Maybe that’s all it was. Maybe the niggle in my gut was wrong, and Katie was just all in with the training programme. Maybe there was a tough little saleswoman deep inside Katie that craved the thrill of the chase and close, and this had nothing to do with pitting herself against her snotty sister.
I got it. Hell, I fucking got it. Sales is a performance-based career, and the pressure builds and fills you up. I’d always been ambitious, consumed by the fire of topping the leaderboard, bringing in bigger deals, better deals, more impressive clients.
But Katie seemed different these past few days. The carefree girl who’d rocked up at ours with that breezy countryside smile on her face wasn’t the one sitting in my car. This Katie was steely and resolute, consumed by the desire to win.
She was changing before my eyes, sacrificing stable visits to listen through her call recordings and pick holes in her performance.
I want to improve,she’d say.What’s the point in giving less than your all? What’s the point in not striving for the top of the pile?
I got that, too.
Still, despite the kinship, I couldn’t help feeling a sense of loss for her somehow, a tainting of innocence. I couldn’t shake the feeling that my training programme had stolen the sparkle of sunshine from her eyes and replaced it with grit and embers.
Katie wasn’t the only one affected. The atmosphere in the training suite was tense enough to blow. Everyone had some measure of fire in their belly, everyone was chasing the win.
Even Verity.EspeciallyVerity.
Whatever words David had shared with his little princess had done the job. She’d been quiet and compliant in the aftermath, her eye on the ball. Grit and embers, another one.
I’m all for healthy competition, but this felt deeper, verging on the unpleasant.
“Today’s the day,” Katie said. “I want a tick by my name on that leaderboard. Katie Serena Smith, ten points, top of the class.”
“And Verity none? Am I right?”
She shrugged. “Why should I care what Verity does?”
I didn’t need to see her face to know she did care. “Forget about the tick on the leaderboard,” I said. “Just focus on the person at the end of the line. Ask the right questions, have a conversation. That’s all you need to do.”
She nodded. “Sure thing, boss.”
“That’s my girl.”
I gave her shoulders a final squeeze and she opened the car door, flashed me a smile.
“Today’s the day,” she said again. “I can feel it.”
It turned out it was Ryan, my early bet, who put the first tick up on the leaderboard. He made a cracking call mid-morning, the right pitch at the right time to a frustrated tech director looking for greater business insight. His face was a picture, pure bliss as he took the winner’s walk up to the whiteboard and made that tick next to his name. I was pleased for him. A young kid at home, his first real shot at a career above minimum wage. I shook his hand and gave him a pat on the back, and the lad looked like he could cry.
It’s a strange phenomenon that things really kick off once that first tick is made. His was followed by another, a sharp girl called Leanna, a smaller opportunity, but a good one, and then another, a long-term opportunity with a logistics company up north, discovered by our eldest trainee, Nick, who’d been working in tech support since he left school.
Katie was quiet as we ate our bagels. I could feel the cogs whirring, the tightness of panic twisting in her belly.
“Don’t let it eat at you,” I said. “It’s far too early to judge anything.”
She stared at her plate. “I just wanted it to be me.”
“Itwillbe you, anytime now.”
But she didn’t look convinced.
She let out a sigh as we pulled up outside the office.
“What if I can’t do this? This isn’t insurance, Carl. This is hard. Complicated.”
“That’s where you’re falling down,” I said. “You’reexpectingit to be hard. You’re picking up the phone with fear. Maybe a little desperation.”
“What can I do?” Her eyes were piercing and beautiful. They hit me right in the chest. “What wouldyoudo?”