Harper's Rules (25 page)

Sheila thinks my sporty Audi is super cool. She played with the sound system joystick until a Pink song came on, and it was both hilarious and disturbing to hear her sing along with the lyrics: “I've never been this nasty . . .” She told me she loved the song, and a few minutes later she said she loved my car. And in the sudden demonic possession only a mother's influence can produce, I heard my mom say through my mouth that you aren't supposed to love things, only people.

At the “Y” I scored next-level cool points with Sheila by strapping on the rope and climbing the thirty-foot wall while the other adults watched with phony smiles on their faces. I had successfully gone nearly two hours without thinking about my job when I saw that Leena had tried to get me. I waited until snack time and found a corner spot where I could hear her.

“Mr. Scott got your message,” she said in a rehearsed voice, “and he says he can't talk to you directly, but that we should know something today.”

“Leena, you know my history with him. I'm worried about him.”

I knew I was putting her in a tough position, but she was all I had.

“It's just bad timing,” she sighed. “All I can tell you is the very big event in your life is coinciding with one in his life. He's doing the best he can. He's checked in with me and Mr. Avery twice today.”

“Okay, then tell me this. Did they make an offer to Cameron? Is that what is really going on? They want Cameron first and I'm the backup?”

“Oh my God, that's not going to happen, I can promise you that.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because we found out yesterday that you passed the drug test, but apparently Mr. Cameron did not.”

Well, that explains why Harper insisted on the drug test. Once he found out Sabia had his own candidate, he went digging, discovered Cameron's potential “issue,” and made the drug test protocol a part of his process, which forced them to have Cameron submit to a test as well. With the short notice he was unable to flush his system. Just in case Avery caved and agreed to hire Cameron, Harper made sure he had a failsafe way to stop it. I posed all of this to Leena.

“I don't think Harper—I mean, Mr. Scott—would want me to confirm or deny, but if I can speak off the record?”

“Please do.”

“It's freaking brilliant, right? We all know you're the best candidate. Mr. Scott was just creating an insurance plan.”

Sheila announced she would make me a deal. She would climb the wall faster than any boy, and I could feel free to count, as long as we got Dairy Queen on the way home. She seemed to understand that the ends justify the means; why was it so difficult for me to accept?

HARPER'S RULE
Receiving and Negotiating an Offer

An offer is two things: it is obviously an offer for work, but it is also a test of your enthusiasm. Remember, when a company makes an offer, it is the corporate equivalent of saying, “I love you.” When you tell someone you love them, you don't want to hear, “Thanks a lot, I appreciate that, let me think about it for a few days, see it in writing and review my options, then I'll get back to you and hopefully say I love you, too.”

I tell my clients to submit written or emailed offers for authorization, not consideration. By the time of an offer, they should be able to give an answer immediately: yes or no.

On the drive back to Jill's, InterAnnex human resources sent me an email. I tried to concentrate on Sheila. Time with her was precious, I kept telling myself. At the first stop sign, though, I decided that was crap, that Sheila was still a kid and at this rate might get a job before me. I asked her as sweetly as I could to give me a moment of quiet while I checked an important email. I opened it and saw that it was a formal offer from InterAnnex.

I went home and decided that I should print the offer. Somehow that made it seem more official. I didn't need Harper, even though he almost always negotiated the terms and conditions for me. It was my damn job and my damn life, right?

Dear Casey:

It is my great pleasure to formally invite you to join InterAnnex as the Vice President of Sales . . .

Wow. It happened. The Holy Grail. Vice President of Sales at thirty-five! (Okay, I cut it damn close, can I have my moment please?)

. . . your annualized base salary will be $250,000 USD. This will be reviewed annually . . .

Okay, that is SO much more than I expected! I want to call Hannah, and I am so excited I need to pee!

. . . you will be eligible for additional compensation . . . we will determine performance “gates,” and once they have been exceeded, you will earn 2% of the total sale upon billing . . .

No waiting until the money comes in. Class move, Wallace.

. . . startups require ramp-up time, and in recognition of such, you will, upon execution of this contract, receive a sign-on bonus of $40,000 USD . . .

Shut up! Seriously, if I read this right, I sign this and FedEx it back and I get 40K tomorrow! Now I can't call Hannah and brag; the 40K is too much, she'll hate me, and I don't blame her. I'll just buy a new best friend.

I started to speed read.

Group insurance (includes life insurance, short- and long-term disability . . . you may contribute to a 401(k) and we will match 50 percent of the first 5 percent of pay . . . your main office will be in New York City, but as a VP you have flex time . . . you are eligible for twenty-five days of vacation in the first year and eight personal days . . .

And then the famous “airtight” Wallace Avery non-compete. I can't compete for eighteen months, can't solicit any of their clients, and can't recruit their employees. But other than the social networking space and its direct competitors, I am free. Fair enough.

This is so much fun! Why did I let Harper do this part? In fact, I think I want to be a headhunter and read unemployed people their offer letters all day. (Although I guess you also have to tell the runners-up they aren't getting a wonderful document like this. That would be awful. Okay, Harper can be the headhunter and I'll be the VP of sales.) Let's cut to the chase, sign this baby, and move on with my new life. I know Harper is a stickler about making sure it is an at-will agreement that either party can terminate at any time . . . Check, it's right there, in black and white. I suddenly felt none of my pens were worthy. I felt like I should have one of those pens presidents pull out when they are signing legislation they had to break arms and cut earmark deals to get through Congress.

And then, a surge of abject panic.

Where's the equity piece? Where's the part about me getting in on the act when they get bought out—the real money? I reread each page. Nothing about options, no language on grants, not even a purchase plan where I can devote some of my base pay to buy shares.

Nada. It's a rich comp plan for sure, but they can afford to be generous with the comp because I'm just a hired gun. They'll pay me 400–600K for the next two years, and then sell, and each board member will make millions. Whether the new company keeps me on board is a crap shoot.

What should I do? Should I email Wallace and politely ask him if the equity piece is coming in a separate attached document? Will that make him furious? Was I being ungrateful? My proposed salary of 400–600K is oh, about 400–600K more than I'm making right now. Should I sign it, do my job, and worry about it later? No, that is nonsense. It is standard for a VP of sales at a software startup to get an equity piece. I am being exploited.

Sorry Harper, I need you. I know you're involved with something heavy, but this is serious. The last line of my offer letter says I have to give an answer within twenty-four hours.

I left Harper a text and said I was in a Code Red—that Wallace had sent me an offer, but I have a deal breaker: no equity piece.

Harper's Rule: A deal breaker is a concern about a job, company, or boss so important to you that you would prefer to turn the job down rather than let it go unresolved.

So. Will I walk away if I don't get equity? Before I could decide, a text came in from Harper.

Harper's reply—“that's impossible”—reinforced what I knew at some level: that I was not creating drama. My phone buzzed.

“Harper, I know this is not a good time—”

“I'm going to call Wallace and get to the bottom of this, but you have to sit tight. I can't do it for another couple of hours; I just can't. Chill, okay?”

“Harper, I want to call him first. Not because I can't wait—or, well . . . not only because I can't wait, but if I'm going to be his go-to sales and marketing executive it has to start now. If I can't negotiate my own plan, why would he entrust me to negotiate with CEOs of large corporations?”

“Okay. You're right. Good luck.”

I shut off my phone. I wasn't going to risk having this call dropped just as I was asking Wallace the hard questions. This was a landline call.

HARPER'S RULES

At offer time, keep in mind:

Companies will start low so they have room in case they need to increase your offer.

They will also start by telling you there will be only one offer.

They will ask you, as an unproven contributor, to wait to receive certain benefits or compensation perks “once you have established yourself.” But you must negotiate everything you want now. Once you sign, you're just another employee. The chase is over, the game won.

Let me just say this and be done with it: Wallace took me to school. He was polite, even affable, and he was happy to discuss it. But the answer was no. There would be no equity. I now wish I hadn't, but I had to ask him why he changed his mind.

“Because I don't think you deserve it, not coming in the door. Casey, this is a career-changing VP's job that we both know on paper you are not ready for. I believe in you, and I'm willing to take a risk. But the other board members asked me to limit that risk by having you wait for equity until you have become a proven commodity. I had to agree with them.”

“Carrot and stick? Wallace, I didn't think you were that old-school.”

“Well, then you weren't taking a very good look. Old school got me here. My advice is to take the job. But you think about it and call me tomorrow. The offer stands.”

And he was gone. I grabbed my cell and went outside and sat on my front steps. A gorgeous day . . . if you're working. I phoned Harper.

I was proud that I rolled it out to him while remaining completely composed. I told him I didn't know what to do, that I wasn't sure he should call Wallace. It would just look like I went running to Harper for help, which of course is what I was doing, and it might weaken my position further. What did he think?

“I don't know,” Harper said.

Huh? Since when? This was his sweet spot, this was my über-headhunter, and in my hour of need he doesn't know? What the hell is going on?

“Harper, you are scaring me. Are you all right?”

“No, kiddo, I guess I'm not.”

I don't know who will do my eulogy when I die, but whoever does it will say that for all my flaws, I loved my friends ferociously. For so long, I've wanted to show Harper that side of me, and now I had my chance. “Harper, where are you? Right now?”

“I'm home.”

“Let me come to you.”

“No. I won't be here long. I have to be someplace.”

“Then pick a place.”

And he gathered himself.

“Okay, I should be done by six. Greenbriars in Greenwich is close to where I'll be. Meet me there, we'll put a strategy together, and then I'll call Wallace.”

“Harper, the hell with Wallace! I just want to see you.”

After we hung up, I took all I had not to drive to his house. It wouldn't be the first time. I remember the night, early in the Harper Era. A garden-variety tiff between Donald and me that was so minor the offending issue escapes me now. I stormed out of the house and went for a drive. I knew Harper lived on Lincolnshire in Greenwich. It was a cul-de-sac with only four ridiculously huge houses, and Harper's car, back then a silver Maserati coupe, was in the circular driveway. I was about to return home to face Donald when there was a tapping on my window that startled me so much I screamed. A hulking man with a high-pitched voice that didn't match his physicality one bit asked me if he could help me. Yes, I thought, you could stop stalking me while I'm trying to get some stalking done here. He lived next door. I had to get out of there—what if he asks my name or worse, if Harper comes out of the house—my life would be over. I made up a lame excuse about this being the only place I got three bars on my cell and I needed to call home. As I turned around in the cul-de-sac, a light went on in one of the front rooms. Harper had Jess, she must have been six or seven then, in his arms. She was sound asleep. He was taking her upstairs. I don't know what I came to see, but this was not it. I went home, apologized to Donald, and initiated make-up sex with an intensity of which I am not proud.

I have always had trust issues with other women, and that includes the woman who barks out driving instructions from my GPS system. She is way too serious for my taste in general, but if she tells me to take a turn the wrong way down a one-way street, and I value my life enough not to comply, she gets
shrill
and keeps repeating that I have missed my turn and that I must go back. I decided I couldn't take a chance on bringing her in on the Greenbriars mission, so I went to MapQuest on my laptop and printed the directions.

An hour later, if I turned the radio down, I could almost hear the GPS lady laughing. I-95 was gridlocked. My Blackberry, resting comfortably on my passenger seat, vibrated as if in response to the car horn's mating calls. Jamie Post's name flashed across the screen. Well, I can't keep ducking him, and I certainly have nothing else to do at the moment. Might as well take my medicine and get this over with.