I’d have been a ship sending out a distress signal, Asher would have interpreted it as ‘full steam ahead.’ He seemed to read my horror as mere surprise, because he took my hand and looked soulfully into my eyes. “I believe in you, Kate. With your designs and my business connections, we can have your lingerie in every department store in the country.”