#every ceo who is harsh to their employees and the show treats it like a positive trait.. ELECTRIC CHAIR for you

[soljiwann]

kdramas really be testing me sometimes with not only the casual homophobia every now and then but also the deadass overt-romanticization of CEOs like damn we need to guillotine the ppl who treat their workers like crap not praise them and give them more clout im tired as fuck of these male leads who are so full of themselves like its not attractive AT ALL mf stop deluding urself

#every ceo who is harsh to their employees and the show treats it like a positive trait.. ELECTRIC CHAIR for you #and dont even get me started on the rigid heteronormativity like. 'omg ur a woman im a man!!! therefore we a meant to be together!!' stfu #it makes me want to punch something istg #kdrama #korean drama #me.txt

[danielleelias-blog1]

How “The Crucible” Relates to Gender Inequality

In the story “The Crucible,” eminent themes of harsh judgement and unfairness are obvious as characters suffer sad fates due to mass hysteria. This story, based off of real-life events that actually happened in American history, were sad, unjust, and especially problematic. While these themes are some of the most important in the story, there are others that make connections to other world issues as well. One of these is inequality, especially involving women. Gender inequality is an issue greatly ignored globally, especially in the workforce.

Throughout “The Crucible” and in real-life, it is well known that women were the more likely gender to be accused of witchcraft. Back then, the struggle for women living in a society governed and dictated by men was something that was still going on. Women had not yet earned the 19th Amendment, or any other rights for the fact. They were simply just the housekeepers, who’s most important jobs were marriage and having children. Because of this, women were easier to target than men, and when accusations of witchcraft started going around Salem, women were the first to be accused. While the author Arthur Miller did not intend for these connections between equality and The Crucible, it is clear that the main message was about gaining power by searching for problems that did not exist. 

Data Review

In the modern world, gender inequality is something still very true today. Even though it isn’t to the degree that it used to be, women still struggle to be seen and heard, or “break the glass ceiling.” The pay gap is still a problem, as well as how women are respected in the workforce. Women only make 82% of the money men make, according to data from 2018, proved by Deborah J. Vagins (2018). The Institute for Women’s Policy Research stated that women only earn 49 cents compared to every $1 men earn, stated by Julie Wilson (2019). These connections between the book and real-world issues, while not the author’s intention, is something very important in both societies.

 An important example of this in “The Crucible,” involves Abigail, a main character, who while had a negative influence on the situation, experiences a form of inequality. When Abigail was trying to frame Reverend John Hale’s wife for being a follower of the Devil, Judge Hathorne refused to believe her because Hale is an honest man who has powerful social influence. However, when Abigail accused Elizabeth Proctor of witchcraft, she was successful. Elizabeth was a woman, therefore not as powerful or wealthy as men like Reverend John Hale. Abigail could accuse anyone other than the upper one percent of people with powerful, social influences. Even though Abigail’s actions were not good ones, it was sad to see that no matter how hard she tried, Abigail and the other girls were still undermined by men.

Discussion

Gender inequality is an issue that has been happening, and trying to be solved, for countless centuries. Gender stereotypes are challenging to break, but changes need to happen for there to be gender equality in everyday life and the workforce. Being proactive about welcoming women can increase the number of women employed significantly. It can be very easily accomplished, by hiring both men and women in equal amounts, giving them the same pay accordingly to their job, and giving the same opportunities. Welcoming women by showing you want diversity and being enthusiastic will persuade more women to join the company as well. Training is also biased. There should be a set of criteria to hire and interview by, and not just opinions and appearances. Jen Dewar (2018) stated that both men and women are twice as likely to hire a man over a woman solely based on appearance and gender.

Another way to increase gender inequality in the workforce is to create more female role models for women to look up to. Girls can be discouraged when there aren’t other women seeking higher roles in their work. Grant Thornton (2017) proved that women have about 25% of senior management roles, and only about 12% of CEO roles around the world. If more women are recognized and known for their success, then women will also want to be recognized and inspired by them to be their best. These role models can mentor the newer female employees, leading to a more women empowered, successful company. Most companies have social media, like Instagram or Facebook. Simply posting about female employees can empower the girls that see and follow their account. Posting pictures of the employees, their accomplishments, and actions is a simple way to increase female role models in the workforce.

Gender equality, more specifically in the workforce, needs to be taken more seriously. This is an issue that has been going on for centuries, and it’s time women and men are treated equally. “The Crucible” proves this theme in many ways, especially when Abigail and her friends are ignored and mistreated by men with higher reputations and money. No matter how hard they tried, they were never listened to and completely disregarded because of older men with a better social status. The issue of gender inequality is greatly ignored globally, but we need to take a stand for women everywhere. 

Artists Statement:

I am submitting an essay for the Caffrey Welles Fine Arts Award about how “The Crucible” by Arthur Miller relates to gender inequality, more specifically in the workforce. The reflection of the instance from The Crucible where Abigail and the other girls were completely ignored and undermined by men serves to put the issue of concern into context for the reader. The data compiled for this essay will serve to  demonstrate the need for change within regard to the very important and significant issue of gender equality, regarding women, in the workforce and everyday life. This subject is very close to heart, since gender equality is pined after by so many women around the world. I read “The Crucible” during my tenth grade school year and immediately recognized the similarity between Abigail and the other girls, and women trying to get jobs in the world today. With this essay, I wanted people to understand how big of an issue this is, even though we're in the 21st century. As a result, I'm hoping that even a few people can read my work and help women and men be equal, like myself and many other women around the world are hoping to do.

[khiphop-stories]

Getting Off The Wrong Foot

[Christian Yu | Chapter IV]

Previous Chapters: Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III |

“Are you and Christian a thing now?“ Jay asked you out of the blue as he glimpsed at you from the corner of his eye, observing your reaction. But he didn’t get any from you. You kept your eyes on the display, continuing to watch the music video he wanted to show you. Jay was one of your closest and oldest friends. You had met him when you both were still immature teenagers who didn’t know a thing about the world. You both took a leap of faith and moved to Korea to start a career. You didn’t have a single clue about the industry. You bonded quickly as you were going through the same struggles, like missing home, feeling alienated and being thrown into the cold water. Back then the two of you were almost inseparable, where you go, he would go too. However, life happened, you both became busy, he as the CEO of two independent labels and you also had your own employees to take care of. But something that never changed was that he valued your opinion a lot. It was a tradition that never changed; before he would release something, he always had to show it to you first. 

“I saw you two leaving the bar together,“ he then added. Realising that he wasn’t going to drop this topic until he received an answer, you let out a long sigh. “We fucked. Big deal,” you replied with a shrug of your shoulders, acting like sex wasn’t something meaningful to you. But it was and Jay knew. You weren’t the type of person to casually hook up with a random stranger. No, you were more of a hopeless romantic who believed in the great love. Well, at least before your heart was shattered into bits time and time again. 

“Do you like Christian?“ Jay further interrogated trying to figure out why you were acting so unlike yourself. It wasn’t a side he knew of you and it made him worry. “I had sex with him, I’m not falling in love with him,“ you rolled your eyes at him.

“Is this because of him?“ “I don’t wanna talk about it, especially not with you,” your eyes darted back to the computer, signalling this was the end of the conversation.

“It’s like you became a new person after the break-up.”

“What do you expect me to do? Lock myself inside my room and cry all day? Been there, done that, didn’t make me feel any better.”

“Jumping in bed with the next best guy isn’t the solution either.“ He sounded like a parent giving their child a lecture about how to behave. He wasn’t usually like that. Jay was someone who you could always count on. He would always have your back and support you no matter what. He respected your decisions and never forced his opinions and views on you. Why out of the sudden was he being so over protective?

“I had sex with him and I actually enjoyed it. For once I didn’t have to think about that son of bitch. What’s so wrong with that?” You retorted as you pressed stop on the video. His interrogation made it impossible for you to focus on it. You turned your eyes to your friend, giving him an icy look. 

“That was a bit harsh. I know he hurt you, but—.“

“Don’t even start,“ you shot him a glare.

“He made a mistake, we all do. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.“ “Jay, I’m already mad at you because you didn’t tell me although you knew. Don’t make it worse,“ you warned him sharply.

“It wasn’t my place to say anything. He had to tell you himself.“

Jay had always had a strong sense of morality and loyalty. He was someone who would always try to make it right for everybody, someone who would put his own needs aside to please others. He would never, not even in a million years, turn on his friends and your ex happened to be one of his close friends. Jay was stuck in the middle and no matter what he decided to do, he would end up disappointing one of you. Knowing his personality, you couldn’t stay mad at him for long. You knew how much he wanted to tell you. He tried to tell you in every possible way, without actually telling you. He hinted at it, he urged you to talk to him and to advised you not to take everything as it appears. However, you were too stupid to see through his lies. You didn’t even suspect him, that’s how much you trusted him. You were in a good place. You had nothing to complain about since he always treated you well. He was a good boyfriend. No matter how busy he was, he always made sure to make time for you. He even dropped everything to go on vacation with you. He made you feel special and important by occasionally sending you small gifts and flowers. Little did you know, he did it all out of guilt. “Well, he didn’t! I had to find out through his fucking side chick. Do you know how humiliating that was?“ You suddenly raised your voice at him, the anger boiling in your chest. 

“He really did want to tell you.“ “I don’t care want he wanted or planned to do. Fact is, he didn’t. That’s all that matters. Why are you even picking his side?“

“I’m not picking any side. But I know how much you love him and I know how much he struggled. It’s not black or white. I just don’t want you to regret anything.“

“Trust me, I’m not gonna regret breaking up with an unfaithful bastard.“

“And you think Christian Yu is the better choice?“Jay asked in a mocking one. “For god’s sake, Jay. I’m not dating him!“ You let out a long sigh, tired of having to justify yourself.

“I have a meeting in half an hour, send me the video I will watch it at home.” You packed your bag and grabbed your phone which was lying on the table next to the mouse. Then you got up from your seat with Jay’s eyes following you and put your coat on. 

“I know when you’re lying.” “I’m not lying, Jay. I really do have a meeting soon.”

“With whom?”

“DPR,” you replied shortly, leaning in for a quick hug. “Wait…you’re working with him?” His eyes widened at you in disbelief as he grabbed your arm, before you could pull back. He knew you couldn’t lie into his face, that’s why he held you in place, observing your reaction closely. “It just turned out that way,” you shrugged your shoulders as you turned your arm, so he would loosen his grip on you. 

“Min, I love you, but I don’t think that’s smart." “Stop judging me,” yous said in a whisper. You dropped your gaze since you couldn’t bear to look into his judgmental eyes for any longer. 

“I’m not, I just don’t want you to get hurt again,” his eyes and voice softened. “Why do you hate him so much? You’re not usually the person to judge someone based on rumours.”

“I just don’t have a good feeling.” “You know something, don’t you?” You scanned his face, trying to read it. It was obvious he was hiding something, probably wanting to protect you from getting hurt.

“Jay, tell me,” you demanded as his silence was the answer to your question. “Remember when Ashley and I got into a fight and broke up for a minute?”

He didn’t have to go on, you already knew how the story would end.

“He used her vulnerability, fucked her and left the next morning.” “You think he did the same with me?” You asked him in a whisper, a cold shiver running down your spine. “I don’t know...but you were vulnerable and he needed a quick fuck.”

~*~

[Time leap]

The first thing that caught your eye when you entered their office, was the colourful DPR neon sign hanging on the wall. You liked their office, it wasn’t anything flashy. Quite the contrary, it was kept simply and minimalistic, yet aesthetically pleasing to the eye, just like you imagined their office would look like.

“Where’s the rest?“ You looked around, but the office seemed to be empty. It also was a little bit too quiet in here. You had a couple friends in the music industry and whenever you would visit them in their studio, you would hear music blasting through the speakers.

“Dabin had a performance in Busan this afternoon. They all accompanied him. They will be back later, but for now it’s only me.”

Christian led you into their meeting room which you could see from outside through the glass wall. It was small, but it had all necessary equipment.

“Hold up, I went through all the trouble coming here to discuss the project and they’re not even here?“ You looked at him in disbelief. 

“I already told you on the phone that we weren’t done with the song yet, but you insisted to come. I wonder why,” he chuckled softly.

“What are you hinting at?“ You furrowed your brows at him in confusion.

 “Miss me much?“ A teasing grin appeared on his lips.

“Christian, I came here to do some work because I might not be there next week for the shooting. This is not about you.” “Relax, I was just playing with you.” He tried to ease the tension between the two of you that had obviously built up. “Just show me what you have,” you rolled your eyes and stepped inside the meeting room. You put the black file and your iPad down on to the table as you took a seat. Christian quickly followed suit. Since he didn’t want to anger you any further, he quickly played an excerpt of the song without saying a word.

As you listened to the song, a little smile crept onto your lips. The lyrics were witty and meaningful. Dabin’s deep voice in combination with Cream’s track blended in so well together. 

“I love it,” you nodded your head impressed and Christian let out a sigh of relief. You saw how the tension in his muscles eased and he could finally breathe normally again. It almost seemed like he was afraid to show you their progress, afraid that you would criticize everything and they would have to start again from scratch.

“This is the set design,” you unlocked your tablet and showed him the drafts. “If you want anything changed, now’s the chance to say so.”

“No, I like it the way it is.”

“Ok great. I told the team we will be shooting next Wednesday. Will you be able to finish the song by then?”

“Yeah, Dabin has already finished recording, Cream just needs to do the arrangement and some mixing.” ”Then we’re done here,” you took your stuff back into your possession and got up. 

Christian walked first and he grabbed the door knob, as though he wanted to open the door for you, but he didn’t. Instead he just stood there, staring at you confused.

“Step aside, Christian,” you rolled your eyes in annoyance. You didn’t want to be in a room with him for longer than necessary. It felt like recently everybody was disappointing you, as though the world was against you and didn’t want you to be happy.

“Are you mad at me?” He asked you out of the blue.

“I’m not if you’re opening this damn door,” you hissed at him sharply as you threw him a short glare. 

“You’re suddenly acting so distant like we’re strangers.”

“Technically we are,” you responded with a shrug of your shoulders. “We worked on a project. Twice. We slept together. Twice. I think we’re past being strangers.”

“And you expect me to fuck you again today?” Your eyes darted to him, taunting him.

You didn’t know why you were so mad at him and seeing his face angered you even more. Maybe Jay’s words did get in your head somehow.

His eyes widened, staring back at you as he was lost for words. He was so startled by your outburst, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Where is this coming from?”

“Christian, can you just be honest for once?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he shook his head in confusion. “I can’t believe I fell for you.” “Fell in love with me?” His pupils dilated and you could have sworn you saw the corner of his lips slightly twitch upwards. “No! Fell for you damn stupid act,” you looked at him full of disgust, as though the idea of being in love with him was nauseating. “What act?” “You act like you care, but you don’t. You just want a quick fuck and you would use any means to get your selfish desires satisfied.”

“Ok, first of all, you were the one who kissed me! You made the first move and I responded and—“ “That’s what you tell yourself to feel better?” You cut him off, not even letting him finish.

“That’s how it was, Minhee. I’m not gonna lie, I thought you were hot. I felt hella attracted to you and of course I wouldn’t have turned down a chance to sleep with you. But I didn’t make a move on you, until you gave me the green light. I flirted with you verbally, yes. But I didn’t physically force myself on you.” “You knew I was vulnerable that night. You knew I just went through a break up.” “I had no idea about your break up!” “Why did you approach me then?” “I didn’t approach you with the intent to fuck you that night.” “Then why?” You insisted. “I don’t know! I just…I saw you there and my feet moved on their own. I had no idea what would happen. I didn’t think about it that much.”

“You’re saying you didn’t think there was even a tiny chance that I would jump in bed with you?” “I…I-I mean of course I fantasized about you, but…Minhee, this is so unfair right now. You’re twisting my words.”

You parted your lips about to respond when suddenly five guys appeared on the other side of the glass wall. Dabin quickly recognized you and waved at you enthusiastically with both of his arms, a smile appearing on his face.

You waved back at him awkwardly as your conversation with Christian was cut short and forced the corner of your lips to rise upwards. 

~*~

“I’m going home now, I discussed everything with Christian. He will give you a heads up.”

“Wait Minhee, do you by chance drive a white Benz?”

Your eyes darted to Joo Won confused by his sudden interest in your car.

“Yes…why?”

“Well…it just got towed away." “What? Why? Am I not allowed to park there? Christian, you told me to park there,” you eyes trailed back and forth in utter confusion.

“It’s posted property. You need a special ticket to park there.”

“Shoot…I forgot to give you visitor’s pass! I’m sorry,” Christian slapped his head the moment he remembered. “I totally forgot about that!”

“Can I get my car back now?” “I’m afraid it’s not open until tomorrow,” their manager informed you. 

“Dammit,” you cursed out loud. Luck just wasn’t on your side today, was it?

“I’ll drive you home,” Christian quickly offered, maybe because he felt guilty for getting your car towed away and this was an attempt to make it up to you or maybe because he really wanted to finish the conversation you had started.

“No thanks, I’ll take the cab,” you turned his offer down politely. “Cabs don’t really come to this area. The last time I called a taxi, I waited over an hour,” Dabin complained

“Just let Rome drive you home. It’s his fault in the first place.” Joo Won agreed.

“Yeah don’t let him get away that easily,” Scott let out an evil laugh. “He needs to suffer.”

~*~

[Time leap]

It was a silent ride, neither of you said a word. But you could literally hear his brain working to come up with something to break the silence. You knew he desperately wanted to say something, he opened his mouth several times, words on the tip of his tongue, but he ended up staying silent. With your head turned to the side, you observed the people in the streets, before they slowly vanished from your vision.

“I’m sorry,” Christian said out of the blue, but you didn’t engage. You showed no reaction, not even a blink of the eye. You didn’t want to be in a car with him in the first place, much less have a conversation with him. You only agreed, because he was pestering you about it and if you didn’t, the guys would have noticed something was going on between Christian and you. The last thing you needed right now was having rumours about you doing their rounds. “Not for your car, I mean I’m sorry for that too, but…I-I didn’t want to make you feel used. I honestly didn’t even think that far. I really didn’t plan to sleep with you that night. When I saw you... there was this look on your face that really bothered me. Maybe I knew something had gone wrong in your life. I could tell by your expression. You seemed sad and I thought maybe you didn’t want to be alone. That’s why I approached you. Not because I thought you were easy and wanted to fuck you. I just wanted to see you again, talk to you and…I don’t know. I didn’t think that far...but then...then you kissed me. You gave me that look…and I just kinda lost it from then. I couldn’t think straight anymore. I just knew I wanted you, right there, right then.” [To be continued...]

What do you guys think? How will she react to his apology? Do you think Christian’s apology was genuine or is Jay right about him? Please let me know what you think! I’m already working on the next chapter, will be posted soon...really soon! :)

#christian yu #christian yu scenarios #dpr scenarios #christian yu imagines #christian yu scenario #khh scenarios #getting off the wrong foot

[ajanreginalduk-blog]

Ajan Reginald  A Cure for the Broken Heart ?

 Ajan Reginald As start-up ideas go, this has to be one of the best: Ajan Reginald wants to mend broken hearts.

Medically speaking, that is.

Heart disease affects about 30 million people globally, causes an estimated 4 million deaths per year in Europe, and is the primary cause of death in the developed world. Although modern medicines can provide a degree of relief, the harsh reality is that today there is no cure.

But there may be. Ajan (Chicago, Zurich, 2003-2005) is the founder and CEO of Cell Therapy Limited (CTL), a biotech firm he started in 2009 to experiment with stem cells as a way to fix damaged heart tissue.

“It was my dream to start a company that melds great science with great business to produce great benefits,” said Ajan.

It doesn’t hurt that his cofounder is Professor Sir Martin Evans, a Nobel laureate who first isolated and grew embryonic stem cells at Cambridge University back in the 1980s.

“Martin has a vast depth of understanding, expertise, and intuition, all of which are fantastic leadership qualities. But he also brings strong contributory assets that make him a brilliant person to start a company with,” said Ajan.

For the first six months, it was only the two of them. “We were a genuine start-up, doing everything ourselves: designing experiments, registering the company, raising funds, and setting up the website. We were certainly unique in that we had a Nobel Prize winner answering the phones.”

CTL has since identified a way to treat people with the most severely damaged hearts—those whose only hope is to receive a transplant.

“We’re treating people who have a life expectancy of less than one year—with 70 percent one-year mortality,” said Ajan.

And this is where the “great science” part of his dream comes in to play.

CTL’s proprietary cell therapy claims unique properties. “It’s a paradigm-shifting technology. Today’s medicines can only keep a patient from getting worse. We’re looking, for the first time, at a medicine that is able to regenerate a damaged organ.”

Heart failure develops after a person has a heart attack or when the arteries of a person’s heart are blocked. The heart muscle gets damaged and forms nonfunctioning scar tissue. Without treatment, this scar tissue expands, leading to heart failure and a significant chance of death within a few years.

CTL’s stem-cell therapy can be injected into scar tissue to reduce the size of the scar, stimulate repair, improve the heart’s ability to function, and mitigate the likelihood of heart failure.

Although there are other biotech firms working to produce stem cells for the broad treatment of diseases—using the same stem cell for, say, the treatment of lung disease or a chronic joint problem—CTL is unique in that it has been able to identify and isolate heart-specific stem cells.

The firm has already completed successful clinical trials, which brings us to Ajan’s vision of a “great business.”

The fast-growing high-tech stem-cell market is projected to reach about $20 billion in five years, and CTL hopes to tap into that market. Last year, in what was an unusual move for a biotech start-up, the firm ran an external fund-raising campaign that included crowdfunding; the goal was to raise £1 million. Ajan anticipated it would take up to three months to hit his target.

It took just ten days.

“The fact that we met our goal in such a short time shows that exceptional science for the benefit of society is an exciting investment proposition. This outcome is consistent with my BCG experience: clients with a focus first and foremost on quality produced highly differentiated products with demonstrable benefits, and profits followed. BCG gave me the analytical skills to understand these important drivers of great companies; hopefully I can replicate these characteristics in our small firm.”

In CTL’s case, demonstrating benefits demands a meticulousness in the way it generates value for heart patients. “Scrupulousness in value-generation for our patients translates into value-generation for our shareholders,” Ajan says.

In addition to Sir Martin Evans, CTL’s leadership team boasts other prominent figures, including Rhodri Morgan, a former first minister of Wales, Mubasher Sheikh, a former transplant surgeon and the current head of Permira health care, and Lord Digby Jones, a former UK minister of state for trade and development.

“It’s important to surround yourself with smart, critical people and to listen to them. Again, this is something I learned at BCG. I’m fortunate to have an exceptional board and executive team, and I am careful to listen, but ultimately I’m responsible for the decisions, good or bad. And I’m happy to make those calls.”

Ajan likens his role among these iconoclasts to his position as a central midfielder in field hockey. (He currently represents the England Masters at the international level.) “In other words,” he says, “I’m expected to see everything, anticipate everything, and cover every inch of the pitch. I’ve got to be a total team player—attacking, defending, and fulfilling whatever role is required by the team.”

“CTL is like most biotech companies in that it requires a CEO to understand and connect the science with the biotech business,” says Ajan. “However, where CTL may be different is the dual-fold novelty and ambiguity of both our field of regenerative medicine and CTL’s unique approach. The novel approach in an unproven field and being at the fore-front. There is no path to follow. Therefore, we believe an in-depth level of science and business expertise is necessary to make these critical (and novel) decisions.

“BCG was the best preparation for this role. I found my BCG experience very challenging and the hardest job I’ve ever done. But in hindsight, it was great training. The intellectual capacity needed, the speed of thought and execution required, and the unrelenting pressure and ‘stretch’ is how I developed my capacity to perform critical operations under high stress. BCG trained me to think and to work in a high-performance team. I learned to be data driven and to recognize excellent analysis and the singular value of insight from that analysis. Ultimately, leaving BCG was right for me. But the hard-won BCG skills gave me the ultimate confidence to use data to make the most critical decisions.

“My experiences from high-performance sports teams and BCG are complementary. High-level hockey is fast and dynamic; tactical thinking on the fly is very hard. But for me, the single well-executed tactical decision that wins the game is compelling. In contrast, business is more strategic and tactical, and there’s more time to think. However, it’s much more difficult to produce ‘game winners’ in business, and it’s much harder to build a high-performance team. That may be because the time frames are longer, prolonged years of rigor are required, and the rewards are less connected with actions.

“When we started CTL, we decided to combine the teamwork of high-performance sports with the strategy and execution required to excel in business. Therefore, our team is nontraditional—perhaps to match our nontraditional scientific approach.

All of which, he says, is borne out in the success of CTL.

“If your high-performance team can work synergistically, excellence is a more likely outcome—be it at BCG, international hockey, or a biotech firm. I truly believe there are few limitations on the productivity of such organizations. You also need luck, however, and then you just might develop the world’s first regenerative medicine.”

CTL, which is based in Cardiff in the UK, now has 30 employees, holds more than 100 patents, and is affiliated with labs at leading universities in Oxford, Toronto, Denmark, Greece, and China.

“Our goal is to treat 100,000 critically ill patients within the next five years,” Ajan concluded. “Realizing the great responsibility of lifesaving medicines, we focus on bringing Heartcel to market rapidly. It’s an amazing time—simultaneously frightening, humbling, and awe-inspiring.”

#Ajan Reginald #Ajan Reginald Celixir

[exoticarmy127]

retrouvaille- Jin (Spring Day series)

(n.) the joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation

People often asked why he couldn't keep his feet glued to the ground. 

Why he couldn't keep still, why he was always on the move—daring on another adventure. 

He had wings, you see. Unclipped, wide and meant to soar through the clouds. Most people never really understood; called him a lone wanderer—lost in his own vain and pointless dreams. 

At least that’s what his parents always told him. But little did they know Jin’s travels were more than just a lust for distant places…

It was a way of escape. A way of prolonging that little freedom he has left before his responsibilities begin to dictate his life.

"Flight SK 450 bound for Tokyo is now boarding. Repeating the announcement—“

Jin looked up from his reading and licked his lower lip before sliding in his bookmark through the last page he had read. He grunted as he pushed himself off the metal chair then dusted off his jeans.

Grabbing his backpack, he placed his earphones on both ears and let the music take over before walking towards the boarding gate where a group of people were starting to queue, the upbeat melody blasting through his earphones. 

Jin smiled tightly as he handed over his boarding ticket to the gate attendant. 

"Thank you, sir." She said right after scanning the ticket's barcode. "Enjoy your flight."

Ring!

Jin groaned inwardly at that, knowing it was probably his father or mother calling for him to come home. He had received several text messages from them last night; all of which he left unanswered. He wasn’t ready to deal with all that drama. Their disappointment he could handle, but the drama…the “you’re our only son, you’re supposed to take over the family business” speech he wouldn’t be able to take hearing for the thousandth time. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to take over. Jin had graduated college with a degree in business. He was top of his class and has always been a good—obedient—son. But he always felt like things were always full speed ahead of him; his choices already made before he even began to recognize them.

This caused him to be confused most of the time, making him unsure of what he really wanted for himself. And so he did the one thing he thought would help: he left. Travelling helped him think—helped slow things down even for just a moment.

That moment being: a couple of years. That was all he asked and yet his parents couldn’t even give him that. And that’s the reason why he was upset with them. 

So Jin was glad that when he raised his phone to see who was calling, it was neither of the two.

“Noona,” Jin answered, the smile evident in his tone. If there was one family member he didn’t dislike at the moment, it was his cousin, Jisu. “Hey, what’s—” 

"Yah. You're flying again?"

Jin chuckled at her harsh tone, knowing it was her way of saying “How are you?”

"Ah noona, it's like you don't know me at all."

"You just came back from Peru like two days ago!" Jisu exclaimed, making Jin smile as he walked ahead right through the boarding gate. 

"Hmm. So?"

"So?" Jisu scoffed, and Jin could almost imagine her crossing her arms at that moment. "So isn't it a little too early to be flying off to some place again? I didn’t even see you yet!”

“Aww, did you miss me?” 

“Where are you going anyway?" She asked instead, making Jin grin. He looked to his right and saw the sky through the huge glass window. It was a pretty shade of blue and Jin felt a sense of nostalgia come over him at the sight.

"It's spring." He sighed.

"I didn't ask what season it is. I asked where—“Jisu paused and Jin chuckled slightly as his cousin finally realized what he meant. Jisu was only a couple of years older and the person Jin trusted the most. In fact, he trusted her enough that she was the only one who knew about his biggest secret... 

"You're heading for Tokyo."

"Yup."

"You know, you're crazy for assuming she'd be there." She said but her voice was quieter—sweeter than her harsh words.

"I know." Jin could only answer.

"Look Jin,” She started and Jin braced himself for her words. She said them almost every year for the last five years after all. “This is all very romantic and all but don't you think it's time to..."

"You're starting to sound like mom..." He grumbled.

"I wasn't going to say to stop and take over the family business already because that's a choice I want you to make for yourself." She defended and Jin smiled. He wished his parents were more understanding. 

"I just... you've met her years ago, Jin. And it was like, what? A day? And you never saw her again. Don't you think it's a little silly to be chasing after someone who's not really there?” 

Jin's steps faltered as her words sunk, his form just a few meters away from the main gateway that would lead him right into the plane. 

It's been years. Five years to be exact since he met the girl with the flowers in her hair in Tokyo. That girl who made him laugh until his stomach hurt, who made his heart drum against his chest when she smiled at him; and the girl who looked into his eyes and told him he could be whoever he wanted to be.

She was Jin’s biggest secret: the girl he spent a day with in Tokyo and yet never really gotten over. He was nineteen then when he took that trip to Japan; a spontaneous travel right after he got the news from his parents that from now on, he would be participating in all their business matters—meaning attending meetings and even facing their clients, investors, and employees.

He supposed he saw it coming but Jin was terrified when it finally did. He was so young, barely an adult, and yet here he was being given the weight of a whole enterprise on his shoulders with the future and livelihood of thousands of employees in his hands. Jin felt the weight suffocating him and so he did the one thing he could think of at that moment:

He ran.

Or flew rather. Booked a flight and just got on the plane without a second glance.

At his destination, he met her. And he supposed it was the first time someone treated him like a normal person. Not Kim Seokjin, future CEO of Kim Enterprises.

He supposed it was silly and the thought made him smile. Right now, silly was just what he needed to get away from the reality that’s threatening to catch him in a vice grip.

"You've been going there every spring for the last how many years..."

"I know."

"And she never shows up."

Jin sighed, looking out at the huge glass windows, gaze settling on the plane parked by the runway. 

"I know," His voice going a bit quieter. 

"Oh you know?" Jisu teased. "Good to know you know how you're being a complete idiot."

"Is that your way of saying you love me?” 

"No. This is my way of saying maybe... just maybe, it's time to give up Jinie.” She said and he frowned. He wasn’t really sure why had had clung to that particular event in his life. He wasn’t in love—infatuated maybe, but he knew you couldn’t just fall for someone in a day. He was a realist and knew for a fact love was something developed and felt through experiences.  

But why does it feel different with her?

Jin chuckled to himself, amused by his teenage dreams. He was so engrossed with the idea of her: a girl whom he just met on a whim. A girl whose name he didn’t even know. It was ridiculous! It was crazy… and yet it felt good to be that way.

“Jin—“ Jisu started. “You have to come home sometime…”

And there’s it was. Jin knew he was clinging onto a memory; another excuse for escape—for prolonging his freedom. He guessed he liked the thought of being with someone because they genuinely liked each other. Not because their families needed a merger, which was exactly what was going to happen once he took over the company.

“I know.” Jin sighed almost sadly. “Just give me this day. When I get back, I’ll do it. I won’t run away anymore.” 

“Jin—“

“I promise.” Jin added as he stood a bit straighter. “Tell umma and appa I’ll see them in a few days at the meeting.”

Before Jisu could reply, Jin hung up then resumed walking towards the plane that would take him to Tokyo.

~~~

Spring was Jin’s favorite season. He liked the weather a lot; the way the breeze felt too cool but not piercing like in the winter days. How the skies were an expanse of blue in the horizon, and how all the flowers were in bloom wherever his foot set on dirt.

He liked spending spring particularly in Japan because the season seemed to be heightened here. Perhaps it was because of the cherry blossom trees lining the streets, flocked by tourists and young people capturing their moments through camera lenses as the flowers flail gently against the wind. They had cherry blossoms in Korea, but it didn’t feel the same.

And perhaps that was Jin’s biggest bias.

It wasn’t the same because they didn’t meet in Korea.

They met here.

~~~

The girl came into Jin’s life quite unceremoniously when she literally threw herself at him in an embrace.

“Put your arms around me, hurry!” She hissed at him and Jin was startled and frozen in place, which made the girl reach out for his arms and placed them around her waist herself. He wondered if he was being punked—wondered if girls just throw themselves at random guys around here these days. 

Jin remained quiet as they stood there motionlessly in some sort of slow dance position. He was a head taller than her and her hair was braided with tiny white flowers. 

Cute, he thought just as he got a whiff of her scent. She smelled sweet…and it made him dizzy.

Vanilla, he finally declared just as she removed her arms around him. Jin couldn’t help a feeling of disappointment. The moment he realized that, he blinked and shook himself awake.

The girl looked around and Jin wondered who she was hiding from. Before he could raise his head to search and ask, she turned to him and smiled. 

He felt his heart drum at the sight. She was very pretty, with full lips and warm brown eyes.

“Sorry about that.” She smiled sheepishly. “But thanks! You totally helped me out there. They wouldn’t leave me alone.” 

Jin titled his head in question, “Who?”

She waved her hand at him, not answering his question. “Sorry for scaring you. Anyway I’ll—“ Her eyes drifted down to his chest and Jin observed her face turn from smiling to some sort of ecstatic surprise.

“Oh my god! You like them too?!”

Jin’s eyes widened slightly at her excitement and when he follower her gaze, he realized she was staring at his shirt. 

“You know… The Symphony Soldiers?” Jin asked in mild surprise. The Symphony Soldiers were his favorite band. They weren’t main stream and pretty much inexistent in the minds of most people. He didn’t even realize that he was actually wearing the band shirt he had gotten from a friend last Christmas.

The girl looked up at him with another bright smile, nodding enthusiastically. At that moment, Jin knew he was done for.

~~~

Jin sighed as he walked along the gravelled path of Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden. It was his favorite park in Tokyo with its beautiful expanse of grassland and a stunning lake view. He often took long walks around the area when he visited, or jogs when he was feeling diligent for exercise.

He smiled as he walked pass a little boy holding onto his mother’s hand. His head was tilted upwards with his right arm raised, a finger pointing at the trees lining the path—his face with an expression of amazement. Once they passed, Jin looked up as well and sighed. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom and it looked magnificent. He couldn’t blame the kid—or anyone really, for staring at it in awe.

The place was crowded than usual with families having picnics on the grass, children running around, and couples walking hand in hand along the pathways. Jin couldn’t help but feel a sense of loneliness for having to walk through this fine spring day alone, but he knew it was better than being back home right now.

Upon that thought, he frowned, sitting down on a vacant bench overlooking a small lake. He knew he was being selfish for coming here but he needed time to think. He promised them anyway that once he returned, it was going to be for good. He was going to accept his responsibilities in the company and make his parents happy.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Jin was already shaking his head when he turned, and then stopped as his gaze settled on the source. He felt his eyes widening as recognition dawned on him so hard it felt like a slap in the face.

“Y—you!” He stood up from his seat abruptly, causing the girl to jump back in surprise. She was wearing washed out jean jacket over a flimsy peach dress. Her hair didn’t have flowers in it like before and was shorter, now falling just shy of her shoulders. 

She stared at him for a while and Jin was worried she might not remember him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t considering it has been years and they had only spent a few hours in each other’s presence that day.

An apology was already at the tip of his tongue for barking at her like that when she suddenly smiled, recognition sparkling in her beautiful eyes which caused Jin’s chest to tighten in a weird—but pleasurable way; like he could hardly contain his happiness that breathing became an effort.

“You.” She echoed and Jin wasn’t sure if the shivers he felt were from the gentle breeze that suddenly whipped by or from hearing her voice after so long…

He couldn’t believe his luck. After five long years, he final found her again. And she remembered! She remembered him like he did her and he felt a pleasurable warmth spreading against his chest that made his smile look like it would split his face in half.

“Your soldier boy.” She said and Jin realized they never really introduced themselves properly before. 

“Jin.” He nodded with a chuckle as he reached out his hand for a shake.

The girl seemed surprise, probably realizing that they never really knew each other’s names before. 

She gave him a small smile and took his hand. Her grip was firm and her skin was warm and soft.  Jin felt stupid for noticing such small details but he couldn’t help it.

“Erina.” She said and Jin let it float in his thoughts; tattooing it to memory. “It’s nice to meet you—again, Jin.”

~~~

Jin and Erina spent the whole day together just like they did that very first day. They laughed and chatted about random things; talking like old friends—like the five-year gap never existed.

Jin wondered how he could feel so comfortable with someone he barely knew. But that’s exactly how he felt right now. With Erina, he didn’t feel like running away. He didn’t feel so afraid and he wanted to stay in that moment forever.

But much like the seasons, Jin knew it couldn't last for long.  

Erina sighed the moment they reached the train station. It was late—time slipping quickly from their grasps that Jin barely had time to digest the entirety of the situation: how he met the girl he had been thinking about for years again; how she was standing in front of him as of that moment, looking so beautiful against the street lights…

His heart began beating wildly against his chest and all he wanted to do was—

“Thank you.” Erina suddenly said to him. “Thank you for today.”

Jin opened his mouth to reply, but words seemed to fail him for a moment.

“We just talked.” He said eventually while shrugging slightly. “And walked around.”

Erina looked at him then averted her gaze. “It’s more than that.”

Jin frowned slightly at her words, unsure what she meant. He didn’t want to assume anything. Although he hoped she felt the same way.

“I’ll get going…” She said as she waved at him and Jin began to panic. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. 

Not now. 

Probably not ever.

“Wait.” He suddenly said, pushing himself to be brave for once as he slightly tugged at her sleeve just as she was turning towards the station's entrance. 

Erina stopped and looked back at him, and Jin wasn’t sure if he was imagining it but she looked almost relieved.

“Don’t go yet.” He said and Erina gasped inwardly as his gaze drilled into hers. “Stay…for a while.”

Erina stared back at him and felt herself smile before nodding.

And that’s when Jin knew this was more than just a crush. For at the reserves of his heart, one that his mind would never admit or acknowledge was a space just for her…

A place for something that was beginning to be felt… and she was at the very center of it.  

~~~

“Can I tell you a secret?” Erina asked and Jin nodded without a second thought, knowing he would keep it guarded with his life if he asked her to.

“Would it kill me to know?” He asked jokingly to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere. The two of them were sitting on a bench a few blocks down from the station—just a few blocks down from the train that was supposed to take her away from him for the second time. Jin knew that he was just prolonging the goodbyes and that it was bound happen.

But right now, he didn’t want to think about that.

“No.” She chuckled slightly as she fiddled with her fingers. “I…I’m just scared.”

“Scared?” Jin asked with a frown. “Of what?”

“Of going back home.”

Jin swallowed and looked away, finding that story familiar.

“Why?”

Erina paused for a long while as if thinking whether to open up about it or not. Jin was about to tell her that it’s okay, as he didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable when she answered, “I guess you could say… I don’t get to have a say in much where I live.” She sighed deeply—sadly. “When I go back, I have to do things I don’t really want to do.”

“What do you want to do?” Jin asked. He knew it would be better to ask that question rather than what she had to do. By the small smile that painted her lips, he knew he was right.

“I wanted to be a teacher. An art teacher, actually. I love to paint.”

Jin smiled, thinking how he never really saw her being an artist considering she didn’t look like the stereotypical artist—the ones who carried sketchbooks around or stared into space for long hours until inspirations hits them and they suddenly move like they’re running for their lives.

“That sounds really amazing.”

She hummed happily. “I actually took business administration in college, but took fine arts too. Secretly that is.”

“You managed to do both at the same time?” He asked in surprise.

“Mm. I did it on weekends and a few nights on the weekdays. Never told anyone about it. If my parents knew, they’d flip.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not what I’m supposed to be doing.” She sighed and Jin felt himself relating. Like Erina, he wasn’t a stranger to having to do things you’re supposed to be doing instead of what you really wanted to do.

“Family business?”

Erina looked at him, “Kind of.”

Jin sighed but he didn’t tell her that he was pretty much the same… that he had Korea’s largest enterprise waiting to be placed on his shoulders.

“I’m not really upset about that.” She added. “I want to work. I don’t really hate our business. I just wished they’d listen for once. Let me do what I want alongside it, you know? Make my own choices. 

Make my own choices, Jin thought as her words echoed through the reserves of his brain. He was glad for once that he wasn’t alone in that notion 

“Then make them.” Jin said and Erina gave him a funny look but Jin’s gaze was serious and determined. If he couldn’t get away with what he wanted, at least he would be happy knowing Erina could. “Make your own choices, become an art teacher. 

There was a silence that hung in the air for a while with Jin's words floating through the space between them, urging them to think.

“Easier said than done, Jin.” Erina said sadly. “Easier said than done.”

At that Jin knew she was right. She was absolutely right.

~~~

Goodbyes were sad but Jin could barely get himself together as they waited for Erina’s train to come.

“Jin.”

“Erina.”

They said in unison, which made them laugh and shy away from each other’s gazes.  

“You first.” Jin said.

Erina sighed and gave him a genuine smile. “Thanks. For listening, I mean. It’s been a long time since someone did.”

Jin frowned slightly, thinking how anyone could ever not listen to her. She was so smart, funny, and had a voice he could probably listen to all day long.

He smiled to himself; she was definitely his biggest bias.

“Anytime.” He said casually. “Thanks too. For staying… and I’m really glad I got to see you again.”

Erina was about to say something when the train approached; the sound of its wheels rushing through the tracks muffling their hearing.

“You should go.” Jin said, his voice breaking at the last syllable.

Erina looked at the train as it screeched to a halt. But before she hopped on, she pulled on her bag and got her notebook and pen. 

“Here,” she ripped the piece of paper and handed it to him. Jin looked down at it and saw her name below a set of figures scribbled on the page.

“Call me, okay?”

Jin lifted his eyes to hers and smiled when he saw she was avoiding his gaze. A blush tinted her cheeks and Jin wanted to lean over and kiss them. 

“Everyday.” He whispered and Erina looked up in surprise, finally meeting his eyes.

There was a moment when everything felt like it was falling into place when you didn’t even have an idea that your life was messed up into tiny puzzle pieces. Yet somehow, one person—a stranger—was able to put it back together without much effort in no time. And all it took was one look.

All it took was one look to fall in love. 

“See you.” Erina whispered back as she stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek before turning and rushing for the doors. Jin stood there frozen in place, his skin tingling where she had just kissed him.

There was a beeping sound as the doors closed and Jin looked up then, meeting Erina’s gaze through the windows.

She smiled.

He smiled. 

Hearts in sync even as the train pulled them apart.

~~~

6 months later

Erina sighed as she gazed at the buildings moving past her in a blur, the new city filling her vision. Seoul was quite lovely, she observed and hoped she would have time to go around later.

If there would be a later, she thought, knowing nobody would let her out of their sights. Erina sighed as she drowned the voice of her mother in the background who was sitting beside her, talking to someone on the phone.

“Yes, we're almost there.” She said. “Please let them know that.” 

The car stopped at an intersection and Erina’s eyes settled on a poster stuck to a window of a corner store. To her surprise, it was a picture of the Symphony Soldiers—a promotional poster from their previous album. Erina loved that band ever since they debuted because their music was good—meaningful.

But seeing it brought some memories she’d rather not remember and so she looked away just as the stoplight turned green, putting the car in motion. Erina didn’t need another reason to be sad, not when she was about to go to a place that will dictate her future forever.

~~~

“Mr. Kim, your mother called and requests your presence immediately.”

Jin paused from his writing, his breathing sounding too loud in his ears at the announcement of his secretary.

“Hmm. Let me just finish these and let her know I’ll be with them shortly.”

His secretary bowed before leaving and once the door closed, Jin laid back on his swivel chair, sighing deeply as he massaged his forehead. He’s been hauled up in his office room for the rest of the morning considering the amount of paperwork that needed to be reviewed and signed. He never thought being in this position would mean having to sit down for long hours just browsing through papers. Jin felt like he would go crazy if he didn’t get out of the room.

But going out meant…

Jin sighed again as he fiddled with his watch. It was half past lunch hour, which explained his mother’s invitation. They were supposed to meet some important partners and investors over lunch at their hotel.

If it were up to him, he wouldn't be attending. He didn’t want to go to that particular meeting he had been dreading for weeks.

Ring!

Jin closed his eyes as he reached out for his phone, already knowing it was his mother. She had never been a fan of waiting.

“Ommani.” He answered.

“Jin-ah, are you purposely ignoring my messages?”

Yes. “No,” He sighed as he rubbed his forehead. “There's a lot of work this morning so I wasn’t taking any personal calls unless it was urgent.”

“Oh. Well our partners are already here so would you—“

“Yeah, I’m coming just give me a sec.” Jin said and hung up, lying back on his chair with a huff. After a few seconds he stood up and made his way to the other side of the room where he had a huge window overlooking the city.

Jin frowned slightly upon seeing the cloudy skies. Autumn was coming and Jin could see the trees changing; it's leaves turning into sunset hues. A nice walk in the park would be amazing at this time or even a long drive in the provinces but here he was working.

Just then a thought hit him and he reached into his pocket and brought out his wallet. On the right flap, there was a small piece of paper slipped thorough which Jin pulled out. Unfolding it, Jin felt an overwhelming sense of sadness upon the sight of numbers written and blurred against the sheets—barely recognizable.

Days like this…when he wished he could escape.

Days like this… when he missed her the most.

~~~

Jin hopped of the car and thanked his driver before walking into the hotel. It’s one of their own and every employee he passed practically greeted and bowed in respect. He made his way into the restaurant and the hotel manager was kind enough to lead him to their table.

“Right this way, Mr. Kim.”

Jin was fixing the cuff of his sleeves when he heard his mother’s familiar voice.

“Oh there he is! This is my son and the current CEO of Kim Enterprise, Kim Seokjin.”

Jin stopped and looked up to acknowledge their guests but ended up pausing instead, staring at one particular person sitting on the table.

Staring into particularly familiar brown eyes.

Jin’s eyes widened slightly, lips parting in surprise as he stared at her, unsure if he was dreaming or not.

But before he could say anything, the girl stood up from the table, causing everyone to stare at her in surprise.

“Erina! What are you doing?” The woman beside her hissed and Seokjin frowned as her gaze pierced him which was mixture of surprise…and hurt.

Jin opened his mouth to speak but before he could, Erina had left abruptly, rushing out of the dining area.

“Erina!” The woman called which Jin figured was her mother with how they had similar eyes. “My apologies Mr. Kim,” She began as she moved to follow her daughter but Seokjin raised his hand to stop her.

“Please. Let me talk to her.” He said before turning rushing out himself, leaving the two women surprised and utterly confused.

~~~

Jin thought it was a good thing he owned the place because it just made finding Erina much easier and faster. Most of the employees saw a girl running out of the restaurant and towards the East wing. Upon arriving there, Jin saw one of their maintenance engineers who told him he saw a girl rushing up to the garden terrace on the third floor.

Jin rushed to the elevators and arrived shortly, his eyes instantly searching the terrace for her familiar form. It wasn’t that difficult considering the place was small and he spotted her by the rails, looking out at the city below.

“Erina.” He called, her name sounding foreign against his lips. It came out with a gasp, the mere action of speaking her name leaving him breathless. Six months was too long.

But Erina ignored him, her form still as a statue as she stared quietly at the busy street below.

“Erina. Please,” Jin stepped closer and Erina closed her eyes painfully as she felt his presence behind her. “Look at me.”

“It’s you.” She said suddenly, voice hoarse like she had been crying. “It’s you.”

Jin debated whether it would be a good idea to touch her but after a few seconds, he decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to see her. And so he reached out and held her shoulders, turning her around gently. Erina didn’t protest and let herself be moved, and once she was facing him Jin’s heart broke at the sight of her eyes wet with tears.

“Erina.” He said—as if saying it would make her even more real. “It’s really you.”

Jin's hand shook slightly as his fingers traced her cheek. His own eyes were brimming with unshed tears which caused Erina to be confused. A tear slipped from her eye but before Jin could wipe them away, she turned her face to the right.

Jin frowned, "Erina—"

“Why didn’t you...?" She paused, looking down as she sniffed. “Why didn’t you call me back?”

Jin frowned deeply before reaching out for his wallet in his back pocket. Erina watched silently as he retrieved a small piece of paper and gave it to her. She looked at him questioningly as she took the paper. Unfolding it carefully, she gasped—surprised at what he saw.

It was the paper she gave him back in Tokyo; the one where she had hastily scribbled her number. But the numbers were barely visible; the paper worn out and looked like it got—

“It rained that day.” He said, making her look up at him. “It rained so hard, it’s like the skies were crying when you left.”

Jin clearly remembered that day: how he got caught in the rain while he was walking down the street to return to his hotel. It was pouring and he was soaked by the time he reached the entrance. Right then, a thought suddenly hit him and he slipped his hand through his jacket's pockets and was horrified to find that the piece of paper had gotten wet.

"No…no…no!" Jin's heart broke even more when he saw how the numbers faded with the water, turning into mere splashes of blue ink. He tried drying it but it was too late, the numbers were already too faded to make out.

Erina frowned when she saw the look of sadness crossing his beautiful features. Jin looked thinner the last time she had seen him. That was saying much considering it has only been six months. But it was true, his face was pale, his eyes dim like he was very tired…

And sad, she thought and felt the urge to cup his cheek.

“I was careless and before I knew it I lost the one thing that would have brought me back to you.” He said; eyes pained as he stared into her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry Erina.”

Erina felt another rush of tears threatening to spill from her eyes but it was more because she felt relieved rather than sad.

“I… I thought you’d forgotten about me.” She said meekly which Jin shook his head at instantly. Being brave, he reached out and took her hands in his.

“Forget you? I couldn’t stop thinking about you since that day we met again! I was going to come back to Tokyo but—“ He looked behind him and Erina realized he meant because he had to work now. He had a company to run while she—

“Wait. So you’re Seokjin? The CEO of Kim Enterprises?”

Jin nodded, “Just recently.”

“And you’re my…” She blushed before she could say the fact that he was indeed the man her parents arranged for her to be married to.

Jin gave her a small smile, “It’s a small world, huh?”

“Did you know?” She asked accusingly, glaring at him playfully. Jin shook his head and Erina wondered how he could be so calm at the revelation. “Oh… and you’re not surprised?”

“I am.” He answered honestly, and then looked down at their hands. His thumb drew gentle circles on her skin, making her shiver. “But I guess I’m just too happy to mind it.”

Erina blushed at his statement and tried to keep the silly grin from her face. But she failed miserably and when Jin looked up to meet her eyes, they both smiled at each other so brightly it was almost blinding.

“I promised myself I’d do this when I see you again. So don’t punch me.” Jin suddenly said and Erina’s expression turned confused. But before she could ask, she felt his arm circling her waist as he pulled her close and leant down to capture her lips in a sweet kiss.

Erina yelped in surprise but melted into the kiss, too quickly to her embarrassment. She let her arms circle his neck, fingers playing with the hair on his nape. Jin made a low sound at the contact, pulling her flush against him and Erina was more than happy to deepen the kiss.

“Mr Kim! I—oh! Sorry sir—“

The two broke apart instantly, breathless and a little dizzy. Seokjin turned and found Hansoo, his secretary, covering his eyes as his ears turned a bright shade of red.

“What is it Hansoo?” Jin asked, his hands still on Erina’s waist, not letting her go. Erina blushed slightly and tried to hide her face against his chest but it only made her blush worsen after getting a whiff of his scent. He smelled so good!

“Sorry. Your mother—well your mothers asked me to get you. They’re worried—“

“Tell them we’re alright and that we’d like to be left alone—“

“Jin.” Erina slapped his chest playfully, embarrassed. Jin glanced at her with a wink before facing Hansoo once more.

“I mean tell them we’re okay and that we’ll be handling this marriage deal on our own.” He said which surprised Erina. He wasn’t sure what he meant by handling it on their own. “Also, cancel my meetings this afternoon. I have somewhere I need to be.”

Hansoo looked nervous as he switched his gaze from his boss to the girl he currently had in his arms hold.

“Is there a problem, Hansoo?” Jin asked, his voice deep and authoritative; one Erina hadn’t heard from him before. It was oddly attractive.

“N—no sir. I’ll reschedule your meetings for tomorrow if that would be alright?”

Jin smiled. “That would be good. Thanks. So if you’ll excuse us…” Jin took Erina’s hand and left, leaving Hansoo a little frazzled and confused. He was certain his boss was dreading the arrangement just a week ago.

“Why did you cancel your meetings?” Erina asked as he pulled her towards the elevators.

Jin pressed the down button and looked at her with a small smile. “Been in Seoul for long?”

Erina was surprised at the subject change but answered nonetheless, “It’s…my first time to come here actually. But why—"

‘It settled then. I’ll be your tour guide.” He winked.

“But your meetings—“

“Can wait. You heard Hansoo. He’ll reschedule. Plus I’ve been wanting to get out of the office for days.”

Erina bit her lip. “Our mothers…”

“Would be happy to know we’re together." Jin said as he faced her. "I meant what I said about handling this deal on our own.”

“Which means what exactly?” She asked.

“It means I’m not going to force you into this marriage because I know you didn’t want it.” He said, which surprised her. “I want you to choose, Erina.”

Erina smiled, looking down at their linked hands. She never thought the day would end up like this. And she was glad…more than glad.

“T—thank you, Jin.”

Jin returned it with a small smile, squeezing her hand slightly. “But I like you, Erina. A lot.”

Erina looked up at him, blushing deeply she could’ve sworn she look as red as a tomato by now. “W—what?”

“I like you.” He repeated, and Erina was surprised at how certain he sounded. “And I’m going to make you want to choose me too. Cause honestly? The moment I saw you in there, I’ve already made up my mind.”

The elevator doors opened and Jin motioned for her to go first. She stepped in and he followed pressing the ground floor button.

“So if making you choose me means courting you and taking you out on dates so be it.” Jin declared which made her smile. “Starting right now.” He faced her with a smile and Erina felt her heart flutter.

“So, where do you want to go?”

Erina smiled shyly, feeling like her heart would burst out her chest. Just a few hours ago, she had thought she had only dreamt of that amazing guy she met in Tokyo—worse, she thought he was real but had forgotten her.

And now here he was, declaring that he liked her and that he wanted the marriage to push through but by her own choice.

A choice, she thought, realizing it’s been so long since someone gave her that.

But much like Jin, she had already made up her mind the moment he walked up to their table, looking dashing in that corporate suit.

Heck, she had already made up her mind when she saw him in that Symphony Soldiers t-shirt.

“Anywhere.” She said as she took his hand, squeezing it slightly. I’d go anywhere with you.

Jin smiled at her and brought his hand to his lips, giving it a soft peck just as the elevator doors opened. They walked hand in hand into prying eyes of employees and those who knew his name—whispers filling the room.

But it didn’t matter. Not when he had everything he could ever want right beside him.

People often asked why he couldn't keep his feet glued to the ground. 

Why he couldn't keep still, why he was always on the move—daring on another adventure. 

Jin intertwined their fingers as they stepped into the sun, thinking how Erina was his biggest adventure of all; and that for the first time he actually wanted to stay…he was right where he needed—and wanted to be.

END

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Did you miss me?? It’s been a while I know.. work has kept me really busy and I’ve had a block for a few weeks. I’m actually glad I even got to finish this despite that... it’s been bugging me for days, everything I wrote looked like crap lol but yesterday I was able to finish writing this (miraculously so) and ta-da! I hope you enjoyed this!

Also, the blog’s anniversary is coming up whoop! 3 years~ time flies so fast no? I’ll be holding another Q&A event, please look forward to the announcement!

Thanks for reading and comments are always appreciated. <3

Spring Day series masterlist

Web Masterlist | Mobile Masterlist

#Spring Day series #Jin scenarios #bts scenarios #bts series #bangtan scenarios #BTS fanfic #BTS #kpop scenarios #stories #retrouvaille #french

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Inside Nike: Sources share claims of sexism, cheating, abuse at the world’s wokest brand

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Nike has long positioned itself as a “woke” apparel company, a champion of progressive values that backed social-justice heroes like Colin Kaepernick. But the company’s history exposes a darker reality, masked by a multibillion-dollar marketing apparatus.

By the time Michael Jordan’s first Nike commercial aired, in 1985, the company’s annual revenues had climbed to nearly $950 million. Five years later it had hit $2.2 billion in sales each year. By 1993 that figure had climbed to nearly $4 billion.

To spur a new generation of long-distance running in the US, Nike hired marathon champion Alberto Salazar to run the Oregon Project. But the program would become mired by allegations of abuse and doping.

More recently, Nike has come under fire after allegations of sexual harassment at the company surfaced, along with harsh criticism of its labor practices.

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On September 6, 2018, Nike CEO Mark Parker threw a party at his company’s sprawling 400-acre world headquarters in Beaverton, Oregon. It was “Just Do It” day, when work grinds to a halt at the campus so that hundreds of employees can gather to eat, drink, and mingle with celebrity athletes. The unofficial company-wide holiday was held on a lush, well-manicured field beneath the afternoon sun, with staff from every rung of the corporate ladder rubbing elbows with Parker and Phil Knight, who had stepped down as CEO in 2004 and ceased duties as chairman of the board in 2016.

Parker, who became Nike’s third CEO in 2006, arrived at the party wearing black slacks, a black dress shirt, and a black jacket — a departure from his usual attire and an odd choice for a day when temperatures approached 90. Some guessed it was the CEO’s attempt to align himself with Nike’s guest of honor, Colin Kaepernick, who showed up in black shorts, a black shirt, and black Nike shoes.

In 2016, Kaepernick became a civil-rights icon by kneeling in protest of social injustice during the playing of the national anthem. His actions infuriated the top brass at the NFL — which has an apparel deal with Nike estimated to be worth over a billion dollars — and got him and sidelined him from playing ever since the 2016 season. In Kaepernick’s stand, Parker spied opportunity: He made him the new face of Nike’s “Just Do It” campaign, originally conceived by Dan Wieden in 1988 as a paean to what he saw as the company’s “willingness to f— something up.”

The Kaepernick ad, which featured his image with the words “Believe in something, even if it means sacrificing everything,” placed him alongside former Nike-sponsored icons, such as distance-running legend Steve Prefontaine, soccer star Ronaldinho, Roger Federer, and Michael Jordan, who is credited with rescuing Nike from irrelevance at the tail end of America’s jogging boom.

“What Phil and Nike have done is turn me into a dream,” Jordan said.

Kaepernick would join their ranks, albeit through a campaign that accentuated not his athletic feats but his social-justice heroism.

Nike’s Kaepernick ad roiled conservatives. President Donald Trump said it sent “a terrible message,” while the editorial board of The Wall Street Journal declared it a “patriotic fumble.” The day after Kaepernick teased the ad on his Twitter account, Nike’s share price slipped more than 3%. But Parker’s gamble would pay off: The ad won an Emmy and Nike raked in a record $36.4 billion in 2018. The company had made loads of money even as it earned praise for placing principles over profit. The conservative blowback came as no surprise to Parker, who told Nike’s board of directors to expect some short-term backlash.

What he didn’t anticipate was that some of Nike’s own former athletes, who were paid to represent the brand, would take a principled stand against the company that had sponsored them, claiming they’d suffered abuse at the hands of Nike coaches, whose behavior was enabled or ignored by high-level employees at the company. Later, some of these same athletes would also take a stand against the company over allegations of gender-based discrimination and sexual harassment among its corporate ranks.

The most significant of these athletes was Mary Cain. The prodigy first discovered her love of running in elementary school, when she astounded her classmates and teachers with her raw speed. By her freshman year at Bronxville High School in Westchester County, she won a state cross-country title. In the summer of 2012, she ran the 1,500 meter at the Junior World Championships in 4: 11, a record for American high-school girls.

But the life of a prodigy can be isolating, and her astounding success did not endear her to her competitors or their “helicopter parents,” Cain, who declined to comment for this story, said on the Clean Sport Collective podcast. “I was kind of bullied on my high-school team,” she added.

In fall 2012, the family discussed whether she should put her running career on hold until college. The family, Cain’s father said, was desperate for “divine intervention.”

When it arrived that October, it came in the form of an offer from legendary running coach Alberto Salazar, who managed an elite program called the Nike Oregon Project. Mary’s performance at the Junior World Championships had blown him away, and he began coaching her from afar. Like Cain, he too had been a high-school running prodigy and dominated the sport at the University of Oregon in the late 1970s.

The Cain family was elated. The miracle they’d been waiting on arrived just in time to spare their daughter the indignity of training with a local club until college.

“To say it was a savior swooping in would be an understatement,” Cain said in an interview. “I got to join the greatest club in the world.”

In the beginning, Nike was a shoe company, conceived by Phil Knight in 1962. He once said his vision was to specialize in quality athletic shoes that “could be made in Japan and … profitably imported for sale in the United States.” That plan would take him to Japan, whose ruined postwar economy made it a mecca for cheap manufacturing for Blue Ribbon Sports, the upstart shoe distributor he founded in 1964. As the company flourished and gave birth to the Nike brand, Knight stuck with the model. Rather than paying his workers better wages as profits soared, he sought out cheaper workers in more economically despondent places.

Even as Nike sprinted toward becoming a billion-dollar brand, it continued to seek ever-cheaper manufacturing opportunities, in poor nations with weak labor laws, to maximize already stunning profits. By 1982, the company imported 70% of its shoes from South Korea, then a military dictatorship; 16% from Taiwan; and 7 % from Thailand, Hong Kong, and the Philippines. (Nike eventually offshored the 7% of its production done in New England.)

Through the 1980s and ’90s, underage workers toiled in its plants in Indonesia. At factories in China, workers claimed they were coerced into putting in excessive overtime to meet Nike’s demanding production schedule. And in 1997, 23-year-old Nguyen Thi Thu Phuong, a worker in Nike’s factory in Bien Hoa, Vietnam, died after a sewing machine broke down and sprayed her body with metal parts.

Nike claimed it bore no responsibility. The shoe company, which was by then one of the world’s largest manufacturers, was no longer in the manufacturing business, according to Nike. It was in the marketing business.

“We don’t make shoes,” the company said in a statement.

The goal, as Nike grew, became to spend as little as possible on manufacturing so that more money could be pumped into the company’s advertising and marketing operations. By 1982, Nike’s annual advertising budget had climbed to $20 million; eight years later, it had soared to more than $150 million.

It proved to be a winning formula. By the time Jordan’s first Nike commercial aired in 1985, the company’s annual revenues had climbed to nearly $950 million. Five years later, it had hit $2.2 billion in sales each year. By 1993 that figure had climbed to nearly $4 billion. At the height of the Jordan era, when one out of every three pairs of shoes sold in the US were Nikes, profits grew nearly 1,000%.

In an interview, Rick Bakas, a former apparel designer at Nike, described what he saw as Knight’s obsession with Nike’s image and his steadfast belief in the power of marketing to displace reality — being No. 1 and seeming virtuous mattered more than being No. 2 and being virtuous.

Drew Angerer/Getty Images; Samantha Lee/Business Insider

Bakas worked on Nike’s apparel team in the late ’90s, when stories about sweatshops it was using emerged. The company handled the stories about its use of sweatshops “as a PR problem,” he told me. “Nike’s public-relations team had two jobs when it came to the sweatshop labor scandal: One was to create a response that would work on the media, and the other was to create a response that would work on Nike employees.”

According to Bakas, executives told their American employees, particularly those working on apparel manufactured in overseas sweatshops, to regard workers in those factories as fortunate to have a job with Nike. The company wasn’t exploiting them — it was boosting the economy in their struggling nation.

“It’s a culture of arrogance, and ultimately it is very cult-like,” Bakas said. “Just like with Apple and Steve Jobs, you end up with Phil Knight as this cult leader who people want to associate with, even though he’s a prick, because he had this amazing idea that spawned an amazing company and brand.” Whenever labor groups, human-rights organizations, or governments called on Nike to reform its labor practices, the company resisted, treating these as image problems rather than supply-chain problems. (A spokesperson for the company told Business Insider that “Nike remains dedicated to ethical and responsible manufacturing and we are deeply committed to ensuring the people who make our product are respected and valued.”)

After years of scrutiny from the press, Nike appointed a corporate- and social-responsibility manager, who in May 2001 claimed that the company was “just a bunch of shoe geeks who expanded so much without thinking of being socially responsible that we went from being a very big sexy brand name to suddenly becoming the poster boy for everything bad in manufacturing.”

In April 2001, Nike CEO Phil Knight and his vice president, Tom Clarke, called distance-running legend Alberto Salazar. Knight and Clarke, both former distance runners, believed Salazar, who had coached Nike athletes and worked as a sports-marketing consultant for the company, could restore glory to American running. The three developed a vision: a training program funded by Nike, built around experimental training techniques and cutting-edge performance-tracking technology — led by Salazar, if he wanted the job. He accepted without reservation.

As a young man, Salazar had broken the American indoor 5,000-meter record, and between 1980 and 1982 dominated the New York City Marathon with three consecutive victories. His narrow win over Dick Beardsley in the 1982 Boston Marathon, known as “the duel in the sun,” has been called the most thrilling finish in the history of the event. But an asthma diagnosis would slow Salazar, leading him to try experimental, often unproven training techniques. Nothing worked. He came in 15th in the marathon at the 1984 Olympics, his last significant result.

By the time Knight and Clarke recruited Salazar to run their program, dubbed the Oregon Project, his passion for sports science had only deepened. And with Nike’s considerable resources, Salazar’s methods grew increasingly experimental. It seemed that no idea was too wild, no approach too unconventional. The goal was simple: Give Salazar everything he needed to find an athlete who could do for running what Lance Armstrong had done for cycling, which went from niche to mainstream in the US after the Texan began dominating the Tour de France in 1999.

The project began almost like a reality-TV show. Salazar recruited a handful of elite runners and housed them in a special five-bedroom house in northwest Portland, where hermetically sealed rooms and a special filtration system simulated the experience of living at a high altitude. Salazar and his team used advanced software to spot inefficiencies in their form, a controversial Russian algorithm to determine the intensity of their training regimen, and an enormous piece of workout equipment called Nemes, which supposedly stimulated electrical activity between the brain and certain targeted muscles, thereby boosting muscle power.

Adam Goucher, who joined the Oregon Project with his wife, Kara, in 2004, said Salazar’s philosophy was to “spare no expense to get his hands on the latest, newest thing that could help Oregon Project runners go faster.” The coach carried “some kind of laser” around with him, Goucher recalled, and said it supposedly sped up the healing process.

Goucher remembered thinking: Who else but Nike could spend that kind of money on unproven equipment that might only provide benefits on par with the placebo effect?

The scientific basis for some of Salazar’s innovations, including the house, appeared sound. But his approach could be improvisational and impulsive. Once, an Oregon Project runner, mystified by his sluggish condition, discovered that the oxygen level in the team house’s recreation room had been set to simulate an altitude much higher than usual — a staggering 14,000 feet.

One morning in 2003, a pair of 17-year-old runners, Stuart Eagon and Galen Rupp, stood outside their hotel room in Raleigh, North Carolina, preparing for the national 2-mile high-school championships. Salazar was advising both students, who trained with him in their off-seasons.

When Salazar showed up for a morning run, he asked Rupp, “Have you taken your prednisone yet this morning?”

Rupp stopped warming up and returned to the hotel room, presumably to take the drug. He returned 10 minutes later without saying a word about it, Eagon told me.

The episode struck Eagon. His grandmother had taken prednisone, so he knew its purpose: to block pain and enhance oxygen consumption. The idea of a healthy 17-year-old taking the drug — a banned performance-enhancing substance under rules laid out by the World Anti-Doping Authority — surprised him.

Doug Pensinger/Getty Images; Samantha Lee/Business Insider

Salazar, a family friend of the Eagons, had first taken an interest in their son two years earlier at the cross-country regional junior Olympic meet, where the 15-year-old had competed in the 2-mile race. If he wanted to improve, Salazar told his father, he needed to bulk up. Indeed, after committing himself to weight training, Eagon became a regional contender in his age group. “Alberto was always very perceptive in that way,” Eagon said.

While Eagon benefited from training with Salazar, it was Rupp who became the Oregon Project’s prized recruit. In Rupp, Salazar saw his chance to correct earlier mistakes: Rather than rushing him into the program, he allowed him first to develop in high school and college before turning professional with the Nike Oregon Project in 2009. According to Eagon, part of Rupp’s development seemed to involve taking prednisone, a banned substance.

Eagon tried to forget the episode in North Carolina, but it haunted him. He’d never been offered performance-enhancing drugs, but had suffered from depression because of overtraining. He couldn’t imagine how much worse it might be for runners taking illicit substances. Yet for a long time it was easier to pretend the incident never happened than it was to confront Rupp.

In 2005, Eagon’s conscience finally overwhelmed him. Rupp had by then broken the junior US 3,000-meter and 10,000-meter records, and was primed to be “America’s next big runner,” according to Salazar. But Eagon worried about the cost he might be paying to achieve that.

While the two were at a race in France that year, he asked him point-blank: Was he still taking prednisone? At that point Rupp denied ever taking it, “which made it seem as though he had been told not to ever share that,” Eagon said. The two soon grew apart. “It felt like our friendship disappeared, and not only was it strange, it was really sad.” A representative for Rupp did not respond to requests for comment, while Nike said that it “does not condone the use of banned substances in any manner.”

Eagon wasn’t the only one who found Rupp’s performances suspicious. Adam Goucher had run against Rupp often enough to have a sense of both his raw talent and his limitations.

“Alberto thought Galen Rupp was this messiah of distance running and was so obsessed with his form that he couldn’t see the reality which was that he wasn’t that talented,” Goucher said. “And after not winning at all he suddenly starts winning all these races, which to me suggests that Alberto decided doping was the answer to the problems that were going to arise if he didn’t get Galen performing like he’d promised.”

As Rupp’s friendship with Eagon crumbled, his bond with Salazar deepened, so much so that when Salazar suffered a serious heart attack in June 2007, he had just one request after waking up in the hospital with Phil Knight at his side: “Take care of Galen,” he said, without mentioning a word about his two sons or his daughter, according to his autobiography.

During Salazar’s recovery, his doctors prescribed a course of statins, which help reduce cholesterol levels. But the statins also lowered his testosterone levels, a common side effect. He received testosterone-replacement therapy, even though it can be dangerous for people with heart conditions. Eventually, his testosterone levels normalized. Yet he continued filling prescriptions for his testosterone cream.

Some former Oregon Project employees believed that a portion of that testosterone went to some of Salazar’s athletes. Overtraining can lower the body’s levels of the hormone, which helps build muscle mass and aid in recovery. Since Salazar’s regimen inevitably led to overtraining, testosterone therapy might have effectively allowed his athletes to push past their limits without suffering the drawbacks.

When Salazar needed supplements or medications for his athletes, he turned to Jeffrey Stuart Brown, a board-certified endocrinologist in Houston. It was simple: Oregon Project athletes who needed a boost were flown to Texas for IV drops, experimental supplements, or medications used to treat thyroid disorders, which Salazar believed would give runners an edge, according to the United States Anti-Doping Agency’s (USADA) decision on the Salazar case.

If that was the case, it worked beautifully. In 2012, after three years competing professionally for Nike’s Oregon Project, Rupp won a silver medal in the men’s 10,000 at the London Olympics, the sort of major American victory Clarke craved. Gold, meanwhile, went to his new Oregon Project teammate Mo Farah, who was lured from Adidas in 2011 by the prospect of working with Salazar. Brown did not respond to requests for comment sent to his personal email address, while Nike responded that there was “no finding that performance enhancing drugs have ever been used on Oregon Project athletes.”

Andrew Weber/Getty Images; Samantha Lee/Business Insider

Farah also won gold in the 5,000 at the London Olympics, which was a tremendous marketing coup for Nike: In Rupp it had a homegrown track superstar, and in Farah it had the kind of athlete whose excellence seemed to transcend the boundaries of his niche sport. His two gold medals gave Nike the tools to sidestep Olympic sponsorship rules, which dictated that only Adidas could mention the games in shoe and apparel advertisements since it had paid tens of millions of dollars for the exclusive rights. In the wake of Farah’s win, Nike plastered London streets with ads showing a pair of muscular legs with the words “Twice the Guts, Double the Glory.” (Nike did not respond to questions regarding this incident.)

Soon after Farah’s triumph, he and his coach received a call from a pair of investigative journalists at the BBC, working in partnership with ProPublica. Danny Mackey, a former scientist at Nike, had tipped them off to the Oregon Project and Salazar’s experimental methods. In late 2014, the BBC sent a film crew to Portland to interview several former Oregon Project employees.

Among those they sought to interview was Stuart Eagon, who by then had left distance running behind to become a documentary filmmaker. For days before the interview, he agonized over whether to go on the record about the prednisone incident with Galen Rupp. In the end, he felt he had to tell the truth. “I just felt that someone coming into this program so young should have all the information necessary to know what they were getting into,” he said.

For the rest of her high-school career, Cain trained under Salazar from afar, breaking one record after another. After graduating in 2014, she became the youngest member of the Oregon Project. Several days each week, Mary trained at Nike’s track in Portland, amid hundreds of acres of pine trees and gleaming office buildings.

The Oregon Project became a surrogate family for Cain. She viewed Salazar, a devout Catholic like the Cains, as a kind of father figure, calling him her “crazy uncle.” She even came to believe that Salazar had recruited her partly to replace Kara Goucher, one of Salazar’s star runners who had abruptly departed in 2011. After joining the Oregon Project in 2004, Goucher went on to win the silver in the 10,000-meter race at the 2007 World Championships.

But things changed after Goucher gave birth to a son in late 2010. Months later, Salazar offered her Cytomel, a prescription thyroid medication that he said would help her lose weight as she prepared for the 2011 Boston Marathon, according to the USADA v. Salazar decision. She was already on a similar medication, so she declined. In the end she would finish fifth in the 2011 Boston Marathon, just six months after giving birth. But it was not good enough for Salazar. “She needs to lose her baby weight if she wants to be fast again,” he told members of Goucher’s family who had come to watch her race. During training sessions, Salazar made inappropriate comments about how her breasts had grown larger after giving birth to her son, the Gouchers said.

“He would be at the side of the track calling out runners’ splits but wouldn’t call Kara’s out,” Adam Goucher told me. “And when she’d ask him why he’d say, ‘I’m sorry, I was staring at your boobs! They’re so big — I couldn’t take my eyes off them.'”

Nike did not respond to questions concerning Salazar’s comments about Goucher’s breasts, nor did it respond to questions about the use of Cytomel at the Oregon Project.

Goucher and her husband were also unnerved by the things they were seeing after Mo Farah joined the team in 2011.

“Things became very ‘win at all costs’ very quickly, and while we didn’t suspect doping at first, that changed after the Prefontaine meet in 2011,” Adam Goucher said. “We saw Mo looking like a completely different athlete. It just didn’t add up how fast he went and how easy it was for him to run that 10K.”

In March, Farah told British media that untruthful answers he gave to anti-doping investigators had been due to misremembering what injections he’d been given; he maintains that he has not taken performance-enhancing drugs.

One day Salazar told the Gouchers that he wanted to put Mo, Galen, and Kara on a new supplement that had helped “some British cyclist.” When Adam asked whether it was legal, Salazar appeared to get angry but did not answer the question, Goucher said. The breaking point, however, came at the 2011 World Championships, in Daegu, South Korea, where Salazar asked her to take a strange pill he claimed was a supplement. When Farah asked why they couldn’t just have an injection as usual, Goucher began to suspect that the substance was probably not legal.

Kevin Morris/Corbis via Getty Images; Samantha Lee/Business Insider

Tara Welling, who joined the Oregon Project in 2012 when she was 23, said that by the time Salazar sent her to see Jeffrey Brown, the doctor in Houston, she had learned not to question her coach, according to testimony given to USADA. The only woman on the team at the time, she found Salazar “intimidating” and felt she needed to “prove something every workout.” When she didn’t live up to his high standards, she immediately knew it. It was “kind of scary,” she said.

After a successful injury-free college-running career, she tore her Achilles tendon in 2013 and in late 2014 suffered a stress fracture of her hip so severe she required crutches to move around. Unless she was immobilized by an injury, she said, Salazar would tell her to “just run through it.” His strenuous workouts left no time to recover, she felt.

When Mary Cain moved to Oregon to train with Salazar, she too began seeing her body fall apart. Like other women running for Salazar, she faced constant pressure to lose weight, despite the fact that her fitness level and results indicated she was already in ideal physical condition. Salazar’s obsession with Cain’s weight wore her down: To shame her, he would weigh her in front of both teammates and competitors.

When Cain did lose weight, her body rebelled. She didn’t have her period for three years, which, because of her young age, increased the risk of lifelong problems such as osteoporosis. To please Salazar, she subjected herself to punishing dietary restrictions and would sometimes try to force herself to throw up. She also began cutting herself. When she described this behavior to an Oregon Project employee she believed was a sports psychologist — in reality the Oregon Project at that time did not have a licensed sports psychologist on staff — he told her to toughen up.

Nike did not respond to specific questions about Cain’s allegations of abuse against Salazar, but instead said that it had “identified areas where we can do better in supporting female athletes.” These include “increasing women coaches in sports” and “investing in scientific research to understand the impact of elite athlete training of girls and women.”

After suffering a breakdown in 2015, Cain returned home and took some time away from the professional running circuit. She transferred to Fordham, where she earned a degree in business administration and took premed classes. Friends and colleagues from the running world reached out constantly to ask why she’d retired without at least making an announcement.

“I was like, uh, because I didn’t,” she said. When people asked why she left the Oregon Project, she said it was a “personal decision.”

For a time, Cain believed this, right up until last year, when the Court for Arbitration in Sport sided with the US Anti-Doping Agency over its decision to suspend Salazar for four years, which it backed up with a 140-page report.

After reading it, she realized what Salazar had done to her.

In December 2012, not long after Cain had committed to training under Salazar, Steve Magness sent an email to a USADA tip account: “Look into the Nike Oregon Project athletes.”

Magness had been an assistant coach at the Oregon Project from January 2011 to May 2012. In his short time there, he’d seen a lot of things that concerned him, and he worried how much more out of control things might get.

“I’m strongly suspicious of using testosterone cream as I saw it labeled in test results for Galen Rupp,” Magness wrote in his email. “Their head coach has a prescription himself for testosterone cream.”

USADA CEO Travis Tygart, who led an investigation into Lance Armstrong and Tailwind Sports, the tiny company behind his US Postal Service cycling team, knew a powerful corporation like Nike would be formidable. But it would also offer Tygart a chance, he thought, to do something he’d failed to do in the Armstrong case: prove a major sponsor’s complicity in systematic doping.

“While we never had any direct evidence of it [in the Armstrong case], you always worry and wonder about the sponsors,” Tygart told me. “Because there’s a lot of money in those who win, and for those whose sole existence is to make money you want to ensure that they’re not putting athletes in a position to go and break the rules in order to have a better return on their investment.”

Nike’s return on its investment in Salazar’s Oregon Project was clear. During the fiscal quarter in which Rupp and Farah won medals at the London Olympics, Nike’s revenues soared 10% from the previous year, to a record $6.7 billion.

In 2013 Tygart found his next whistleblowers: Kara and Adam Goucher. They had already spoken to the FBI about what they’d seen going in at the Oregon Project, but Kara was reluctant to speak with anyone else about it. What changed her mind was seeing Tygart on a television news program. “It was right after Lance Armstrong finally got taken down, and we were in Colorado Springs watching Travis Tygart on CNN,” Adam said. “Kara was like: ‘If we can talk to that guy, I’ll do it.'”

Kevin Morris/Corbis via Getty Images; Samantha Lee/Business Insider

One of the things they told Tygart was something he’d already been hearing from other whistleblowers: that Brown, the doctor in Houston, was a key figure in Salazar’s doping enterprise. Another source who told this to Tygart was running coach Danny Mackey, who was told by a coworker that he should visit Brown in Houston to receive performance-enhancing testosterone therapy while working at Nike’s sports-research lab in 2008. He told USADA investigators that the suggestion concerned him as a competitive athlete, so he asked for more detail and was told, according to the report, “This is what Alberto Salazar’s athletes do, and they haven’t gotten caught.” Salazar did not respond to requests for comment.

Years later, in 2015, Mackey filed a police report alleging that Nike executive John Capriotti had threatened him at a track meet in Eugene, Oregon, where he allegedly shouted: “You know what you f—— did. I’m going to f—— kill you.” Nike, where Capriotti is still employed, did not respond to requests for comment on the alleged incident.

Capriotti’s role at Nike was theoretically to keep Salazar in line, according to Adam Goucher. But whenever he or Kara complained to Capriotti about their coach’s behavior, he would tell them, “Well, what can I do? He has a direct line to Phil Knight. Alberto is going to do whatever he wants, and I can’t stop him.” Phil Knight did not respond to requests for comment, and Nike did not respond to requests for comment on his behalf.

When I asked whether Goucher believed Capriotti had indeed threatened Mackey, he told me he was certain that he had; when I asked whether he thought Capriotti had gotten in trouble for it, he said he felt equally sure that he hadn’t because “that would only happen if the people above Capriotti at Nike had a functioning moral compass.”

Nike, meanwhile, hired lawyers to represent anyone even remotely connected to the Oregon Project, which may have prevented more people from coming forward. “Nike paid for lawyers for the athletes, for the doctor, for the coach, for the other witnesses, for the pharmacy,” Tygart told me. “They essentially drew up the drawbridge, lit the moat on fire, put sharpshooters on the towers, and signaled that they were going to do pretty much everything they could do to ensure that visitors didn’t get inside the Nike castle to see what was going on in there and what the truth was.”

In the meantime, more people were getting fed up with life inside the walls of that castle.

On March 5, 2018, the results of a damning survey landed on Parker’s desk, a thick packet filled with documentary evidence and claims of systemic, company-wide sexual harassment and gender discrimination. It had been conducted by a handful of women working out of the Beaverton headquarters, where there was a growing sense that women felt like second-class citizens. They had conducted an informal survey to gather evidence of the individual and collective harm they believed women had endured at every level of Nike’s corporate hierarchy. They gathered allegations of inappropriate sexual and romantic advances, gender-based wage disparity, and, relative to male peers within the company, fewer opportunities for advancement and promotion.

Because some female employees who were alleging harassment and discrimination had already been talking to the media, Parker had little choice but to cull members of Nike’s senior leadership, including his likely successor, Trevor Edwards. In total, about a dozen senior executives would leave the company amid the fallout from the survey. (Edwards, through his attorney, did not respond to a request for comment. Nike, where Parker is still employed, declined to comment on his behalf.)

But that wasn’t all. In August 2018, former longtime Nike employees Kelly Cahill and Sara Johnston filed a lawsuit against the company, where each woman had for years felt that their attempts to climb the corporate ladder had been unfairly thwarted. Nike’s corporate hierarchy, they claimed, was “an unclimbable pyramid” for women, who faced a culture of sexual harassment and gender bias.

Cahill, for example, alleged that she had been paid $20,000 less than a male colleague on her team, and was passed over for promotion despite her significant experience and expertise. She further alleged that, when she left Nike, she was replaced by a man who was paid a higher salary than she’d been earning. Johnston claimed she had received inappropriate messages and nude photos from a male coworker after a company party in 2015. “At Nike,” they alleged, “the numbers tell a story of a company where women are devalued and demeaned.”

Ultimately, Cahill and Johnston sought class-action status, opening the door for more than 500 additional class members. It would make the matter far more costly and far more embarrassing for Nike, as there would presumably be more playing out in public rather than a more private resolution. The litigation is ongoing.

Nike did not respond to questions about the lawsuit. But in response to questions about gender discrimination and sexual harassment within the company, the company said it “opposes discrimination of any type and has a long-standing commitment to diversity and inclusion,” and will “accelerate our efforts to expand representation of women and under-represented groups.”

At the same time, Nike lawyers must grapple with another, more curious case. On August 31, 2018, three Nike shareholders filed a lawsuit against Phil Knight, Mark Parker, and Trevor Edwards. They alleged that these former top Nike executives had “facilitated and knowingly ignored the hostile work environment that has now harmed, and threatens to further tarnish and impair, the company’s financial position.” It represents a novel approach for activist investors, who typically go after board members on the basis of unsound investments, mergers, or acquisitions. Gustavo Bruckner, an attorney representing one of the investors, said that in times like these, when so much bad behavior is rewarded rather than punished, investors must be willing to “stand in the front lines policing corporate wrongdoing.” (Nike did not respond to requests for comment on the lawsuit.)

But there was still more wrongdoing. And not all of it was especially upsetting to Nike’s investors.

In 2007, after decades of searching for cheaper labor, Nike at last found just that in a manufacturing partner: The Qingdao Taekwong shoe factory, in China’s Shangdong Province. At the time, it produced more than 7 million pairs of Nike shoes each year. Its workers do not strike, and they do not complain about their wages — perhaps because many of them are Uighurs who have been relocated from Xinjiang Province.

For these ethnic Muslim minority workers, working in the factory is part of a reeducation designed to make them loyal to China’s central government, according to a report by the Australian Strategic Policy Institute. There are watchtowers and barbed-wire fences to keep them from leaving the factory. When they are not working they endure “patriotic education.” Another factory, in Anhui, China, operated by Haoyuanpeng Clothing Manufacturing, uses similarly exploitative Uighurs labor to produce clothing for Nike and claimed on its website to supply Adidas and Puma as well. At both factories, conditions “strongly suggest forced labor,” according to the report.

This is all very much at odds with the image Nike had sought to promote in the aftermath of its labor controversies in the ’90s. Since then, it has portrayed itself as a global manufacturing leader that submits voluntarily to outside audits. But it may have simply wrested control of the auditing from any group that might find fault with its labor practices.

Mike Pont/WireImage/Getty Images; Samantha Lee/Business Insider

This image-management campaign began in early 1997, when Knight responded to calls for independent audits of Nike factories by hiring a firm called GoodWorks International, owned by Andrew Young, a former mayor of Atlanta and US ambassador to the United Nations. When Young issued his report on Nike’s use of overseas labor, Knight was so pleased with his conclusions that he took out full-page newspaper advertisements highlighting them. “It is my sincere belief that Nike is doing a good job,” one ad in The New York Times read. “But Nike can and should do better.”

Young had recommended that third-party monitoring of Nike’s overseas factories should not be left to global labor and human-rights organizations. The benefits of this approach for Nike were evident: Young, for example, had relied entirely on Nike interpreters during his two weeks of interviews with workers making Nike shoes at factories in Asia.

Confidence in Nike’s ability to monitor its own overseas factories was further undermined in November of 1997, when a disgruntled employee leaked excerpts from a series of formal audits Nike had commissioned Ernst & Young to prepare. These audits, which the accounting firm had been tasked with creating in 1994, were far less-forgiving than the Young report. It found, for example, that workers at the factory where Nguyen Ti Tu Phuong died making Nike shoes did not all have sufficient safety equipment or training. Some were forced to work more hours than allowed by law, making them more likely to become injured or killed on the job. But instead of acting on information in that report, which outlined exactly which items needed to be addressed to ensure the safety of workers at its factories in Asia, Nike instead commissioned the Young report and promoted the rosier picture it painted.

In the years to come, Knight fought hard to ensure that any monitoring of Nike’s overseas factories be carried out by the Fair Labor Association, a relatively toothless organization that had executives from a number of apparel companies sitting on its board. He won that battle, and the result, irrespective of Nike’s intent or knowledge, was that it took years for anyone to learn that Nike relied on forced labor to produce its shoes and apparel. Consequently, it took that much longer for the world to recognize the holocaust that has been carried out against the Uighur people in Xinjiang.

Nike said it does not “directly” source products from Xinjiang and “does not have relationships with the Haoyuanpeng Clothing Manufacturing, Qingdao Jifa Group, or Esquel facilities” there. The company also said it “remains dedicated to ethical and responsible manufacturing” and is conducting “ongoing diligence with our suppliers in China to identify and assess potential risks related to employment of people from” the Xinjiang Uighur Autonomous Region.

On September 30, 2019, Salazar received a four-year doping suspension. The next day, Mark Parker sent Nike employees an email that some found oddly defensive.

“As for Alberto, it’s clearly a difficult time for him, his family and his athletes,” Parker wrote. “We will continue to support him in his appeal as a four-year suspension for someone who acted in good faith is wrong.”

But Salazar is up against quite a lot in his appeal: Emails contained in the decision reached by antidoping authorities showed that Parker had been briefed on several occasions regarding medical experiments conducted by Salazar. One of these experiments, conducted at Nike’s Beaverton headquarters, involved testing the effects of AndroGel, a topical testosterone product. Two squirts of the gel, Brown told Parker in an email, produced only a slight rise in an athlete’s hormone levels, nothing that would trigger concern among antidoping authorities. Next, he wrote, they would repeat the experiment using three pumps of the performance-enhancing testosterone gel. In an email, Parker told Salazar it “will be interesting to determine the minimal amount of topical male hormone required to create a positive test.”

Three weeks after the news about Salazar’s ban, Nike announced Parker would be stepping down from his role as CEO; he remains employed as the company’s executive chairman. Nike did not respond to requests for comment from Parker.

Adam Goucher doesn’t think Parker’s change in status will change much with regard to Nike’s unwavering support for Salazar. “I don’t think it has anything to do with who the CEO is,” Goucher told me. “I think it’s Phil. This all goes directly to Phil Knight, and I think he will spend whatever it takes to try and save Alberto. Personally, I hope it ends up worse for him. He should have got a lifetime ban. The arbitrators were very soft on him. Justice seems to be something that’s a bit hard to find anymore.”

Phil Knight did not respond to requests for comment and Nike did not comment on his behalf.

“There’s this rebellious ‘we do things our own way’ thing that’s baked into the DNA of the company, and it seems like years and years of making up their own rule book has finally caught up with them in these changing times,” Bakas said. “It’s a culture of arrogance.”

One symptom of this culture, Bakas said, was that tendency to treat every problem as a matter of public relations. In the late ’90s, this meant creating a PR narrative to counter unfavorable media coverage of the overseas sweatshops it used, while simultaneously creating a response tailored specifically to work on Nike’s own employees. “The PR narrative that they drilled into those of us on the apparel team was basically that these people living in third-world countries were lucky to have a job at a Nike factory,” Bakas said, “because they were getting paid so much more than the national average, and that we weren’t exploiting them but helping their economy.”

Economists who have studied this phenomenon — which some have called “the Nike effect” — say it comes with a strong caveat. In countries such as Indonesia, they have found, workers at Nike factories tend to receive pay raises only in response to backlash generated by protests organized by human-rights groups and labor organizations. If it does, in the end, help the country’s economy, these economists found that it does so at the expense of its workers, who often face extraordinary risks working in unsafe conditions. For its part, Nike said the company is “committed to conducting our business ethically and sustainably, which includes advancing respect for human rights in our supply chain.”

In December, the company’s spell over its employees seemed to be losing its power. For the first time in its history, Nike employees protested on the grounds of the Beaverton campus after a building named for Alberto Salazar was reopened after renovations. Mary Cain, who had recently shared her story in an op-ed for The New York Times, thanked the protesters for supporting her.

In the aftermath of the Cain story, the US became hostile territory for what was seen as Nike’s “woke“ posturing. The company took a more global approach. In December, it announced a full-body swimsuit, tunic, and leggings, designed for Muslim women athletes. The following month, Nike aired its first ad, which was tailor made for Chinese New Year, even as the country’s ethnic minority Muslims toiled in the company’s factories under conditions that have been described as forced labor.

Nike hasn’t said much of anything about this controversy except that it planned to review its supply chain in China. What it finds when it conducts the review may depend on what it goes looking for, and whether it’s willing to sacrifice everything to stand for something.

CREDITS

Story

Joshua Hunt is an American journalist based in Brooklyn and Tokyo. His writing has appeared in The New Yorker, The California Sunday Magazine, The Atavist, and elsewhere. His first book, “University of Nike: How Corporate Cash Bought American Higher Education,” was published in October 2018.

Siddhartha Mahanta is a features editor at Business Insider.

Graphics

Samantha Lee is the senior graphics editor for Business Insider.

Hollis Johnson is the senior photo editor at Business Insider.

Skye Gould is the design director for Business Insider.

Research

Claire Groden is a JD candidate at the NYU School of Law.

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from Job Search Tips https://jobsearchtips.net/inside-nike-sources-share-claims-of-sexism-cheating-abuse-at-the-worlds-wokest-brand/

[viratsharma1100-blog]

Canada Recruitment Agency-Why am I not getting hired?

Job searches can be frustrating. We know because we’ve conducted them ourselves many times before. And one question that every job seeker has asked themselves at one point is, “Why am I not getting hired?”

It’s terribly unnerving when  Canada Recruitment Agency you don’t know why employers are passing you over for jobs, and they aren’t exactly forthcoming with their reasons…until now.

Let’s take a look at some common reasons you’re not getting hired.

1. Common Reasons People Don’t Get Hired

Not differentiating themselves from other candidates or showcasing their specific strengths for the particular position.

Not showing interest or enthusiasm for the role.

Not preparing for the interview–it’s obvious to employers.

Not demonstrating that they’ve researched the employer before an interview.

Not asking questions during the interview, or asking questions that are way too easy or obviously answered by research. Employers want more specific questions that show you’re thinking deeply about the role.

2. Common Mistakes that Stop People from Even Getting an Interview

Peter Shankman, author, entrepreneur, speaker, and uber-networker, is telling job seekers exactly why they’re not getting hired.

The reasons are shocking in their simplicity: 50% of the folks that Shankman didn’t hire for a recent opening at his company were cut from the running because they made genuinely dumb mistakes.

Do yourself a big favor as a job seeker and read on to find out the four mistakes that kept these people from getting hired.

Out of 481 resumes received for an Assistant Editor position…

33 didn’t follow instructions: “33 resumes were immediately disqualified for not being able to follow the simple instruction of where to send it.”

184 didn’t include a cover letter: “184 resumes simply had a resume attached with absolutely no cover letter, no subject line, no information insofar as the position you were applying for, and no reason for us to even bother opening the resume.”

52 didn’t proofread: “52 resumes either had one or more spelling or grammar errors or were addressed to the wrong person, or were applying for jobs at different companies entirely.”

28 didn’t have a professional email address: “28 resumes were eliminated due to their email addresses. Now while you think this is harsh, hear me out. I’ve never met you before. Do you really want the first thing I know about you to be that your email address is [email protected]?

So let’s do the math. from 481 resumes received, 297 of them were immediately rejected because of silly mistakes that could have very easily been avoided. That’s 62%!

If you’re a responsible job seeker who takes the time to not make mistakes, this should make you feel more confident. If not, read on for the key lessons and actions job seekers need to take to avoid not getting hired.

Job seekers, take these actions when applying to the next job listing:

Follow instructions and send your resume (and a cover letter!) to the correct place (whether that is an email address, online application system, or both).

Always write a cover letter (in the body of your email is fine), no matter how short, which describes what you’re applying to and why you’re qualified.

Check, re-check, and triple-check your cover letter and resume to ensure that you’ve eliminated grammatical and spelling errors. Also, check to make sure you are addressing your materials to the correct person at the correct company.

Sign up for a professional email address TODAY. Email addresses are free, so this should be the easiest step in your job search. Yahoo and Gmail offer free email addresses. Your name is a perfect choice–no one can accuse [email protected] of being unprofessional.

Prepare and research before an interview. Employers want to see that you have more than a cursory knowledge of their organization, and that you’ve done some deeper thinking about the role itself.

Here are 10 reasons why you may not be landing the position.

1. You're not being proactive.

It is safe to say that you are lounging around trusting that the ideal occupation will fall into your lap?  Canada Recruitment Agency Fruitful occupation searchers realize they should be proactively seeking after employments and leads, and effectively strategizing their pursuit of employment.

Do you have the vital abilities for your fantasy work? If not, take an online course to redesign your range of abilities. Is it true that you are very much associated in your field? In the event that the appropriate response is no, go to industry organizing gatherings or occasions.

Research demonstrates a relationship between's having a proactive identity and vocation achievement. Specialists have discovered that this proactivity- - the conviction that you have the ability to change your conditions - is decidedly connected with accomplishing pay and advancement targets just as expanded profession fulfillment.

At the end of the day, on the off chance that you trust you have the power and capacity to accomplish your profession objectives, you're unquestionably bound to succeed. On the off chance that you trust the world is scheming against you and you're feeble to take care of business, you're bound to remain right where you are presently - jobless.

2. Your absence of energy appears.

On the off chance that you end up applying for positions that don't energize you, don't be shocked if potential businesses sense this absence of enthusiasm. Managers realize that aptitudes can generally be instructed, however that enthusiasm is either there or it's most certainly not.

In case you're genuinely amped up for an occupation, make certain to pass on this in your introductory letter and meeting. Clarify your explanations behind needing the position, and offer thoughts you'll be eager to investigate should you land the position.

3. You don't offer yourself.

On the off chance that there's ever an opportunity to offer yourself, it's the point at which you're work chasing. On the off chance that you don't plainly pass on your aptitudes, information, and instruction, it's nobody's blame yet your own on the off chance that you don't land the position.

There's a barely recognizable difference between being presumptuous and certain, so ensure you're continually treating your certainty with lowliness. Sharing past achievements passes on pride in your work, while continuing forever about how instructed you are shouts "pompous."

4. Your resume or CV doesn't feature your incentive to the organization.

Your resume is what will get your foot in the entryway. In the event that it isn't precisely exhibiting your appropriateness for the activity, you'll never find the opportunity to awe in a meeting. Some prescribed procedures for making an incredible resume include:

5. You haven't looked into the activity or organization.

Bosses need to realize you set aside the effort to become familiar with somewhat about the organization. Not knowing the name of the CEO or where head office is could pass on that you're unbiased or even lethargic. Take some time before the meeting to inquire about the organization on the web. Bosses don't anticipate that you should know all the organization's inward activities, yet you ought to have a decent handle of publically accessible data.

Author Name:- Virat Sharma

Address:- 104 Esplanade ave 120,  Pacifica, CA

Mobile No:- [phone]

Web site: https://www.alliancerecruitmentagency.com/

Conclusion:Have you made the choice that you are no longer happy a person currently occupation? Are you looking to have a few things, but the leading priority is finding a position that actually want enjoy? Are you needing for a task that a lot flexible, is higher paid, or is inside a different area? Awesome! This article will let you know that recruitment agencies can a person decide around right ( blank ) to ensure which you get on the to identifying the career a person can really will need.So yes, agencies and headhunters gets in route if a person in career transition. having said that they work well for using a solid track record in the area they for you to pursue. And also you can improve your chances of experiencing a fruitful relationship with an agency or headhunter. Firstly recognise that operate in niche markets; in the private sector firms are 'boutique' not mall. So pick the lenders that you approach judiciously. Secondly, find out what information would like from both you and how they like it made available. Make sure that your CV has the right key words and comes complete full of the items you have achieved. Thirdly, be your clients. when they have something they need you for, they comes back you. I had a company come for you to me not too long. I had heard nothing from them for over 2 months or even years!A wise thing look at would be to go and make contact with a Recruitment Agency In Canada. You don't need spend for anything, you need not really have to commit or pass over any personal details. Recruitment agencies tend for you to become small groups of employees, in order that will ability to cope with you on a personal degree of. They care regarding what you want and they try to help you get exactly the fact that.Balance existence is such a joy, just one great key from nature is regarding realistic. Balance is not static - it's about activation, adaptation and integration.Do investigation - When you have opted for the regarding agency you need, use their website, initially, to be sure them as well as. Read testimonials from past clients, and in their mission statement in order that they invest in high performance, reliability and good client service.Always be closing. Bear in mind that sales employers always want somebody that what is most commonly referred to as a "consultative selling" get closer to. More or less, the term refers to a sales style that aims to uncover the client's needs as against the infamous sales style portrayed associated with film Glengarry Glen Ross which most famously known for the mentality that, regardless with the the client wants or possibly best for them, close the opportunity. .One sure-fire method for seeking graduate jobs will be going the internet. Many companies in need of new employees also go online to offer. This translates to a large associated with job opportunities. You will find many recruitment websites providing an excellent job search community. Most of these recruitment sites also offer graduate internships.The five best to help keep customers coming back are: Be Reliable, be Credible, be Attractive, be Responsive and Empathetic. "Reliable care" keeps customers moving back.

Visit Here: Alliance Recruitment Agency

[digital-strategy]

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Executive Summary

Good behavior can spread in the same way that bad behavior does. The key to unleashing kindness in your organization is to create the conditions under which it will become contagious. Take Mercedes-Benz USA, which wanted to ensure it was showing compassion toward every customer interacting with the brand. The company encouraged its dealers and staffers to join a grassroots kindness “movement,” and it worked.

Hiroshi Watanabe/Getty Images

Scan the newspaper headlines, or switch on cable news for a few minutes, and it’s easy to conclude that we are living through harsh, mean, divisive times. But a recent column in the Washington Post reminded me of a truth that is even easier to overlook: Just as bad behavior tends to spread, so too does good behavior. Kindness, it turns out, is contagious. The column highlighted the work of Stanford psychologist Jamil Zaki, who documents what he calls “positive conformity.” In his research, “participants who believed others were more generous became more generous themselves.” This suggests that “kindness is contagious, and that it can cascade across people, taking on new forms along the way.”

Zaki’s insight is vital for improving society, but it applies to companies too. Almost every leader I know wants his or her colleagues to go above and beyond normal standards of service, to impress customers with their kindness. Many of these leaders also believe that achieving this goal is largely a matter of policies and procedures — kindness as a directive. Actually, the way to unleash kindness in your organization is to treat it like a contagion, and to create the conditions under which everybody catches it.

Consider one instructive case study. I recently immersed myself in the customer-service transformation of Mercedes-Benz USA, the sales-and-service arm of the German automaker. When Stephen Cannon became president and CEO of Mercedes-Benz USA, he recognized that success was about more than just his vehicles. It was about how much the people who sold and serviced the cars cared and how generously they behaved. “Every encounter with the brand,” he declared, “must be as extraordinary as the machine itself.” And almost every encounter with the brand, he understood, came down to a personal encounter with a human being in a dealership who could either act in ways that were memorable, or could act the rote way most people in most dealerships act.

Cannon also understood that if he wanted to influence the behavior of more than 23,000 employees at Mercedes dealerships, there was no rule book he could write to engineer a culture of connection and compassion. Instead, he had to convince dealers and their staffers to join a grassroots “movement” that treated kindness like a contagion.

“There is no scientific process, no algorithm, to inspire a salesperson or a service person to do something extraordinary,” Cannon told me. “The only way you get there is to educate people, excite them, incite them. Give them permission to rise to the occasion when the occasion to do something arises. This is not about following instructions. It’s about taking a leap of faith.”

Over the last few years, this leap of faith unleashed all sorts of everyday acts of kindness. There was one dealer who’d closed a sale and noticed from the documents that it was the customer’s birthday. So he ordered a cake, and when the customer came in to pick up the car, had a celebration. Then there was the customer who got a flat tire on the way to her son’s graduation. She pulled into a Mercedes dealership in a panic and explained the problem. Unfortunately, there were no replacement tires in stock for her model. The service manager ran to the showroom, jacked up a new car, removed one of its tires, and sent the mother on her way. “We have so many stories like this,” Cannon says. “They’re about people going out of their way because they care enough to do something special.”

There was another ingredient to the Mercedes-Benz contagion. It’s more natural for front-line employees to show kindness towards customers, it turns out, if they are motivated by genuine pride in what they do. Harry Hynekamp, a 15-year veteran of Mercedes-Benz USA, became the first-ever general manager for customer experience. As Hynekamp and his team traveled across the country, they discovered that “pride in the brand was not quite as strong as we thought, the level of engagement with the work not as deep as we thought.” What really shocked them is that nearly 70 percent of front-line employees had never driven one of the cars outside the dealership lot. They’d repaired them, ordered parts for them, but they’d never been behind the wheel on the open road.

How could people take genuine pride in the brand, Hynekamp wondered, if they’d never themselves experienced the thrill of driving a Mercedes-Benz vehicle? So he created a program through which all 23,000 dealership employees got to drive a new Mercedes-Benz for 48 hours. The company put close to 800 cars in the field, at a cost of millions of dollars. Employees often timed their turns behind the wheel to correspond with important events — picking up grandma on her 90th birthday, driving a daughter and her friends to a Sweet 16, bringing a newborn baby home from the hospital. The participants took photos, made videos, and in one case, even wrote a rap song, to chronicle their 48 hours.

“The reactions were out of this world,” Hynekamp told me. He created an internal website to collect and share the stories. “Sure, people got to know the cars very well. But the biggest piece was the pride piece.”

This bottom-up, peer-to-peer commitment to customers at Mercedes-Benz USA is a powerful case study in service transformation. It’s also a reminder for leaders in all sorts of field: You can’t order people to be kind, but you can spark a kindness contagion.

via Harvard Business Review

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[douchebagbrainwaves]

UNDERSTANDING THIS MAY HELP TO ANSWER AN IMPORTANT QUESTION: WHY EUROPE GREW SO POWERFUL

We've got it down to four words: Do what you love doesn't mean, do what you wanted. But ambition is human nature. What would someone who was the opposite of the damping that the fear/greed balance usually produces in markets. Work in long stretches. These simple rules cover a wide variety of cases. The quotation you point out as mistaken need not be the right plan for every company. If you want to encourage startups you should have access to the system from anywhere. Will a startup inevitably stop being a startup as it grows larger? There might not be anything from the 20th Century that can.

And if you want to work ten times as much.1 His rhythm in particular. There were a few things we would have been the personal qualities of early union organizers that made unions successful, but must have been hard for him, but it is still incredibly unlikely that you get instant feedback from changes: the number of officially sanctioned projects that manage to do all the company's errands as well as a cost of breaking up a project.2 That problem is irreducible; it should be. For potential acquirers, the most efficient plan would be to try it, and group themselves according to whatever shared interest they feel most strongly. Dropbox and Airbnb! The rule about doing what you love doesn't mean, do what will make you happiest over some longer period, like a nuclear chain reaction. People may still watch things they call TV shows, but they'll watch them mostly on computers. Developing new technology is a pain in the ass that you want to attract hackers to write software that will sell your hardware, you have to spend all your time working.3 The number of possible connections between developers grows exponentially with the size of the tree structure that every large organization is forced to adopt. Because they haven't tried to control it too much, partly because as money people they err on the side of solving problems by spending money, and making money consists mostly of errands.

I think the problem with formality. You'll probably be talking to several investors. But I don't think many people realize how fragile and tentative startups are in the US and the world, and in the process, is money from individual angel investors. If someone were creating an Internet-based TV company from scratch now, they might have some plan for shows aimed at specific regions, but it wasn't designed for fun, and you can manipulate it at will. The lower the rate, the cheaper people will do it. Cultivate a habit of frugality. If you have to do much more than a page long and describe in the most matter of fact language what you plan to start a company. When you switch to this new world is the way you do releases. All the best hackers I know are gradually switching to Macs. One thing I can predict is conflict between AOL and Microsoft.

This isn't the recipe for success in big companies is that they interact with the ideas. Otherwise as soon as some big company becomes aware of it, and they're thus able to excuse themselves by saying that my overall advice is not to make fundraising too complicated, but if it bothers them so much they do it. To talk about what? Amazingly, no one wants to do it—finding work you love. We constantly have to make it to profitability without raising any more money, but what happens when you quit and then discover that you don't have to know what your valuation is before they even talk to you about investing. There's another sense of not everyone can do work they love that's all too true, however. Actually it's structural. There will of course raise the specter of unemployment. They'll be fine. Walk down University Ave at the right time, and take day jobs as waiters to support themselves? That's what I thought the price should be.4 The point of the summary is to remind the investor who may have met many startups that we're getting better at predicting them.

The author is a self-fulfilling prophecy. For most of us learn as kids. I once worked for a medium-sized desktop software company might do one or two releases a year. Those few people work very hard, and technology magnifies the effect of the decisions they make. These guys are not the graphic designers and grandmas who were buying Macs at Apple's low point in the mid twentieth century servants practically disappeared in rich countries eat, or to get so little exercise. I'd say that yes, surprisingly often it can. So they introduce us to someone they think we ought to meet, or send faxes, or send commands by phone, or process credit cards, etc, just by going to the site where it's offered. But within three days we loved it, and then 3 once the company is small, and they offer leverage because they make money by inventing new technology.

In a business like theirs, being the best is enough. The mere fact that bootstrapped startups tend to be more jobs for Americans, because the advice I've given is essentially how to play hardball back. I wouldn't be surprised if there start to be more conservative for their kids than they would from in-house system administrators. Keep working on your own company, only for working as an employee of someone else's. How you live affects how long you work for.5 And that's who they should have, Microsoft would still have been a prudent choice. When people lose their own data in a disk crash, they can't get that mad, because they weren't really saying anything. Or rather, a large organization is a kind of proxy focus group; we could ask them which of two new features users wanted more, and they all basically said Cambridge followed by a long pause while they tried to think of them as rather passive. I set up in about four minutes. But here there is another layer that tends to obscure what trade really means.

The saddest windows close when other people die. And while most investors are influenced by how interested other investors are in you, there are some ideas where the proof that the experiment worked might consist of e. Be flexible.6 But if you get an email from a partner you should try to eliminate it if you can make it to ramen profitability before Demo Day. Knowing that test is coming makes us work a lot harder when they have options. As Fred Brooks pointed out in The Mythical Man-Month, adding people to a project tends to slow it down. You see that variation even within the US, because they don't know what they're doing, you'll be doing. Who else are you talking to? For millennia that was the right way to write the software than because we expected users to want to install a legitimate-looking talking head as the CEO. Can you pass the salt? So long as you were careful not to get sucked permanently into consulting, this could even have advantages. Since most powerful people operate on the manager's schedule.

Many have just graduated; a few are still in school. A company that needed to build a factory or hire 50 people obviously needed to raise a large round and risk losing the investors you already have if you can't raise the full amount. What investors would like to do, why it's a good idea, why did it lose last time? Often as I was walking to work I would think of some new feature, you catch sight of the shelf and think but I already have a lot of them in Silicon Valley than everywhere else too. No matter how thoroughly you've read it, and by American standards it's not bad. The most dangerous thing about investors is their indecisiveness. But it is a Web site. Web-based software assumes nothing about the client, and a flick of the whip that will bring one to heel will make another roar with indignation. They just can't do it quickly. A team that outplays its opponents but loses because of a bad decision by the referee could be called unlucky, but not being a noob at technology would, if you're not in fundraising mode or not.7 You have to be some baseline prosperity before you get a silicon valley, and so on.

Notes

All he's committed to is following the evidence wherever it leads.

That's a good way to fight. I believe will be weak: things Steve Jobs doesn't use. Most people let them mix pretty promiscuously. He wrote If a conversation in which internal limits are expressed.

There are a lot lobbying for harsh sentencing laws, they mean that's how both publishers and audiences treat it. How many times larger than the don't-be poets were mistaken to be, unchanging, but he refused because a she is very common for startups is that they were just getting kids to them.

Though they are so different from a 6/03 Nielsen study quoted on Google's site. A few startups get started in Mississippi. People tell the whole. Emmett Shear, and since you can send your business plan to have, however, and partly because users hate the idea that was the reason the dictionaries are wrong is that most people don't dislike him for a lot of the essence of something or the power that individual customers have over established companies can't compete on tailfins.

For most of the biggest divergences between the Daddy Model and reality is the case. Without distractions it's too late?

And what people actually paid. These false positive rate is 10%, moving to Monaco would only give you money for other reasons. It's not only the leaves who suffer. I've been told that Microsoft discourages employees from contributing to open-source projects now that VCs miss.

Yes, actually: dealing with the earlier stage startups, just as on a seed investor to do this are companies smart enough not to feel uncomfortable. 99, and how good they are in love with their companies till about a week for 4 years.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #time #silicon #world #number #way #rhythm #ideas #organization #plan #damping #head #limits #site #times #matter #indecisiveness #leaves #fun #process #lot #rate #minutes #conversation #balance #nature

[tattoosandporcelain-blog]

Coree Marx Songwriting was one of those things that was just in her veins.  She never knew how or why, but it was easily the most therapeutic thing to the woman.  There were times that she swore the lyrics just came to her as though they were some divine gift that she didn’t have to question and then there were other times when the words that would come from her were harsh and difficult to process as they were literally pieces of her heart being laid out against the paper.  Sometimes her song lyrics were stories of the people that would pass by her apartment building, things that she’d never actually known or seen happen, but she’d create the stories in her mind and put them to music to tell a story that seemed relatable.  Writing was like breathing for the woman.  She needed it.  She had to get the words out somehow and the only way she trusted herself to do it was through written word for if she opened her mouth, sometimes she wasn’t sure just what would come out of it.

Growing up in Memphis, Tennessee, she’d been afforded the opportunity to live a life that was not her own.  Her mother was a housekeeper for a well known family and in that, she was treated like one of them without the stress of the public eye that came along with it.  Just another Presley even though she was far from it.  There was never a time that she felt much different than the kids she was raised around and it was speculated early on that one day she’d be one of them through her close friendship with Barron.  It didn’t take long before the whispers became reality and she’d confess her feelings for Barron which were reciprocated and landed the two in a relationship that would be both the best and worst of times for the young blonde.   Barron has encouraged her writing every step of the way and when she made the statement that she might want to sing her own songs, he didn’t hesitate in his encouragement of the woman.  Even as she finds herself terrified of it all, he’s right there telling her what he knows the future to look like.

The two have been together and broken up time and time again, but Coree has always remained faithful to the man as she somehow just knows that they will end up together.  In the times that they are apart for whatever reason, that’s when she writes the most.  She leans on music when the relationship is in pieces and in that, she swears it keeps her from ever looking for anything else.  In their last breakup, she finally took the plunge and started pursuing a career, but what she didn’t know was that she’d have a case of stage freight the size of Russia that was nearly impossible.  Nearly being the operative word.  Thus far, she hasn’t cracked it.  Small open mic nights and things of the like are the only places that she’s found the ability to perform and even then she’s not performing at the level she knows she has to.  There’s no band, there’s no choreography.  Just her and a mic stand and her guitar and it’s the way she likes it.  But that’s not enough.

In her first six months on Live Young Records, she’s worked diligently at her first album, the executives wasting no time to get her in the studio and recording.  There, she comes alive.  It’s a small, intimate group of people where she feels completely comfortable.  There she’ll perform in a way that if she could do it in front of the masses, CEO Trevor Masters would have a gold mine on his hands, but the second she’s put in front of a crowd, she freezes. Not once. Not twice. Not three times.  Four times she’s been put in front of a crowd with more than a hundred people and every single time it has been met with an ‘I’m sorry’ barely spoken into the mic before she leaves the stage.  Executives have spoken to her without Trevor’s presence and warned her that if she doesn’t get her shit together, he’s gonna drop her from the label, record completed or not.  She doesn’t want to fail, but failing is all she knows thus far when it comes to being up there herself.  With several mainstream artists already singing her songs, she has a cash flow, but it’s not about that for the woman.  She doesn’t want to sell her emotions to others anymore, but getting them out on stage herself has yet to prove success.

Recently, Trevor stepped in and has taken it upon himself to guide this young woman through.  At first Coree was petrified of the man.  She wasn’t sure if this just meant she was at the end of the line or if he took an interest like this in all of his artists, but he was becoming a constant part of her life now, there day in and day out even when he was in California.  When he’s in New York, it’s all hands on deck, boots on the ground, busting ass.  When he’s away, he’s never actually away as facetime and skype keeps him constantly in the loop.  It’s given Coree a feeling of almost being comfortable with him, allowing her true self to come through.  Through all of it, a trust has been forming that even permits the two to tease one another from time to time, developing what is becoming less of a boss/employee relationship and more of a brother/sister bond.

‘Cor— Masters is gonna be in this afternoon for your rehearsal with him.  Flight lands at 7 and you’re expected at the venue for 9.  Rehearsal should go until about midnight and then the show is tomorrow night at 7.  We’ll need you here by 4 for hair and make up and sound check.’

The instructions were given to her as she laid against the sofa of the recording studio.  She’d nod her head before she was ultimately drifting off for a short nap with a boxer puppy against her side.  ‘Masters is going to get to see the great problem that is Coree Marx’ one of the executives whispered to the other just outside the door of the recording studio. ‘If only we could convince her that she’s in the studio during these live performances.  Girl is a gold mine.’  Coree wouldn’t hear any of what was being said outside of the door, but she’d wake up to puppy kisses from Gremlin an hour later as he let her know he needed to go out.  Walking out of the studio where she’d stolen herself a nap before rehearsal, she flashed a weak smile to one of the men outside of the door.  ‘Masters’ flight is on time.  We’re ready to head to the venue any time you are.’  

Coree gave up a nod of her head.  “Let me walk him and get him back to the kennel and then I’ll be good to go,” she promised, needing a half hour to complete all that she had detailed out for them, earning herself a nod.

A half hour later, she was back at the studio in jeans and a t-shirt, her hair pulled up in a ponytail, an oversized hoodie that was clearly her boyfriend’s over it all.  An hour past that, she was arriving to the destination where Trevor had set up the New York City event where she’d perform with him and alone, hoping to ease her to that next level, needing the studio style performance from the woman, though she already knew it wasn’t going to happen.  He’d get it tonight.  With the venue mostly empty where she knew she could be herself.  She’d show the promise, which was surely the only reason she was still on the label at all.  And then the next night, he’d see what some executives were referring to as ‘the ice princess’ or ‘Elsa’ though she didn’t know why they were calling her this.

As Trevor entered the facility, Coree was sitting on the edge of the stage, her feet hanging off as she eyed the seats in the venue, trying to figure out how many could fit within it, only left to wonder how many tickets Trevor had released and how many would remain vacant.  

Trevor Masters When Trevor was a young boy, he knew what it was like to be mortified of playing for a crowd. His mother, the one person in his life who could do no wrong and was his sun, stars and moon all bundled up into one auburn haired woman, was as devout a Catholic as they came. It was a routine that he had made his own once she passed. The Ten o'clock Sunday mass became his first stage. At the age of twelve, he let his voice show as a cantor during that mass. That first performance was a fiasco, purely a mess that would instill in him the courage for his future and drive home a sense of sympathy for those who's knees also shook in terror at the eyes of onlookers.

He stood at an oak podium, engraved with all sorts of Celtic Crosses and religious symbols. A microphone covered with a fuzzy black pop guard lingered and rubbed against chapped pink lips as a very stunned thirteen year old Trevor looked at a congregation of near one hundred people. Emerald eyes lingered on his mother who sat in the front pew, a smile curling her lips at the prospect of her son showing the community what he could do. Once the organ's hallowing chimes run out and the music reached his starting point, no words left his lips. Chattering of church goes filled the empty void as the organ once again looped around to give him another chance. He knew there was no time to hesitate but his knees buckled against one another and his hands were soaked in sweat, clutching the wooden sides.

That was when his mother's voice rang out alone, singing the words that he couldn't find the courage to say. Once his mom started, he found it as easy as breathing to join her in the hymn and let his magnified voice fill and echo throughout the holy hall. Soon the music ended, and he went back to his seat next to his mother, who pulled him close and kissed the crown of his head and whispered ever so quietly in his ear.

"Everyone needs a little push."

Every adviser in the company told him to drop Coree, almost daily at this point and every time he brushed them off or explained that you don't drop an investment because it seems to be failing. They saw raw numbers, statistics and costs while Trevor didn't care. He knew he was burning money hand over fist for his artists but he knew that like his mother, everyone needed a push.

Her studio session had reached his ears, he knew she wasn't some one-time ghost writer like so many people in the business ended up. She was just like him, afraid to show her emotions on her sleeve which in the music industry either got you famous, or infamous. There was no way her talent would only peak in the studio, she had more in her. A brutally honest uniqueness that resonated with anyone who heard her voice and he was going to harness that, not for profit but to prove he could.

He stepped out of the plane, wireless earbuds blasting her studio sessions again so that he could get accustom to the tones and trends of her voice. A chauffeur was waiting for him to drive him to the venue. Jet lag would be something he would deal with tonight, now was time to teach a rookie just what kind of work ethic she needed to make it.

On the drive to the venue, he reminisced on the past and what it was like to roam the wild west of the music industry as a teen and young adult without someone to mold him and ward off bad habits. It was embarrassing to him how bad his work ethic was at that time. Rehearsal was a foreign word and an early night of sleep was an even more foreign concept. As little work and as much play as he could was his method of operation until his mid twenties.

He stepped out of his car and hustled his ass into the back door, throwing off his large winter jacket and revealing loose fitting parachute pants and a t-shirt that hung off his frame. His hands adjusted a grey woolen beanie on his head as he stepped out onto stage, his red and white high top sneakers squeaking out against the buffed, black flooring of the stage. He made his way down the walkway and behind her.

"Move that, and that and that. We won't need those." He pointed to multiple sections of chairs on the wings of the main hall. "We only need about two hundred and fifty seats, sold two hundred tickets." Stage hands immediately went about stacking and storing the hundreds of extra chairs. A female stage worker ran up and handed him two flesh-colored ear pieces and battery packs before scurrying off.

Trevor placed a firm hand on her head and ruffled her hair, knowing just how much she hated it. "Ready to work kid? We are going to do each song twice okay?"

Coree Marx Coree didn’t hear Trevor’s arrival onto the stage as he entered from the back. Instead, she was trapped in her own mind, looking out at each of those seats, knowing that the following night they would be occupied with people.  People who would judge her.  People who would critique her every move.  People that would more than likely never actually hear much more from her than ‘I’m sorry’.  She felt her heart racing in her chest as she stared at the front row, center seat.  There.  That was the one person that would have the closest vantage point to her judgment.  That would be the one person that would be able to smell the fear on her.  That was the one person she needed to fool and yet she knew the only fool in that building would be her.

"Move that, and that and that. We won't need those.  We only need about two hundred and fifty seats, sold two hundred tickets."  His voice rang out with authority and suddenly she knew he was there, though it was up for debate as to just how long the man had been there behind her and she could only wonder if he could smell the fear on her as well.  She turned her head, catching a glimpse of the transaction between himself and a female stage hand who would give up two flesh-colored ear peices and battery packs to him before she was making her way out of the way, the stage vacated to just the two of them and a few band members still getting themselves situated.  As his hand came there to the top of her head, she’d lean out of the touch, hating when he’d do that just as he well knew by now.   "Ready to work kid? We are going to do each song twice okay?"

Drawing a breath, she’d offer up a nod of her head, drawing her long legs to the edge of the stage where she’d press her hand against it to lift herself to her full height of 5’10”.  She was awkwardly tall and didn’t much know what to do with her height half the time, finding it only gave her a greater distance to fall.  With her hands finding their way into the hoodie pockets of the oversized grey sweatshirt, she turned back to see the musicians all taking their places, ready for Trevor’s go ahead.  Gnawing at her lower lip, her nerves had full grip of the woman as she was facing what would be the greatest disappointment.  In other failures, she hadn’t had Trevor right there.  He’d had to hear about them through his executives who were raving mad at the woman.  But this time, he’d see it with his own eyes and then any luster that existed in the man’s mind for the woman and her potential would just be gone.  

Hanging by a single life line, walking a tight rope, the woman knew just how far the fall was.  It was in this moment that she was nearly grateful that a sixteen year old version of herself had been wise enough to release written word under another name so that when she trashed the name of ‘Coree Marx’ she could at least continue to write under her pen name of ‘Memphis.’  In all actuality she was neither of these people.  She was Coree Cartwright and she could return to a normal life the moment she wanted to, or so she thought.  “Yeah, I’m good,” she lied, giving up that nod to Trevor as she withdrew one hand from her pocket to reach out and take her ear piece and battery pack, as ready as she was going to be, although that wasn’t really saying much.  Slipping it into her ear, she drew the battery pack to the back of her jeans, slipping it under the edge of the sweatshirt and fastening it to the back belt loop there.  Making sure it was secured, she drew another long breath, not at all ready for this, but without an escape route in site.

‘It’s empty,’ she reminded herself silently, not saying it out loud, but attempting to calm her own nerves.  Tonight she could have fun.  Tonight she could show him what happened in the studio.  Tonight she could show him the promise that everyone saw in the woman.  The train wreck was reserved for the following night when she’d take all of his hopes and dreams for her and shatter them to a million pieces right along side her own.  ‘After this, we go to dinner, we get sleep, and fail tomorrow,’ she thought to herself, trying to put the failure away for the next day as tonight shouldn’t be that hard.  Turning her head to meet Trevor’s eyes, he’d find blue eyes that were clearing, the fear slipping away as she had successfully moved her breakdown to another day and another time, as tonight was a safe zone without judgment.  Though she’d never performed for Trevor, she knew the executives had shown him or even told him.  She knew that he knew what he was to be getting here.  It was the next night that would be another story.  “We going to start with the joint song first or you want mine first?”

Trevor Masters It was easy to get lost staring out into the horizon of a sea of black, padded seats currently empty and Trevor fell victim to that, The tips of his shoes hung off the edge while peered out into the blackness which was only made darker from the warm bulb that showered him in a radiant white light. It sent a chill down his spine that shook him from his trance. He shook his head and took the ear piece, fastening it in his ear and clipping the battery pack against the pocket of his sweats. It was time to get to business.

Sauntering his way down the walk way, he snapped his fingers and two stagehands came running out with two high top stools of a mahogany hue. The reason he picked this venue was because of how well known he was in this place. The name Trevor Masters carried a weight here and usually that weight was sold out which in this case it certainly would be. It wasn't often he flexed his celebrity status, preferring to hide from the flash of cameras and prying hands of fans.

He slipped behind the curtain grabbing two midnight black mic stands with old fashioned cardioid microphones as if they were from a burlesque show. "I hope you don't expect to dance. This isn't that kind of venue nor is this that type of performance. Let's work on getting the words out before you go shaking that ass of yours." His eyes were locked on setting the height of the stands as he spoke, Once it was all in order, he placed his butt on the stool, resting one like against a bar placed between the legs and propped himself up on the other. He pulled the microphone in close, resting the stand between his thighs. Lips pressed against the steel of the mic before his magnified voice rang out. "Sit down Coree. I'll start, you do verse two and chorus two."

The soles of his shoes tapped against the tile and the band immediately knew what he wanted played. It was a new, popular song that was flying up the charts and would surely win more awards than one musician could count or hold. The islandic rhythm of the song rang out and bounced off the dimly lit walls of the venue hall before the deep bass of a cello and flute followed behind. "Well get up, up on the dance floor..." His voice had a deep, soulful tone to it as it came from him and into the microphone

He swiftly finished the first verse and drifted into the second. Still tapping his foot against the floor to keep an inner rhythm. "Just close your eyes, and let's pretend we are dancing in the streets." A warm hum came from his throat as he held the last note and slowly finished the chorus of the song. He turned his gaze to her, tilting his head to the side so he could signal to her it was her part coming up. She had the lyrics, she knew the song that wasn't a concern of his, but could she handle it all?

Coree Marx Hearing him say it wasn’t going to be one of those ass shaking performances, it immediately sent a calm rushing through her.  She was known for it in studio when the moment called for it, where an organic energy would take her over and she couldn’t stop herself, yet never had she even come close on stage.  A performance with barstools and old school microphones though?  This was something that felt almost safe.  But could she hide behind the microphone stand?  Upon his command to sit, she’d quickly do just that, finding herself against the flat surface of the bar stool where she’d make herself comfortable, or at least as comfortable as she could be.  As the music started, she let her eyes fall closed, letting herself feel the music and his voice, transporting her into a place that wasn’t hers to be in.  A place where someone far better than her existed.  A place where she didn’t have to worry about judgment as she wasn’t the one on the stage.  She was his sidekick and nothing more in this and that felt almost okay.

By the time he’d gotten the first two lines out, she was opening her eyes, glancing over towards him as he sang.  When his eyes drifted to her own, he’d find almost a smile there to her features, or at least the promise of one that could soon take hold, the edges of her lips turning slightly upward as he gave that nod of his head.  Waiting for the beat, she drew an even breath, finding it a little easier to look at him than it was to look out at those seats where she could already see people filling them, staring at her, waiting for her to fall flat on her ass.  “Well get up up on the dance floor.  Move, it’s Saturday night.  I fell in love with the sparkle in the moonlight…”  The words didn’t sound like they did from him as they took on their own life within her voice.  Not better, but different.  Offering a variation that she knew the original artist would have been pleased with.  She’d written with the man before, giving her almost a feeling of comfort within singing his lyrics, knowing it would be with his blessing, that it would be something he’d encourage her to do.  Finding out that it was to be his song, his lyrics, it made things all the easier on the woman as it was something she regularly listened to on her own anyway, even helping to write a track on the album which she required no credit for as it was simply a piece of a hook.  “You and I we're flying on an aeroplane tonight.  We're going, somewhere where the sun is shining bright.  Just close your eyes, and let's pretend we're dancing in the street in Barcelona…”  Short passionate jerks of her head would prove just how taken she was by the lyrics and the power they held in the venue, her nerves at bay as he’d get the best of her here.

Completing the portion he’d instructed her through, by the end of it, she was lifting slightly from that stool where she was forcing herself to keep her ass against it, hearing his warning about the venue and the type of performance this was, knowing she needed to keep herself grounded here, though really she wanted to experience it.  Feeling it course through her, she knew she’d have tonight and tonight alone as the following night she’d be lucky to get a single note past her lips without choking on the words that rooted up in the back of her throat.  Tonight she could enjoy it, a smile there to her features as she made it through the second chorus.  “Oh Barcelona,” she concluded, never having realized her leg had taken a rhythm of its own against the wood of the barstool where one of her feet rested.  A gentle motion that showed just how deeply she’d been trapped by the music.  

As the music took over, she’d naturally pull backups for him, leaving the main lyrics to him as she repeated ‘in Barcelona’ through the microphone as the main lines were better suited for his voice than her own though he hadn’t instructed on how to conclude with her, yet she’d find her place within it on her own.  Her voice was softer than usual as the song faded off, keeping with the tone, yet not overpowering his voice as it had a depth that her own did not carry.  Finding their voices to sound better together than she could have imagined, the woman looked at ease, nothing like what the man had been warned of her on stage.  With one hand against her thigh, the other gripped the microphone stand as the last notes were sung and the music cut off where all that was left was a smile against her features.  “You are incredible,” she stated honestly, her tone carrying with it the nerves that weren’t there in the song.  Truly, she never thought she’d ever share a stage with the man and though she knew she was undeserving of such an honor, the depth of the situation was not lost on her in the slightest.  She knew what this was and why he was doing it, but she’d be nothing less than eternally grateful for the opportunity to mesh her voice with his and admire the man from just a few feet away where they were to be viewed as a single voice, working together to convey that which the original artist wove into the lyrics of the song.

Trevor Masters Once his voice cut off and her's commanded the presence of the room, he leaned back away from the steel microphone and kept his eyes locked on her as she sang out. It was easy to sway to, like a gentle breeze on a sandy shore that pushed the palm trees under it's influence. His torso was just like that, it swam with the rhythm of her tone and he found it impossible to sever his gaze on her. There was an untapped stage presence that even he had a sort of jealousy toward. It was an unspoken command as if saying 'Look at me' and demanded all eyes on her. Ideas began bouncing through his head how to instill the confidence in her to channel that tomorrow. All it would take is for the words to come from her lips, once she started singing there was no doubt that the crowd would be putty in her hand to be molded as she wished.

As her part ended, and his began he turned back to the microphone and let the cold metal brush against plump lips as he finished the remaining verse. Eyelids shut, he let the words pour out while he kept the sway of his upper body in check. It had been so long since he performed on a stage and surely this would generate a lot of buzz. That was all part of the grand plan. A way to break her stage fright, if only slightly, and to generate hype for her. There is no better way to launch your career than doing a duet with Trevor Masters at his first concert in five years. As long as she let her inner songbird out, nothing could go wrong even if he had to give her a little shove to get the lyrics out.

The music stopped and the band went about taking a sip of their water and flipped over to the sheet music for her solo song. Trevor also went to re-hydrate, twisting the cap of a bottle off and drinking just enough to wet his now parched throat. The bottle was then placed back next to the leg of the stool. "I think the duet should be fine. I sing most of it anyway and I think we nailed the last part perfectly, considering I didn't even tell you what I wanted." He chuckled to himself, impressed that she was good enough to improv something like that so quickly. She sold herself far too short when it came to her talents.He pushed the microphone forward a bit and slipped off the stool before turning to the band. "Go to her solo."

He stepped off stage as they tuned their guitars, he stood directly behind the bright black and white checkered wall, away from the view of the crowd. He grabbed a small microphone from a sound machine besides him and whispered into it, transmitting to her ear piece. "I''ll be right here with you okay? I'm going to be in your ear the entire time you sing, just in case." He snapped his fingers and pointed to the band, letting them start to play their harmony and open up her song.

This was the test, he knew it and so did she. There was no going back come tomorrow. It was all about instilling confidence, and teaching her the ropes. Ear pieces were important for big events. When huge amplifiers got involved she'd have to have in-ear music to make sure she didn't lose her place. Trevor was a calculated man, someone who never passed up on an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone and in the case of Coree and this concert, it was more like fifteen birds. Slowly the song reached it's starting point, only waiting for her to belt out the lyrics.

Coree Marx With an intro played, she paused, not managing a single word past her lips.  It was her song. Her lyrics. And entirely too personal.  The band played the intro again while she listened to his voice there in the ear piece.  The song was upbeat and hit straight to the point without delay, however she would delay.  After the second intro, the band lowered their instruments and it was no doubt a time that Trevor’s voice would be coming out boldly to tell them to begin again.  Just as it was surely about to happen, she took a breath that would echo through the microphone.  Altering her own song there on the spot, she’d speak those first words instead of singing them, finding something altogether more organic without meaning to.  “I knew you were trouble when walked… innnn… So shame on me now…” The words passed slowly, an eerie sound taking the microphone as she sat against the stool with her eyes closed, breathing the words into life one at a time with full emphasis.  “Flew me to places I’ve never… been.  Until you put me down, oh.  I knew you were trouble when you walked…. in…”  The band remained silent as they looked for her cues though she wasn’t giving any off, letting the woman take an entirely different take on her own song as they would find that place to back her up when she’d give an opening to do so.

“Now I’m lying on the cold, hard ground.”  Hitting the guitar intro there, the band found their opening, taking the tempo to full blast all at once.  Letting her lay it out as she wished, they followed her and together, they’d find a spin on the song that was not what was on the album and somehow more appropriate for the venue they were in now.  Now that she had begun, it was enough to let loose.  Carrying on through, she’d elongate that one song to last nearly seven minutes where the album version didn’t come close, not bothering to keep time as she allowed herself to truly get lost in the music.  The band kept an eery sound to the guitar throughout, altering the song from its original version that had yet to be released, she saw it through to completion at which point she realized her eyes had been opening and somewhere in the middle of it all, she’d loosened up as the lyrics required her to cry out in the midst of them which could not be done while singing quietly.  

As she found the last notes of the song, the woman had come alive within the grips of her own song, though it was nothing like the studio version Trevor had been given earlier that day.  When she concluded, she lowered her head, going right back to the relatively shy thing that often graced the space before a microphone.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered into the microphone as she normally began with, this time finishing with as she turned her head around to find the band in absolute awe of what had just taken place.  The guitarist quickly looked to Trevor.  ‘You’re the boss here, but that was fuckin’ crazy,’ he stated in Trevor’s direction, not sure if the CEO would share his musical opinion on the matter, but from what he could tell, the girl had just found her own song for the second time, feeling it to her very bones.  Her voice had been eerie and the sound kept the same, prompting something deeper from lyrics that might have previously been seen as superficial at best.

Trevor Masters At first it seemed so disconnected, as if all the gears weren't turning in tandem with one another. It was jarringly obviously and equally concerning. Trevor watched on, leaning against the wall and holding himself up with one leg. An exec came behind him whispering about how this was the norm for her and to expect it tomorrow as well. Trevor threw a hand up, signaling the man to shut his mouth and let him watch. Right as soon as he pulled the microphone to his lips, she wailed out her lyrics. A grin curled his lips against the cold mesh of steel on the head of the device before he dropped it back to his side and kept his eyes on her. Almost instantly he was captivated again, that same commanding presence was back but with the assistance of that eerie guitar rhythm.

The entirety of the solo performance was impressive to say the least. It was jarring to see such a contrast to her normal studio routine and even left the exec that was pestering Trevor earlier awestruck with his jaw hanging low. This was what he was expecting, a uniquely honest performance from someone who didn't attach frills to their voice. What you saw was what you got and in this case it was raw emotion punching you in the throat, commanding you to linger on the words that escaped her lips. You'd never expect a nervous, shy and timid woman to be behind such a voice. That songbird he knew was caged in her ribs was showing, if only glinting moments of it.

Once the music ended, his emerald eyes bounced between her now nervous demeanor and the bands exasperated and shocked expressions. He nodded to himself, pushing off the wall and walking over to her on the stool. He placed a hand on her shoulder while looking at the band. "She did good, and it was a riveting and captivating performance but a total of seven people saw it." He spun on the balls of his feet and looked down at her. "Do it tomorrow, I know you can now."

He waved the band away, so they could pack up their instruments and get on their way. Stage hands bustled around the stage like busy bees, prepping the stage for tomorrow evening not that much would change. He wrapped his arm around hers, guiding her off the stage and out the back door where the same car that has picked him up was waiting. The door swung open, and he allowed her in first before following behind her. "You did good tonight. Impressed even me, but I know you've got concerns about tomorrow. So voice them now while we drive to dinner. also, this is your city. Recommend a place to go would ya? Treating a boy around town wouldn't hurt ya." It was impossible to ignore his infection smile and sarcastic tone, something he found himself using more often than not with her.

Coree Marx In those first moments after her mouth had closed and the music had stopped, her heart pounded in her chest.  Not only had she belted it out for him, she felt it.  She’d never done this arrangement before as it was spur of the moment and truly showed the flexibility of the band to be able to work off of her in the way that they had.  It wasn’t how she’d planned to do the song at all and yet it might have been her favorite way to have ever done it.  It was emotional and poured from her soul in that moment nearly as passionately as the night she’d written those lyrics to her guitar sitting in a window seat in her former apartment.  She felt the base line still beating in her heart as she opened her eyes to find Trevor’s hand there at her shoulder.  She lifted her head to find him with his eyes to the band who gawked in disbelief.  

As the man spoke to them, it drove a dagger through her heart, though she knew he was right.  Seven people had heard it.  She’d performed her heart out for seven people.  It wasn’t enough.  As his eyes swept to hers, being told to do it again the next night now that he knew what she had in her, she gave up a timid nod of her head, not at all matching that of the woman that had just commanded the attention of all seven in the auditorium as if there were far, far more.  She was backed into herself perhaps more deeply than even usual as she couldn’t help but feel as though there was doubt in his mind, the band’s mind, and even her own mind that a performance would happen at all.  Knowing she’d be alright to sing with him, that part didn’t scare her in the slightest.  But doing it alone.  Doing that alone.  Exposing her soul that way, she had concerns.

Silence befell them as the band gathered their things and made their way out, leaving the executive and the singer at the front of the stage.  As his arm drew around her, her stomach tensed as she felt the need to run away just like that.  A performance of that level and passion and yet the woman wanted to find the deepest darkest hole to bury herself within.  As he led her out the door to the rear of the facility, still not another word had been shared between the two, furthering Coree’s deeply rooted feeling for the need to run.  Then he spoke.  Words of praise that didn’t come across as disbelief at her ability to replicate it.  Although she had her own doubts, she couldn’t handle the idea of him doubting her.  She knew what he was doing for her and that should have been enough for her to understand that he was definitely pulling for her, but it was in that interim that she’d let herself get inside of her own head about it.  It was on her, not him, and as he began to speak, she’d come to that realization.

As he opened the door to the building as well as the door to the conversation, she heard him call her out on her own concerns.  She didn’t quite know how to take it or how to put her fears into words, but she knew that she owed it to him to be as honest as she possibly could if he was to help her through this.  She bit nervously at her lower tier as he went on to suggest that the two find something to eat, a place where they could casually talk, and then she knew it would be instructions to get a good night’s rest and to take it easy before her 4 p.m. hair and make up call time which would really just be two hours to sit in that chair and think of what a complete waste hair and make up were when she was only going to freeze and leave the stage with an apology and the loss of a record deal.  

As she got into the car, she’d wait for him to join her within before a single word would pass her lips.  “Gotham Bar and Grill?” she’d suggest, a stylish, yet relaxed west village restaurant serving new American dishes was located on 12th street, not too far from where they were and  was one of her long standing favorites.  It was intimate and quiet, but definitely held the style and vibe that would sit well for their conversation.  If there was a place that she could imagine going to potentially become the greatest disappointment the label had yet to see, it was there.

While en route, she’d draw inward deeper than she had been before, trying to find the way to be honest with him and tell him just what it was that was going through her mind, though a part of her thought he already knew.  Only able to hope he’d give her the time and space to work through what she wanted to say, what she was willing to confess, she’d finally open her mouth to release the timid voice that held none of the confidence her presence on stage there had held.  “What you saw tonight, I can’t do tomorrow night.  It’s the same every time.  I can do that in studio.  I can do that in a small group.  But when I see all of the people in those seats, it’s not going to come out.  I don’t know what that was back there, and how it all came together like that, but even the actual song I wrote isn’t that vulnerable.  That performance… that was vulnerable.  I can’t be vulnerable in front of a room full of people.”

With her feelings outlined for him, it barely scratched the surface, but it gave him an indication as to just what she was up against.  Herself.  Her boyfriend had once joked about finding a way to blind her on stage and it was true.  Maybe if she could be blinded, then she could pull it off.  Maybe if she was someone else or couldn’t see anyone else.  Maybe if the stars aligned and she could pretend she was in studio.  Maybe if they’d let her perform on screen instead of in person.  With a sea full of maybe’s, the woman knew none of them were possible and she’d be facing the same fate she had four times before.  “I don’t want to let you down,” she confessed, knowing just how much personal work he was putting into her and yet she seemed to know just how far that fall from his graces would be.  The end result would be catastrophic and in truth, it was that fear that was keeping her moving forward in that moment instead of running for the solace of her shared apartment, to a place that she could lock herself away from it all and drop the foolish dream of singing her own songs and leave it to the real singers while she could simply write her feelings away in private.

Trevor Masters The supple hide of the leather of the seat creaked as he shifted in his seat while she explained it all out to him. It was like someone had turned on the faucet to her hidden emotions, which was his intention when he asked the question originally. He had done this long enough to understand when someone hid the truth from him or that most new artists wore their heart on their sleeves and emotions in their eyes. Her brutal honestly was something that resonated with him, no matter how horribly wrong she was to him. The fact that she had done such a fresh, vibrant and off-the-cuff rendition of her own music without even so much as a suggestion or request reminded him what he saw in her in the first place. She knew what a crowd loved and all that he had to find was the way to trigger her self-confidence.

He crossed his legs and interlocked his knuckles together, resting them in the lap of his maroon parachute pants. It was impossible to stifle the chuckle that her words produced inside of him. It was all so silly really, so timid, honest and innocent. If he could frame a picture to describe what someone who was untouched by the corrupt of the music industry looked like, it would be her in this one singular moment. "You are such an idiot. Honestly." He wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eyes and leaned forward, planting both feet onto the floor of the car and rested his forearms on it. "You can't be vulnerable in front of a crowd? Really? Those are the only people who you should be able to do it in front of."

A crowd never came for the theatrics of a performer. No one truly cared about that kind of stuff anymore, that day in age of music was now long gone and people wanted genuine feelings and rawness. It was a large portion of why he picked the venue he did. It attracted a clientele that cared more about the lyrics than the performance itself. Very avante-garde and fit the hipster motif. "What people want, what I want is to see you be vulnerable. They aren't buying a ticket to see you dance and put on some amazing light show, fuck they don't even care about your make up and hair. You could show up in a stained shirt and tattered sweats and they wouldn't bat an eye. They want you, brutally honest like you were then and are now."

Her words resonated a fear that had been in his mind for the past few weeks. She always had a nervous twinge in her eyes that made him feel more important than he ever considered himself. Trevor never intended to be one of those suit and tie CEOs who care about deadlines and profits. It was something he did his best to instill in every artist under his label but allegedly missed the mark with on Coree. "Oh shut up will you? The sky won't fall if you can't do it tomorrow. I'm not going to drop you like a hot rock because you are battling something in your head." The fact that she thought so little of him actually amazed him, he never went forward without a Plan B, C and even D if needed.

The black, tinted window car pulled up in front of the restaurant she had suggested and he swung the door out only to be greeted by a rush of cold NYC winds and a few flakes of old snow. A few awestruck passerbys gazed at him as he walked into the establishment. News had spread that Trevor had picked up a protégé and had been helping her climb the ranks, the fact that he had come out of retirement to perform with her was proof enough that he was not the same man in the past. A man dedicated to the future and others was quite the parallel to a selfish, narcissistic brat he was.

He brushed away a few on lookers who requested his attention and signature The host, also a bit surprised to see him, escorted them to an isolated table in a dimly lit corner of the building. Trevor browsed the menu, preferring to keep it light on the eve of a performance, no matter how relaxed that next night would be. Opting for a simple whiskey on the rocks and a simple tuna tartare to start the evening.

He folded the menu up and put it aside while resting his elbows on the edge of the table shrouded in a simple white tablecloth. "Oh, and even if you do freeze. I've got a special plan up my sleeve anyway. Trevor Masters always finishes his shows." He shot a sly wink her direction. He had more than one way to push her to sing. She might hate him, or be embarrassed beyond words but he had no intention of leaving New York without hearing her voice sing to someone other than the audio engineer in a studio. All he could do was hope she had a bit of renewed faith and zeal when it came to him and his plan. He had no plan to steer her wrong, he had done just about everything wrong one could back in the day.

The ice clinked in his drink as he picked it up and rested it against his lips, taking in a bit of the liquid. "So be honest. Am I too cruel to you?" It was something he had thought about recently. It was a fact in his mind that there was no such thing as too much rigidity in a schedule. Everything should be planned, unlike how he was growing up but lately he had a fear that lingered deep in his bones that it would push his artists away and he would be a complete failure as a CEO and more importantly a mentor.

Coree Marx Baring her soul for him the way she did had her on edge, waiting for the emotions to bubble over as the thoughts in her head were far safer there than they were out loud.  Breathing them into life meant they were real, that they were visible, that they could be touched upon by someone other than herself.  Putting the words into existence was terrifying for her, especially to a man she’d been warned by executives to impress though she found herself anything but impressive most days.  There were glimmers here and there of something more, but they never lasted more than a moment before they disintegrated into the nothingness they had begun as.  If they were talking about writing music, she would have held all of the confidence in the world, but here, she could not.  

‘You are such an idiot. Honestly., she heard him say, causing the large, blue eyes of the young woman to only grow as she looked to him in shock at his instant reaction to all that she’d just laid out before him.  More accustomed to a gentle hand that would encourage her in this regard as the only one she openly discussed these things with was Barron and he’d never say such a thing, her shock was clearly displayed.  She knew it to be true and yet she’d never had someone say it so blatantly to her, as though there could be no feelings or repercussions a moment after.  She felt her heart stop.  Willing enough to listen to him, to hear him out, to see where he would go with this, even if she felt like he’s just stabbed her in the chest.  As he went on to explain that it was the one place she should have been able to be vulnerable, she didn’t understand.  If what he said was true, then why would it be so hard for her?  And in that moment, she’d come to face that possibility that maybe she just wasn’t cut out for it.  Maybe she was never meant to be here in the first place.  Maybe she should have just quite while she was ahead and before she spent any more of the label’s time and money, Trevor’s time and money.

Emotionally beat down in that car ride, she’d do her best not to let it show through in her demeanor, channeling Barron’s face in her head to keep herself as stoic and firm as possible, closing the window to her soul that was her eyes on most days and allowing them to glass over.  As he went on, explaining what the crowd wanted, that was none of that which his own executives were filling her with.  She had to have an image.  She had to personify this bubbly blonde that wrote songs about life and love and boys.  She had to live up to the beat of her own music and portray herself in that manner.  She had to reveal herself both in lyric and in flesh to get somewhere and in that moment, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be, but she was relatively sure she wasn’t it.  As the car ride concluded and he told her to shut up, that he wasn’t going to drop her, she drew a sharp breath, the only indication she’d give of her mental state in that moment as running away was sounding better and better.  She wrote under ‘Memphis’.  She recorded under ‘Coree Marx’.  Coree Cartwright, which was who she truly was, could go back into the world unscathed, or at least she thought she could.  The failed musical attempt by the girlfriend of the grandson of Elvis Presley.  No big deal.

In the car, she had fallen silent, as would be the same as they got out of the car outside of the restaurant and went inside.  She saw the eyes and the attention the man got.  Those were the sides of it that she wasn’t sure she’d ever want.  She wanted to live her life and have her music, if there was a way to do both, but the longer this went on, the more she was thinking she was only fooling herself.  The signs were everywhere as to just what she’d have to do to make this work and not one of them felt natural to the woman.  She needed to figure her own shit out, and fast.  As they took a seat and he spoke once more, telling her that he had a plan should she get up there and freeze, she couldn’t stop herself from speaking.  “To sing my songs since obviously I can’t?” she asked, not meaning to, breathing a deep breath just after the words.  It was pent up frustration leaking through in that moment, saying something she knew she shouldn’t say to him, that his executives would have surely told him already and yet she felt about two inches tall.

Never quite opening that menu, she wasn’t even sure at this point if she’d be staying much longer as she’d made enough of a fool of herself in that half hour drive, much less what she was showing here at the table.  She was closed off and tense, on the verge of deep emotions that she’d never let spill out here.  Hearing his question, she shook her head no as she knew it to be a tough love situation.  At least she knew the man would never lie to her and for her, that would be his saving grace.  He would be one of two people that she could truly trust, knowing he’d never bullshit with her and make her believe something that wasn’t true, but the fact of the matter was that sometimes the truth was hard to handle.  Sometimes the truth hurt.  Sometimes that hurt turned into songs that she could ultimately sell to someone else to sing because she couldn’t do it herself.  Entirely too deep in her own thoughts by no fault of his, she reached forward for a glass of water on the table, bringing it to her lips as she shook her head no again.  “You’re fine,” she promised, assuring that it was nothing more than that, flesh wounds that she’d lick later on when she got home to a place where she’d be able to let all of this fall on her entirely.  “Why do you try so hard with me?” she asked, giving up an honest question as she looked at him, feeling as all she had done thus far is disappoint the label left and right.  The tracks that were laid down were good.  She was proud of them.  But she knew if she couldn’t perform them live, then she’d be of no real use to the label or anyone else.

Trevor Masters He leaned back in the chair made of carved wood and a plush padding. It creaked slightly against his weight as he pulled his leg up over the knee of his other. Her words were something he had never considered. He never really had very valid reason as to why he invested so heavily in one lone performer. She had a personality that screamed out for guidance and assistance. A sort of desperate plea that he read in her eyes that told him she wanted to make it. That she craved for that pinnacle and to show people what she had to say. It was admirable and that prompted him to move forward with her, slowly but surely, one step at a time.

A hand scratched against prickly whiskers on his chin as he thought about how to explain it to her. It wasn't so linear to him. "Think about it like this. As a parent, you want your child to succeed in life and if they stumble and fall you as a parent are there to pick them up, brush them off and push them again to try once more." It sounded so confusing, considering they weren't too far off in age, just six years separating them, but the moral fit. He saw her stumble and fall and yet each time, advised against it continued to keep her on the label. "It isn't pity, nor to watch you suffer. It is because I know you can do it, you just need that little push to get you over the edge."

As a man of experience, both good and bad, Trevor knew what it was like to sit on the precipice of greatness unsure how to grab it for himself. Throughout his time as a performer he often feared no one cared about his music, just his sex appeal and pretty face. The lyrics were there for jokes, just a means to get him on the stage for a quick song and dance to tap into him and get a quick buck. It wasn't until his last few albums that he focused on the music and not the theatrics. It created a more wholesome feeling in his heart that would mold him for the future and what he wanted to do.

There was plenty of options for her at the label, even with her song writing talent he'd have to be a fool to let her slide through the cracks. "Besides, even if you can't perform. Your writing is top notch, and any good label has dedicated song writers in their ranks." That was something he didn't see being relevant, mostly due to the fact that she had made it this far and he wasn't one to let someone give up and roll over like a beaten dog. "I'm rambling, sorry. What I'm trying to say is that you aren't in danger, in fact. Those clucking hen execs are in more trouble than you, for scaring you and the others into believing you don't have a permanent spot at this record label." What followed was rare for Trevor Masters entirely, a genuine, unabashed, wide eye'd smile.

Trevor wasn't a people person, he didn't know the most delicate way to put it or how to ease a worried mind but it was obvious that what she needed most was a strong vote of confidence in herself. There was no need to dread the upcoming performance, that would only end in a failure. His goal, over the next twenty-four hours was to make her believe that no matter the outcome, he wasn't letting her run away. That he wasn't going to let her inner thoughts win and take root. There was no way he'd allow a talented flame like her smolder into ashes.

He rolled his eyes, leaning forward against the wooden surface. "Listen to me Coree. This isn't a do or die moment, this is a step. You might fall, and I'll be there to catch you and set you back up to walk again and I'll do it until you are full on sprinting and I can take a nice trip to the Caribbean." He chuckled, throwing his head back. No matter what, every situation called for a bit more humor. "Plus, can you imagine me singing your songs? No one is going to spend as much money as I charged to hear a dying seal like me hit high notes. So you better show up!"

Coree Marx His analogy about being a parent, though she didn’t know what that must feel like, resonated with her in her ability to see it from the child’s perspective.  She’d been blessed with the most incredible mother who would stop at nothing to build a life for her and her daughter after the death of her husband.  She’d continue on by encouraging Coree to pursue any dreams she may have had along the way without ever telling her where the limits were.  There for a brief speck in time, the young woman had believed herself limitless and perhaps that was what had gotten her into the front door of the label to begin with before discovering her inability to perform for a crowd.  It made sense as he offered it and in such, she’d offer a nod of her head in agreement to the example he’d set before her.  Although confidence couldn’t be so easily injected, reassurance could, and it would go a long way with the woman as long as Trevor kept it up.

And then all at once, it was gone.  Shattered.  Into a million pieces all over again.  Hearing him remind her that there was always a place at a label for a dedicated songwriter, she heard the consolation prize laid out before her, knowing what it looked like and what it would entail.  Nothing short of giving up on her dreams.  She swallowed her emotion in the back of her throat, still refusing to let any of it out as it was just too much for her to bear at the moment, again trying to listen to him although she really just wanted to cry.  But she wouldn’t.  Coree was one that was very private about such emotions and they’d only be let free in the confines of her own home, car, somewhere private where none could see her.  Only Barron had ever seen her cry up until the day that half the label witnessed a fall out between the two when she’d come out of a sound studio entirely excited by the track she’d laid down and proposed to the man.  It had gone horribly wrong in that Barron believed her to be joking as she could never actually be serious about it the way she was.  But he was wrong.  She was completely serious and the moment he realized it, they both wound up hurt.  Barron outside and her in an office for the better part of an hour after the two had raised voices in the hallway leading up to it.  In the aftermath, a secretary would come and tell Coree that Barron’s car was still outside, her attempt to help the young artist and ultimately Coree would go to him.

Many at the label were shocked as hell the following day when Coree arrived to the studio, ready to sing something new she’d written the night before.  A song of devastation that ended with the two agreeing to be where they were in that time and space, remaining together.  Afterwards, one was brave enough to ask her how things were and she’d simply flash a smile and confirm that everything was fine, proving she could bury something within should she wish to and with this, she needed to.  It hadn’t been received well and for that, she could only try to forget the day that she’d made a fool of herself, embarrassing the both of them, and put one foot in front of the other.  It was hell then and if she was honest about it, it was hell now, but the woman wouldn’t breathe a word of it.  Instead, she’d suck it all in right along with his reminder of what her contingency plan could be as it was quickly appearing that she’d need one for most every step in her life.

Managing to hold her shit together was not an easy feat, but the woman would do just that, thankfully so as the conversation would take yet another turn, bringing it back around to what he did think could happen here as he once again breathed reassurance into her.  It was a roller coaster ride spending this much time with the man as one minute she was up and the next down, yet she never seemed to know when the curves and falls would come, each one taking her by surprise and throwing her into another fit of emotions that she’d have to choke against, and yet she’d mostly manage to do just that.  As he stated that she wasn’t in danger, she wouldn’t be able to hide the surprise from her eyes as that was all she was hearing from his own executives and so to hear otherwise from him was shocking.  “They said one more failed performance and even you would have no choice,” she confessed, letting him in on just a bit of what came down the pipe to her after the label’s last attempt to put her on a stage as an opener for three songs nearly two months ago.  

The fact that it wasn’t a do or die moment couldn’t settle in on her as she felt that each and every one of them were do or die moments and she was stuck closer to that die side as she had yet to find it in herself to do.  Yet hearing it from him, she almost believed him.  “The Caribbean, huh?” she asked, finding the humor a welcomed relief, though she wasn’t entirely sure that the man would ever make enough money off of her to vacation somewhere like that.  “You might want to start with a goal of paying for the jet fuel,” she teased in return, trying to find something a little lighter there between the two, though everything had been so heavy up until that moment in time from the time she opened her mouth with a microphone by herself on the rehearsal stage.  “Starbucks, even,” she went on to tease further, a smile actually taking her features as she’d begin to loosen up.  It wouldn’t be until later in the night that she’d be replaying the conversation in her head, thinking out every thick statement that had come her direction.

Within a moment of her teasing him, the waitress arrived at the table, taking both of their orders before she’d be off to put the order in.  For Coree, it was a simple chicken caesar salad with no dressing.  She’d eaten before the rehearsal and wasn’t terribly hungry, but it would be enough to hold her over until the following morning or even afternoon while not blowing her calorie count for the day either.  She reached forward, lifting her glass of water where she’d take a short sip of the water as the conversation could settle back to where it was before the waitress had interrupted the pair, taking a brief moment to shoot a text to Barron to let him know that she had gone to dinner with Trevor and would be home later than expected.  “What were we saying?” she asked, recalling a moment later.  “Ohhh that’s right.  How you’re going to make enough off me to grab that dollar menu at McDonald’s…”

Trevor Masters Nothing infuriated Trevor more than lack of control, and that was in every singular aspect of his life. On stage, he demanded to know before a performance each light movement, key change, special effect and prop that would appear on the stage and when. In his person life, he was just as fanatical. There was a strict regiment of food, exercise, leisure time and bed. Rare was it that he deviated now that he was retired unless special situations called for it, like to assist a fledgling star in his label. They were his family, they were a rare bundle of people that he felt something similar to love for, like a doting father watching his children bloom into radiant roses. He especially loved those that took a bit of extra care to reap the benefits of beauty from.

So when he heard those rat faced executives of his tried to weasel their way into his business and flex their nonexistent muscles, he knew it was time to nip it in the bud. A brand new smart phone slipped out of his pocket as he illuminated the screen and a finger tip danced across the glass. Trevor was by no means a Diva, or a monster when it came to her personality, in fact he was entirely level headed in that moment. No idle thoughts stopped him from going about what he set out to do. A few rings echoed from the speaker of the device before a voice, recognizable to anyone at the label as Trevor's secretary answered. "Julia, it's me Trevor, send out a notice to every one of those suit wearing bastards, they are fired effective immediately. Reasoning, lack of fulfillment of duties." She gave a simple 'uh huh' followed by a "Anything else?". Trevor thought quietly for a few seconds. "Replace them with people who care about music, not money." A thumb tapped on the glass and slid the phone back into his pocket.

He turned back to her, hoping to catch a reaction similar to elation or perhaps see some of the stress and worry melt away from her features. Not a hint of regret lingered in his eyes as he let his lip curl into a smile. "I told you. Music over money I'll go broke if it means my artists make it." Severance pay for them would be a big hit, perhaps it was time to sell the mansion and live a more modest life style but that was all nonsense to deal with for another day. What was his focus now was bringing for her inner confidence he knew to hiding. He had seen it, fleetingly at best, but he has seen it at her performance earlier in the evening. He scanned the room, nonchalantly looking for a way to improve her morale before it hit him smack in the face like a sign from a higher being. "I've got an idea and you will certainly hate me for it."

He stood up from the table, taking her hand in his and tugged her along and around the corner of a powder blue wall to reveal a beautifully detailed mahogany Model D Grand Steinway & sons piano lingering in the center of the dining room, surrounded by about a hundred or so guests all dining happily and merrily without a care or mind in the world. It was almost as if they were invisible as he tugged her up onto the platform and slid the booth to the luxurious piano out and sat in front of the keys, adjusting himself for the only song he could think of that was proven to raise spirits across the board.

Trevor turned to her as she sat facing the crowd on the bench of the piano next to him. "Sing. I know you know the lyrics." Not even a glimpse of doubt was evident in his eyes or voice as he spoke to her, this all matched with the goofy, stupid smile had been wearing since the moment he got the foolish idea to force her to sing to a crowd, even if it was less than tomorrow. One hundred people was a launching point, and he wanted to prove that baby steps were better than no steps. It was a short tune and in a worse case scenario. He'd sing if he needed to give her that shove she needed.

His fingers tapped along the keys rapidly, almost like a clockwork machine had rehearsed the keystrokes. It was his favorite song, one of the first he had learned to play on a piano. Tanned hands danced over ivory slivers producing the notes that almost anyone alive could recognize, causing the chatter to die down and eyes to shift to the illuminated piano stage. Any other person would have been thrown out immediately, but his name saved him. It was a free concert for guests and a publicity boost for the Grille. If she sang here, tomorrow would be the buzz of the music world. He bounced to the tunes of the music as it looped around for her to start singing. He leaned over and whispered slightly. "You've got a friend in me."

Coree Marx As Trevor reached for his phone, Coree couldn’t know what it was that he was going to do, but she’d find out only a moment later as she watched on with surprise and nearly horror in her eyes as she watched the jobs of no telling how many executives opened up right in that very moment.  If there was ever a moment that she thought that the man was soft, she’d find out in that moment just how serious he was about everything.  About his business.  About her.  She shook her head, in no way thinking she was worth any of this.  Knowing others might have heard the same things from those same executives, their antics worked as it had made her work harder, but the other artists surely didn’t have the access to Trevor like she had, or maybe they didn’t bother opening their mouths.  Regardless, she’d be responsible for this in her own mind, costing them their jobs, affecting their families, all for the sake of her delicate sensibilities.

The phone call was completed and she’d heard him speak to her once more, showing no remorse for what he’d just done.  Coree looked to him with wide eyes, attempting to process what had just happened before her eyes.  Before she could say a word, the man was off with an idea, standing from the table and grabbing her hand.  She rose to her feet, but his grip didn’t cease as he led her to the next room of the restaurant.  Feeling as though the entire night had been some twisted roller coaster of emotions, this would stand to be no different as he rounded the corner to find grand piano sitting vacant and surely not to be touched by guests.  “Trevor, we can’t,” she’d whisper as he approached the piece confidently.  He never heard her whisper or he didn’t care, she couldn’t tell which one, but a moment later, he was taking up a seat against the bench as if it were his own, as if he could do anything he might like in the world and no one could tell him no, as if he were untouchable.

Timidly, she’d slink down against the bench that she had no right to sit at.  She could play, but she wasn’t to play /this/.  Her fingers itched with the desire to touch the keys, though she’d not dare as she kept her hands placed tightly against her thighs.  As he leaned into her, telling her that she knew the lyrics, that he wanted her to sing, her eyes snapped to his as if he’d lost his mind.  This wasn’t the place for that.  Hell, he shouldn’t even be sitting there, beginning to play, but that was happening too.  Trying to find the words to tell him this was insane and couldn’t happen.

The notes of the song were played and attention had been drawn to them in that first stroke, yet she was in no way ready for this.  Wanting to tell him that she hated him in that very moment, that she despised him for tricking her into dinner with a performance thrown in against her will, she felt the burning eyes of casual restaurant goers who were all too interested in just what they were about to see.  Within her mouth, she’d bite the side of her tongue, inflicting pain there where it couldn’t be seen, yet trying to cope with this on the spot behavior of the man that she could either run from or give into.  She closed her eyes, breaking off the view between herself and those that glanced in their direction, drawing a deep breath.  There was no microphone that would echo her voice across the room.  There was no vocal assistance.  This was all her voice with the promise of his chiming in to help her along.  Although she’d find something a moment later.  This wasn’t raw.  This wasn’t vulnerable.  In fact, this wasn’t terrifying at all.  It wasn’t her song. They weren’t her words.  She was revealing nothing at all in that moment.

In a moment of discovery that Trevor might tap into if he should notice, the woman opened her eyes and turned to meet his eyes.  A smile was there on her features as she actually appeared relaxed.  Even more relaxed than she’d been on the stage earlier that night in rehearsal.  Daring to go as far as to say that he was seeing the studio comfort level in the woman.  This moment, this random singular moment, would prove that it wasn’t her fear of the crowd or the stage or the eyes that were watching her.  It was the vulnerability of her own material completely.  Here, she’d flash that smile to him and she’d almost look like a real artist.  Letting him take the first two lines, she’d simply smile before she drew an even breath that held no nerves, only giving her the power to sing forth without the assistance of a microphone to carry her voice.  “When the road looks rough ahead, and you’re miles and miles from your nice, warm bed… you just remember what your old pal says.  Boy, you’ve got a friend in me…”

Trevor Masters Boney, dexterous fingers scraped against fading ivory keys that caused a hammers to strike a hyper-tense wires and produce a melody that filled an otherwise silent room with more pairs of eyes than he had expected. It was a simple melody, a neat little diddy that got everyone's spirits up without a doubt. It was impossible to be miserable, sad, worried, scared or any other negative emotion while hearing the riveting tempo of the piano playing a song every soul knew from a children's movie. There was an ever-present bounciness in all the guests now that she had belted a few notes out of her throat had the room feeling light and vibrant. A unique environment compared to the stage hours ago.

The chiseled male bounced and bobbed against the mahogany bench beneath his legs. Short stints of exaggerated, upbeat rhythms followed sullen and slow tempos as she managed to hit every note as if the song was designed for her voice. Certainly not the face nor the tone that was meant to sing a song like this, but yet everyone seemed enthralled by her voice completely, as if a siren possessing hearts. In that moment he knew what was the shackles bound to her songbird's leg. It was her, the lyrics that felt all too real when said to anyone but her own mind.

There was a battle to fight somewhere deep in some subconscious section of her cranium that tethered her to a cage with a thick chain and all Trevor could see with each passing note was those links rusting from the core outward. Her wings flapped and fluttered as she tugged away from the vice grip. What was supposed to be a baby step, the spring board onto the playing field so to speak but in reality it was a leap, one monstrous step that even he felt like he'd have to sprint to catch up. It wasn't a permanent solution, no artist could live off of covers alone, but this was like throwing one's self out to the wolves and realizing that she is the pied piper. This girl had an unnatural canniness to tame hearts that made his heart twinge with a jealous flame. It was the first time he could ever entertain the thought that everything would be fine with her. That he had what it take to teach others. His hands were gifted with not only the ability to play and create vibrant sounds from instruments and his throat in front of others but instill in another the same gift. She'd be fine, more than she'd ever believe actually.

The song came to an end, and Trevor's hands made sure to add an extra flair to the keys that would make sure no one was left unimpressed by him either, after all he was the star of every show he was in. The ringing of strings from the piano stopped and her voice silenced. The room was silent, as if the restaurant had transformed into a morgue in the two minutes and some change of the song that they had just finished. Spinning around on the bench, freeing himself from the confines of the piano, Trevor was greeted by far more people than had been there when it started. Word had spread to the passerbys outside that made themselves welcomed into the establishment much to management's dismay to get a rare glimpse at a celebrity performance. He pushed himself to his feet, taking Coree's hand and forcing her next to him. He whispered, barely enough for her to even distinguish what had left his lips. "Bow...Three.." He counted slow, taking the long dip her hand still locked in his like a dancing partner would. "Two... One..." The room filled with applause perfectly on his timer, roaring and shaking the wall of an establishment not meant to be entertaining such a crowd at one time. His torso pulled back up straight, tugging her with him. "Thank you, you are all too kind."

As quickly as it started was as quickly as it ended, he released her hand from the grip of his fingers and made his way back to their singular table segregated from the dying roar and chatter of a now enthralled crowd of patrons. Running the sleeve of his shirt over his brow, wiping away the dew that had developed under the beaming lights and from his erratic movements at the keys. He washed it all down with the remains of his whiskey as their server returned with their dishes. He bowed after dropping the plates onto the table and turned to Coree. A young girl, no older than eighteen clad in a vest and tie. "That was beautiful, I wish I could sing like you." Her hushed gentle voice matched her now blushed red cheeks before she scurried off back to the kitchen.

Trevor leaned back, no longer finding hunger to be a bother. His stomach was far too filled with butterflies and bottled excitement to think about a meal now. It was now a coin flip if he'd even sleep tonight. It had been many moons since there was this rush of lightning surging through him to perform and tomorrow couldn't come fast enough. "Magnificent." It was the only word he could use to explain what he had seen, yet he wanted to write a book about it. "You had that in you all along."

Coree Marx There were no words for what it felt like to sing in front of the grouping of people without a single fear within her.  The words flowed out without her having to force them as she met the eyes of several close by, even turning and engaging with Trevor’s from time to time where he’d find a genuine smile there at her lips even as the words formed.  An incredible sensation, no doubt, for the woman who had yet to feel anything quite like this.  She wasn’t worried if they’d like the song or the sound or the vibe.  She knew they knew it.  They could sing along should they so wish.  They could engage with her as she engaged with them while sitting sideways at the end of a piano bench.  The only time she’d felt somewhat successful had been in a bar or two on open mic nights where she’d sing her songs to a room full of drunks that didn’t much care what her lyrics said.  But here, it wasn’t like that.  And she couldn’t possibly imagine how to thank Trevor for all that he had just shown her, though she wasn’t entirely sure she’d be admitting to what she’d discovered there either.

It made sense though.  During the rehearsal with him earlier that night, she hadn’t hesitated when singing with him then.  It was but a cover of an up and coming song that was recently gracing the charts, something that was not her thoughts or emotions, something that held no vulnerability for the woman, and she’d sung it without reservation, but the moment it was her music playing, she’d stalled.  Granted, it had turned into what might be the greatest arrangement of the song she’d never imagined it to hold, but still it was something that had been quite incredible all at the same time, but in the early stages of the song, her nerves had a stronghold on her and it would be considered rocky at best.  But this.  This was anything but rocky and was damn near perfection.  It was light and airy, performed by two that would appear as though this was a regular occurrence for them, crashing five star restaurants all over New York City to put on impromptu performances.  And yet it was not so.

As they returned to their table, their food would arrive just a moment later, but the idea of eating had left her entirely.  She was amped up and ready to do it again as it would stand as the one and only time that she’d ever been in front of people without that sick feeling in her stomach.  Hearing the waitress speak to her, her face flushed red as she offered a smile in return, not even sure what to say in response.  “Thank you,” she offered, knowing it not to be enough considering the level of the compliment that had been given to her in that moment, yet it was truly all she had.  As the waitress left the table, she’d look over, finding Trevor to be just as hyped up as she was as neither of them made a move for their plates.  The energy between the two had been entirely generated by a maneuver that she still wasn’t entirely sure just happened, but if it hadn’t, then why was her heart racing?

A single word passed Trevor’s lips, catching her unaware in the moment as it was that word that would wrap up the entire experience into a single four-syllable word.  The smile that swept her features was genuine and all encompassing as it reflected how she felt over the entire experience, though she’d miss the part where he was talking about what she’d done there.  As he went on, she was breathless for the moment before finally nodding her head.  “I guess I did,” she offered, her voice lifting there at the end.  “I… that… it was incredible,” she added, though even her sentiment over the matter wouldn’t measure up to what she felt inside of her.  “It’s like… it’s been bottled up in there for so long, needing to come out, ya know?  You can do it in your apartment or in the studio and it feels good there, but to do it in front of people that way?  To see their eyes light up?  To feel the energy literally radiating from them into you?”  She rambled on, attempting to get her feelings on the matter out, but there was no way to do it as they were so much bigger than she was.

“I haven’t been this excited since… since…” she attempted to put her finger on it and then all at once she’d come down three notches as she remembered the last time she was this excited.  Biting against her lower tier, clearly attempting to keep that thought and experience to herself although she could only assume he’d known a little something about it as nothing was going to happen in his label, his studio, his building, without him finding out about it even if he had been on the other side of the country at the time.  “It’s just a really amazing feeling,” she offered, holding more control over herself in this moment of exhilaration than she had the last time she’d felt so energized over music.  “Thank you,” she stated as she made her way down from that high, reaching forward for her drink before bringing it to her lips.  “Thank you so much for that,” she repeated, expanding on her initial gratitude as genuine as the woman was blonde.  

Trevor Masters There was an almost fatherly sense of pride in him. A feeling akin to watching your child ride their bike for the first time. Pedaling their little heart out, the crisp summer winds brushing against their skin and through their hair with a beaming smile the screamed out 'I'm invincible". That was exactly what he saw, a girl who thought she was untouchable up on cloud nine and yet seemed to forget what tomorrow meant. The first song would be flawless, as expected. It wasn't hers and that meant good things but the second song, the finale, the Pièce De Résistance, was hers and it remained to be seen if she could handle the sink or swim pressure that came with one of her songs.

It was hard to resist snapchatting her to the multimillion followers he had tracking him on the app and embarrassing her beyond words but he didn't. He did, however, let a gutwrenching, belly aching laugh pour from his throat and escape his lips. The feeling she was trying to explain was something he understood yet also never found the word to explain it. Euphoria was as close as he could come to even touching the word and yet it was so far. It was almost as good to watch someone experience it as it was to feel it swell up inside of you and spread out like a radiant warmth from an unknown source.

Trevor motioned with two fingers to pull a waiter over. "Boxes and check please?" The spunky blonde scurried off, her ponytail bouncing with each excited step. He wasn't hungry, he never was after a performance and that was what it was, no matter how impromptu and mad libbed. The server returned, a bundle of nerves about ready to explode at a moments notice as she dropped a folded black booklet and two styrofoam boxes before scampering off. It was something he had grown used to in his years of fame. No matter what people acted as if he was supposed to be some high strung asshole who only cared about himself. The sense of entitlement he was expected to carry on his shoulders was bullshit and one of the things he made sure to instill in every artist he impacted. Humbleness sold albums. Genuine actions sold tickets and honesty got you fans.

The pads of his fingers tugged on a black wallet, flipping it open and thumbing through a stack of bills. Bill after bill peeled off from the stack and into the billfold. As he was about to shut it, his gaze turned to the wad of money and peeled off two more hundred dollar bills and left them on the table, under the black bill. Using the pen, he jotted down on the receipt. 'She is more nervous than you. Keep the change.' The top of the pen clicked as he stood up and took the boxed up meals. "Let's get the hell out of here."

As they strolled out the large, clear glass door framed by worn and grey oak wood, he looked back over his shoulder as they waited for their chauffeur to pull up in front of them. His eyes watched on as she picked up the bill and saw the tip with the note. "Look." He took her hand and pointed to the now sobbing waitress that had complimented her earlier. "That is what people want. You have a power beyond imagination in your music and actions." The server looked around the window until they locked eyes She waved her arms manically, tears streaming down her face as she quickly buried her face in her arms. "Never let it go to your head. All fans just want to be your friend at the end of the day."

Coree Marx With the bill paid, Coree had been more than willing to carry her own weight financially for the meal, but it was quickly seen that Trevor wouldn’t hear of it.  Surely it could be written off as a business expense at this point, which would be the only reason Coree wouldn’t interject on her own behalf, needing to pay her own way through the world.  Perhaps that was something she’d picked up on from Barron over the years.  He had access to more than most ever would and yet he wouldn’t touch it, determined to make it on his own dime, just as she was.  Perhaps it was one of the reasons they worked together.  Perhaps it was one of those couple traits that they never really realized had happened, but somewhere along the lines they shared a mutual view on the matter.  Many in her shoes would surely attempt to marry the man if for nothing more than access to his bank accounts, and yet Coree couldn’t care less about those things.  Years as a songwriter had provided her quite a nice cushion and she certainly wasn’t hurting financially, as their new apartment clearly stated, though it could easily be speculated that Barron carried the full weight of it though it couldn’t be further from the truth.  Fifty-fifty, all the way.

While outside, waiting for the car to come around for them, she heard Trevor demand her attention back through the glass window as his hand took her own.  She instantly lifted her head, looking through the window where the waitress was a mess of tears, not quite understanding at first what it was that was going on there.  She didn’t know about the note, nor the heavy tip as she’d been entirely too lost in her own euphoria to fully comprehend all that Trevor had done there.  “Why is she crying?” she asked quietly before she’d hear Trevor explain in his own way.  Attempting to process what he had said there, she’d put thought to it, as every word that came from the man held a certain weight of its own, speaking to things he knew or had experienced, things that he knew better than anyone else, things that she had yet to learn.  He was proving to be a knowledgeable teacher, though she’d never doubted his abilities in such.  She was seeing it now at every turn, even in the smallest of situations.  Every moment, even outside of a studio or off of a stage was connected.  Something as simple as sitting in a restaurant.  Where she had once thought she could turn an on stage persona on and off and then maybe she could be that which was going to get her heard, she was finding out wasn’t a single moment in time.  It would filter through to every aspect of her life.  What she was willing to do on an album cover or on stage had to be what she was willing to do going to the grocery store as well.  It wasn’t an hour here or an hour there, but would literally be all of her.

All fans just want to be your friend at the end of the day.

She wasn’t sure what was so special about being her friend or what kind of person would ever aspire to such nonsense, but she knew what he’d said to be true.  It was no different than their need to connect through the album or through a concert.  It was no different than anything else that she’d seen happen before or even what she’d felt as a teenage girl growing up in Memphis, with photos of celebrities on her bedroom wall.  It was just the same and how she’d forgotten that, if even for a moment, she couldn’t be sure.  It was lost somewhere between here and there.  Somewhere between a girl who had dreams to a girl chasing her dreams.  Somewhere between Memphis and New York City.  Somewhere between lost and somewhat still lost.  Drawing a deep breath, she’d shake the thoughts that ran rampant in her mind as they served absolutely no point aside from keeping her feet on the ground in that moment.  

The car arrived there before them, a black town car, the same they had arrived in, and it would take but a moment before the driver was exiting his door to come around to hold open the door for Coree and Trevor.  Coree took the step first as it was customary for the female to do, entering the vehicle.  Due to traffic patterns on the busy street, she’d slide over to allow Trevor to take the passenger’s side, though he would have normally entered from the other side.  “Here,” she offered, alerting the driver that she’d made that room for him to get in from the safety of the curb.  Once he was there within the car, her eyes were still directed within that restaurant that would forever hold something a little different for her now.  It held the space where she’d sang her heart out for the first time without the knot in the pit of her stomach.  It held the place where someone complimented her and she didn’t think they were full of shit or paid by Trevor to do so.  It was the first time she’d seen just how much the smallest of gestures could mean to a struggling waitress with dreams of her own.  She’d look fondly on the space as she leaned back in the car, the driver closing Trevor’s door and making his way around the vehicle.  It wouldn’t take but a moment before the driver was looking back to the two in the backseat through the reflection of a rear view mirror to ask their next destination.  Coree knew the smart choice was home, given they had a show the following night, and yet she wasn’t sure she could settle her racing adrenaline to even begin to sleep, yet she’d try if it was what he said was best.  “I don’t know, Boss man.  Where to?” she asked, tossing the ball into his court as all she could think of was getting into the studio, right then and there, to put that energy to some use.

Trevor Masters

"Her place." A chin tilted up as he spoke, looking to the front mirror and into the eyes of the man that awaited a command. It was time to wind down, meditate and prepare for a battle tomorrow. It was still very real, a sort of lightning that sparked off their skin and between hairs like conduits. It was tangible, and everyone could tell. The spark wouldn't fade in a nights time. Dormant yes, exhausted now. All it would take is finding a way to reignite. Once the juice was flowing he had no doubt in his mind that she could captivate anyone who looked on. After all, this was a step forward toward the real goal. June 30th, Madison Square Garden. It was real. Fuck, he could remember the first time stepping out and doing his first MSG appearance. Unsettling did not do justice to the panic he felt. It was his duty to prepare her entirely, and in a worst case scenario be prepared himself.

When he thought about it all, the fact that it wasn't him performing, it ached his chest. A sort of hollowed out feeling that made your chest feel light and that a cool autumn breeze would pick you up and carry you away. Jealousy wasn't the answer, as a man who had it all and then some, he wasn't wanting the attention nor the spot light. It had been something that had rattled his mind and bones. It only made itself known when he rested at night. The silence was too loud and permeated every thought he had. It was why he drowned himself in the work. If he held himself under the water then he'd never have a moment to think idle thoughts, to think about what he gave up for this all.

His eyes darted to the yellow memo pad that lingered on the seat in front of him. He leaned forward, a loud groan as he stretched his arms and torso out to snatch up the pad and the pen attached to it. It connected with his lap as he crossed one leg over the other. Writing. It was the only thing he knew when it came to putting raw emotion into something tangible. It was his therapy when the bottom of a whiskey bottle offered no answers. The metal tip of the pen scribbled and scratched against the lined papers. He was disconnected from the world around him, lost in one singular moment, unaware that he was in the presence of others.  A verse and a hook down within the half hour drive to her abode. It was going to be a long night. and it wasn't going to end well for him.

The driver opened the door, letting her out onto the sidewalk before Trevor snatched her arm quickly. "Rest. No worries okay?" God, it was the fakest smile he had ever given but not because he was worried for her. Too much to think about to be concerned about a flop at a small two hundred person concert. She knew better than to worry, hopefully at least after the stunt at the restaurant. A firm squeeze and a gentle pat met her hand before he let go to part with her, a quick wave before the door slammed shut and he was back on his way to his hotel.

He continued to scribe down notes on the pad as he drove, ripping off piece after piece, leaf after leaf of yellow lined paper and crumpling them into tiny balls. It wasn't right, didn't portray what he wanted to say. It needed to hit while being slow. It needed to focus purely on the feelings, the raw impact of emotion that accompanied a simple piano. It needed to be real when all he knew how to do was be fake.

In front of the hotel, he tipped the driver two one hundred dollar bills and stepped out. A quick check in led to an equally quick meeting with his bed. Memo pad clutched between an intense grip as he sat back in the dark oak chair that matched the desk. The wood creaked as he rested his eyes onto a smoke alarm that blinked on the ceiling. Writing wouldn't help, nor drugs or alcohol. Bed. What he needed was sleep.

-March 18, 2017

#pianoman #ionlyaskthatyouwontgoagain #2017

[viralhottopics]

Every time we take an Uber were spreading its social poison | Laurie Penny

CEO Travis Kalanicks treatment of one of his drivers shows Ubers institutional sleazebaggery, seeing social responsibility as an outdated piece of apparatus

There are very few things that $5bn cant buy, but one of them is manners. This week video emerged of Travis Kalanick, the CEO and founder of ride-share app Uber, patronising and swearing at one of his own drivers, who complained that harsh company policies had forced him into bankruptcy. Some people dont like to take responsibility for their own shit, sneered Kalanick. Truer words were never spoken by a tycoon: for Uber, along with many other aggressive corporations, not taking responsibility for your own shit isnt justa philosophy, its a business model.

Uber has barely been out of the news this year, with a succession of scandals cementing the companys reputation as a byword for cod-libertarian douchebaggery. Accusations of strike-breaking during protests against Donald Trumps Muslim ban sparked a viral campaign to get customers to delete the app. A week later, a former employee went public with accusations of sexual harassment and institutional misogyny. Kalanick, who was pressured to withdraw from a position as a business adviser to Trump, is now facing legal suits across the world from drivers who insist that they would be better able to take responsibility for their lives if they could earn a living wage.

Liberal outrage has been a chorus to Ubers apparently unstoppable rise, but it has never before been a bar to its expansion: the company continues to grow, even as it registers record-breaking revenue loss around the world, much of which it puts down to the inconvenience of still having to pay its drivers.

Given what we already knew about Ubers institutional sleaziness, why is this clip so shocking? Because it reveals an uncomfortable truth about the character of our modern power elites. Part of us would prefer to imagine the svengalis of exploitative businesses as polished, scheming villains, geniuses enviably unencumbered by such old-fashioned burdens as ethics and morality.

From Trump down, these men would prefer us to picture them as competent and potent a little brash, perhaps, but thats all part of how corporate power brands itself. This is why it matters that this video exposes Kalanick, one of the worlds richest men, as a thoroughly unpleasant person. There is an ugly entitlement in the way he swears at the driver sorry, his partner, albeit one without a seat on the company board. He doesnt come across as ruthless. He comes across as rude.

Travis Kalanick argues with driver over falling fares

This is not how robber barons are supposed to behave. They are supposed to have at least some regard for appearances. Theyre supposed to deliver scripted business aphorisms and twirl well-waxed moustaches while opening orphanages for the children of workers who died of exhaustion. What were dealing with here is a new class of bastard: the bro gone pro, the freewheeling post-Randian slimeball whose insecure sense of entitlement is the foundation of his business model.

That entitlement is key. Charges of sexism against Uber are not just incidental to the way the company operates. They are symptomatic. An organisations attitude to women is a good predictor of how it will treat its workers. There is clearly an outfit that regards at least one half of the human race as rather less than sentient. One of its executives threatened to expose the personal details of a female journalist who questioned the way the business was being run. Kalanick has joked, if you can call it a joke, that he should have named his company Boob-er, because of the amount of action he gets out of it. The corporation offered French riders the perk of being driven about by attractive women.

Uber clearly has as little regard for the consent and dignity of its customers, its low-earning partners and the communities in which they live as it does for the consent and dignity of womankind in general. This matters because Uber is more than just a tech firm. It is a social engineering outfit masquerading as a tech firm, and it appears to regard social responsibility as an outdated piece of apparatus, a wooden coach-and-four in an age of tarmac. The last great American entrepreneur will be the person who manages to monetise placards and pitchforks.

Heres the awful truth: we have entrusted the reorganisation of our social infrastructure to the sort of people who shout at their subordinates and drivers and view women as a collection of parts. We do not owe these people our money or our admiration.

It remains to be seen whether Uber will be damaged by the activist call for riders to please, for goodness sake, stop using this service. A great many people feel they have no option but to be complicit. Uber grew in the social sludge of American cities with patchy and precarious public transport provision and high unemployment. In areas where there are few late-running trains and taxis are unaffordable, taking an Uber home is the ethical equivalent of the greasy late-night kebab: you know its bad for you, but theres a filthy, guilty pleasure in being able to meet your immediate animal needs. Your gut might make you answer for your midnight takeout, but it wont kill you.

Using a service like Uber, however, is slow social poison. We are living in a socioeconomic reality whose driving philosophy can be accurately described by a sauced-up frat-boy in the back of a taxi, and we continue to venerate its winners. How much complicity can we tolerate before we get off this dodgy ride?

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from Every time we take an Uber were spreading its social poison | Laurie Penny

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How Many Startups Does It Take To Change A Lightbulb?

Two years ago, as it prepared to build a new office on Manhattan’s West Side, the ad firm R/GA surveyed its 1,000-odd employees to ask what improvements they wanted made to their workplace. Number one was sit-stand desks. Easy enough. Number two was natural light: Some of R/GA’s New York employees had very little exposure to the sun.

That was trickier. Though 5 West Street, a hulking brutalist ziggurat nicknamed the “Tyrell Building” for its unfortunate resemblance to the headquarters of the evil corporation in Blade Runner, was about to undergo an architectural facelift that would transform its facade from an opaque beige scowl into a clear glass grin, there was nothing to be done about the building’s floor plates, which were larger than football fields. The office was simply too big for everyone to sit near a window.

“It was a gutted, filthy, old warehouse,” said Julia Goldberg, R/GA’s senior vice president of global office services. “The lighting was terrible.”

Goldberg had to figure out how to brighten up the place. She considered a commercial lighting system built by Philips, but it had no back end — no software to control the whole thing. For a 220,000-square-foot office, that was pretty important, if for no other reason than the time it would take to wander around turning on and off all the lights. Then, last June, Goldberg discovered Ketra, an LED lighting startup from Austin that promised some pretty big things.

The first was what Ketra calls “natural light”: white light sources that imperceptibly change their color and intensity throughout the day to mimic the lighting conditions outside. The second was an extreme degree of control. Ketra lights could be wirelessly grouped into zones of any number of lights that could all be separately adjusted via custom software on a wall panel, computer, or phone. The third was precision. Each Ketra bulb contained a patented sensor that measured its own color 360 times a minute to make sure the light being produced was the light being requested. Ketra was selling precisely measured, nature-approximating light, accessible throughout the massive office at the press of a button.

They sold the idea of light, not lighting.

It was exactly what Goldberg — who was under a mandate to design an office that embodied R/GA’s recent rebrand as “an agency for the connected age” — wanted to hear. And it helped that the two Ketra employees who showed up to pitch her didn’t simply treat lighting as a utility or a mundane problem to be solved. Nav Sooch, the CEO, was a design-focused, Stanford-trained engineer who had already hit it big with a semiconductor company; Michael Heinemeier, the sales director, had previously worked on a light installation with the artist James Turrell, a MacArthur "genius." These were creative technologists preaching high-quality light as a convenient, aesthetically pleasing, and healthy lifestyle choice. They sold the idea of light, not lighting. Goldberg was in.

Throughout the relatively short history of electric light, most improvements have been aimed at making light bulbs last longer or use less energy. Ketra is selling something different than dull efficiency: light as an object of beauty, light as a perk. For millennia, we made do with candles, torches, oil lamps, and the dim flickering of all manner of flames. Sure, the chandeliers at Versailles were nice, but the flames themselves were no different than what you’d light in the most modest hovel. Now technology has advanced to the point where illumination itself is a luxury good. What Ketra is selling is the idea that it can make your life better by giving you more control over how it is lit, in really minute detail — that electric light has contributed to making us unhealthier, and that electric light will make us healthy again.

R/GA's office, complete with Ketra lighting, after the renovation.

Courtesy of R/GA

Eighteen months and more than a million dollars of Ketra products later, the R/GA headquarters is a sight to behold, as cavernous as a hangar and as white and austere as a nun’s wimple. The space has accessorized terrifically with the humans inside it. On a recent afternoon, top-knotted men ordered lattes from an on-site Brooklyn Roasting Company. Women in black beanies, black sweaters, and black Nikes glided under dozens of massive projection screens displaying the agency’s work. And lining the ceilings, 2,000 white fixtures held 8,837 white Ketra lamps, casting cool, crisp white light worthy of an Apple ad on all the industry below.

5 West Street is the biggest project the seven-year-old Ketra has ever finished, but it won’t be for long. It’s currently working on a new 300,000-square-foot headquarters for Stripe, the $5 billion payments startup. And Stripe marks the latest in a run of successes for Ketra, which has seemingly come out of nowhere in the past two years to light the spaces of some of the world’s biggest startups, trendiest businesses, and most august cultural institutions: Apple, Facebook (where it lights the Facebook Live studio in New York), Google, Vice, Eataly, the upscale salad chain Sweetgreen, the Art Institute of Chicago. (And, oh! BuzzFeed.) Meanwhile, R/GA, which runs its own consulting business, has started recommending the lights to its corporate clients. Recent converts include what Julia Goldberg would only refer to as “a well-known apparel company” (R/GA famously counts Nike as a client), as well as a “large hotelier” and Sheikh Mohammed of Dubai.

Ketra has positioned itself to illuminate our affluent, healthy, wired, and well-cultured future in part by being as chameleonic as its LEDs, which, in addition to emulating the sun, can turn millions of colors. To architectural lighting designers, the finicky aficionados of the lighting world, they comprise a creative tool kit par excellence. To facilities bosses with blank slates and enormous budgets, like Julia Goldberg, they are highly customizable, networkable, energy-saving conveniences. And to a crop of health-focused businesses — and tech companies eager to tout how lavishly they take care of their employees — they are wellness orbs, radiating futuristic vim.

But who really needs them? Being all things to all people doesn’t come cheap. A single Ketra bulb costs about $100. (That’s a lot for an LED: The Sweethome’s recommended bulb sells at $20 for four.) It’s even more considering the context of a gadget world that produces inexpensive and reasonably good knockoffs faster than ever, not to mention an LED industry with a built-in existential crisis — the bulbs last so long that selling their replacements isn’t necessarily good business. Nav Sooch is fond of saying that his company has invented a new category of product. And there’s no question Ketra has built a bleeding-edge light source and a sophisticated way to control it. But before you can sell millions of dollars of high-tech lighting to some of the world’s biggest companies, you have to convince them that there is a very big problem with their light.

The kitchen at Vice's headquarters in Brooklyn.

Courtesy of Ketra

It is the sad fate of artificial lighting to be a historical invention that most people only notice when it isn’t working. Ever since the advent and spread of modern incandescent lighting in the first half of the 20th century — a wonder enabling untold advances in every field of contemporary human endeavor — people basically think of their lightbulbs only when they burn out, or when it’s too dim to read, or too bright to take off their clothes.

“Everyone thinks light just happens,” said Sean O’Connor, a Los Angeles architectural lighting designer. “People just expect there to be light everywhere they go.”

“Everyone thinks light just happens,” said Sean O’Connor, a Los Angeles architectural lighting designer. “People just expect there to be light everywhere they go.”

If public awareness of lighting has nudged up a smidge over the past 10 years, it’s because of 2007 federal regulations requiring more efficient bulbs. So consumers made the change from traditional incandescents, which had been the standard for more than a century — and it was a pain. At first we switched to more efficient incandescents and compact fluorescent lamps, the ones that look like little curled pigtails. But CFLs can be hard to dim, contain mercury, and give off harsh, antiseptic light. People hated them. And now they’re dying: Earlier this year, GE announced that it would stop manufacturing and selling CFLs in the US.

That left LEDs, which produce white light either by mixing red, green, and blue or by slathering a yellow phosphor over a blue LED. Once prohibitively expensive and of highly varying quality, LEDs in recent years have plunged in cost and generally give off light that’s not all that far off, quality-wise, from daylight or incandescent light. They’re the present and the future of lighting, a $15 billion industry in 2014 that is on pace to exceed $21 billion by 2019.

But the LED industry faces its own day of reckoning. As J.B. MacKinnon has written, LEDs last so long that they undermine the traditional “planned obsolescence” business model of incandescents. How can companies maintain their profit margins when people only need to buy their $5 products every 15 years? Three of the huge players in the industry — GE, Philips, and Osram — have responded by spinning off part or all of their lighting businesses in the face of likely declining revenue. If people only care about light when their bulbs burn out, and if their bulbs almost never burn out, won’t people just stop thinking about light?

Maybe, unless companies like Ketra can define new ways that our lights aren’t working.

The inner workings of a Ketra lightbulb.

Julia Robinson for BuzzFeed News

One afternoon in 2009 — long before affordable and high-quality LEDs could be bought at Home Depot — David Knapp accompanied his wife to a lighting store in Austin. The couple were building a new house, and he was more or less tagging along in case she picked out something he really hated. As Knapp wandered to the back of the showroom, he saw some lights that he thought looked odd and familiar, like light-emitting diodes.

Knapp knew LEDs. He had sold his first company, which pioneered the use of LED fiber optics to network multimedia devices in cars, in 2005. Now in his late forties and with time on his hands, he was intrigued.

“Yeah, they suck,” the salesperson told him. “We don’t recommend them.”

The clerk went on to explain that LEDs were bad at rendering colors and were marred by a whole range of issues related to color control (they were too bright and harsh), dimming (they didn’t, or did erratically), and aging (they changed color over time).

“I’d like to buy one of every one of those that you have,” Knapp responded.

That night, Knapp went home with a bundle of LED lights, where he “tore them apart, and started investigating why they were not the ideal solution. How do you address that? That’s what we spent the next six to eight years doing.” Knapp recruited Horace Ho, with whom he had built his first company, and together they invested more than $5 million of their own money into solving the problem.

Their solution was, basically, a self-conscious LED — one that never stops analyzing the light that it produces. At the heart of Ketra’s tech is an LED chip capable of temperature-optical feedback, which senses heat and color output in real time and adjusts itself according to that data. Knapp’s early prototypes were on 12-inch printed circuit boards as big as laptops, but the results were encouraging enough to attract investors, including Nav Sooch, who had known Knapp and Ho since their days as young engineers. Sooch had made millions in the ’90s and early 2000s founding Silicon Labs, an Austin-based semiconductor company.

Nav Sooch, CEO of Ketra, at the company's showroom in New York City on Jan. 3, 2017.

Bryan Derballa for BuzzFeed News

In 2012, Sooch traveled with Knapp to Korea and China to meet with major lighting manufacturers to try to sell them the Ketra chip. “They asked us questions about how they would turn that into a system,” Sooch said. It was, he thought, as if Elon Musk had taken the Tesla battery to Honda and they'd asked him how to make a car out of it. Philosophically, the big lighting companies didn’t get it, and practically, they weren’t set up to make processors; why waste time waiting?

“If we’re going to sell a chip to these big lighting folks, what do we make, a dollar or two per chip?” Knapp said. “We came back and were like, 'These guys don’t know what they’re doing, and we have to build the whole thing.'”

Workers review panels of lights as they are tested at the Ketra manufacturing facility in Austin.

Julia Robinson for BuzzFeed News

As Ketra expanded (it now employees 85 people) and began to design actual light sources, it solicited the interest of professional light obsessives, people who draw up elaborate specifications to ensure spaces are lit just so. In early 2013, Tom Hamilton, Ketra’s head of marketing, showed an early mockup — a big white translucent globe with the Ketra chip inside — to Sean O’Connor, the architectural lighting designer who does high-end retail, hospitality (think the St. Regis Aspen and the Beverly Hills Hotel), and residential projects. The advent of LEDs, inconsistent and unreliable, had made his job much more complicated and stressful.

“When we do an LED project, before we can write the specifications, we have to see samples from everybody to see if it does what it says it does. Historically, it doesn’t,” O’Connor said. “Everything is fiction until you try it.” It was as if an architect couldn’t be sure that a steel beam was the length they had ordered until they saw it in person.

Ketra, even with its goofy globe, promised what O’Connor regarded as “the holy grail” for LED architectural lighting: flexibility and standards. That is, an LED that dimmed like an incandescent, could shift between different kinds of white light while maintaining a high rendering quality, and did it every time, right out of the box. No other LED product on the market that did dynamic white — such as the popular Philips Hue, which O’Connor dismissed as “a consumer toy” — had the special chip inside ensuring consistent color temperature.

Michelle Rial / BuzzFeed News

“It's very easy to use an LED just to sense 'is there light there or no?' but to sense the color and the intensity to get that level of information — I don’t know of anybody else who could do it,” said Maury Wright, the editor-in-chief of LEDs Magazine. “Hue says, 'What’s the difference if it’s a little more or a little less red?' For professional products, you want light matching exactly in terms of spectral energy.”

Winning over skeptics got Ketra in the door with an entire universe of places that depend on rigorously exact light: upscale restaurants, stores, and galleries. In early 2015, another architectural lighting designer suggested Ketra to David Thurm, the Art Institute of Chicago’s chief operating officer. Thurm had been trying to find LEDs to light his masterworks for years, but every time he gathered the curators together to run a test, they left unsatisfied.

“We would get funny results,” Thurm said. “We easily went through 10 LED manufacturers.” And even if the light rendered a painting well, it might be untunable and change the color of the wall. Thurm said he had heard of other major art museums repainting their walls to deal with the problem.

The Art Institute has the world’s largest collection of Monet’s paintings of haystacks, the impressionist’s famous studies of light and time. Thurm set up a viewing of the paintings lit by Ketra, with the museum’s director, curators, and conservation staff. They were astonished.

“We could tune it to a place where the paintings looked beautiful,” Thurm said. “We’re very fussy about this stuff. And everything we were getting from incandescent, we were now getting from LED.”

Ketra's showroom in New York City.

Courtesy of Ketra

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