Good business leaders create a vision, articulate the vision, passionately own the vision ...
"Ms. Jones?"
Gwen looked up from the correspondence scattered across her desk. Normally she had a smile for her assistant, Rose Mallory, but these days that hesitant tone could only mean one thing. "She wants me right this second then, yes?"
"Yes."
Gwen's mouth thinned, but she refrained from saying anything. She and Pansy had started out badly, but she refused to create more tension if she could help it, especially in front of the team or other employees. "Thank you, Rose."
Rose seemed relieved and nodded before disappearing back through the door.
Letting out the breath she'd been holding, Gwen made her way to Pansy's office and knocked lightly before pushing inside.
"Ms. Jones," Pansy said evenly, dark eyes none too friendly. Perhaps her features weren't so schooled as the older woman before her, but at least she hadn't called her a self-righteous bitch. Yet. "Do sit down."
It was in her to say she'd rather stand, thank you, but Gwen held her tongue and sat opposite Pansy. Gwen knew the power to be had just from sitting behind the desk and she didn't like being on the other side of it.
When nothing was said for a long moment, the muscles in Gwen's jaw tensed. "As I think pleasant niceties are a waste of time at this point, I'll just ask - what do you want, Miss Parkinson?"
Pansy nearly smiled in triumph; Gwen Jones was notorious for being an ice queen. After their first meeting, Pansy had done her research on the woman and everything that came back had painted her as a quite the society darling. She knew how to play the games and rarely betrayed her own feelings. It pleased Pansy to no end that a long stretch of silence between them got on Gwen's nerves.
"Effective immediately, Donald Park is no longer the manager for the team," she said as she folded her hands on the large desk and watched Gwen's face for a reaction.
Gwen nearly raised her brows in surprise. "You fired him?"
"Let us say we agreed that it was in his best interest if he decided to resign posthaste."
Meaning that Pansy would have fired him had he not chosen to leave on his own. Gwen had been doing the real coaching for nearly ten years, and as she held Pansy's gaze, she couldn't find it in herself to disagree with Pansy's decision to let him go. Patrick Davis Jr. should have done it years ago, but he'd been too busy elsewhere to be of any real use to their club.
"That was ... very expeditious of you, Ms. Parkinson," she finally said, features blank. She might agree with the decision, but that didn't mean she'd give Pansy the satisfaction of knowing that.
"Yes, I thought so," Pansy said, frustrated that she couldn't read anything from the other woman now. "After several meetings with him it became rather obvious that I was paying him a large sum to play with the press, and from what I can tell he was not even particularly good at it."
"He was better at it than coaching. I let him do it." Gwen was mildly surprised she had said anything at all.
"It kept him out of the way."
Gwen didn't answer right away this time, but eventually she nodded her head. "Yes."
Most everyone Pansy had met on the team - and in the whole damn League for that matter - had treated her as if she didn't know a Quaffle from a Snitch, but Pansy hadn't grown up surrounded by boys obsessed with Quidditch and learned nothing. She'd made a point to know it at one time, if only because it was what men liked to talk about.
These days she was surrounded by experts, but after weeks of getting comfortable in her new position, Pansy had come to realize it was less about her actually knowing the game and more about know the people she employed and the business behind the game. It was something she had learned while running Choyer, but the stress and agitation she had been plagued with since taking on the Harpies had blinded her. It was what the critics were predicting, but she would prove every single one of those damn vultures wrong.
"You do all of the coaching, do you not, Ms. Jones?"
"You already know the answer to that question."
"Then you know why Donald had to go. He was draining funds for frivolous lunches and ridiculous office comforts that can otherwise be used to make our team better. There are a number of other places the money could be useful. The marketing department needs more staff and new ideas, and the merchandising needs to be updated, not to mention that the uniforms are just dreadful."
Gwen's jaw tensed again. She had been managing those departments as well and Pansy would have known that. She knew the younger woman had been sniffing around everywhere. A more rational part of her pointed out that it was good to have an owner that actually cared about the team, but Gwen rarely found that she was completely rational around Pansy Parkinson.
"They're Quidditch uniforms, Ms. Parkinson. They're not intended to be a fashion statement."
"Yes, well that needs to change. I'm not a fool Ms. Jones. You have almost single-handedly made this team what it is today. I'm not ignorant of the League Championships the team has under your leadership, nor that the Harpies have consistently ranked in the top three in attendance for the past decade. What I intend to do is improve upon that. Puddlemere sells more jerseys and kits, and their players have more endorsement deals. The Falcons have better advertising."
Pansy leaned forward, dark eyes steady and intent. "We can do better in those areas. I am not a coach and I will never claim to know every in and out of this bloody game, but I do know how to throw a party, Ms. Jones, and the Harpies are the damn bash of the decade, no?"
Gwen kept Pansy's gaze though didn't say anything. She wanted very much to dislike this young woman, but as she looked at her - the determination and sheer force of will in her bearing - Gwen was very suddenly reminded of someone.
Herself.
She leaned forward then, dark eyes just as intent on Pansy's. "If you trust me to take care of the pitch, then I will trust you to make sure those girls get everything they deserve."
The words were weighted and if Pansy wasn't so focused on keeping a foothold in this conversation, she might have been momentarily overwhelmed by the heaviness of Gwen's focus. She was a formidable woman. That she had offered what she had - a truce of sorts - meant something. It was important to Gwen, and Pansy could feel it spiced like a heated thing. This was a woman one wanted on their side.
"I will not be hiring another manager at this time."
"You do realize that it's been centuries since a team has forgone such, yes?" Despite her words, Gwen was not displeased. The pitch would truly be hers - officially.
"I also hear it's been quite a long while since a woman has owned a team. As you can see, I couldn't give a shite how long it's been. I do what I want, when I want and if someone has a problem with that, then they are handled accordingly."
"I have seen that, Ms. Parkinson," Gwen said. "I'm quite glad we're on the same page."
Pansy could have sworn Gwen smiled, or something like it - a brightness to her eyes that hadn't been there prior - but it was gone before she could be sure. "I expect to be kept thoroughly in the loop. I know that you did much of the work Patrick should have done, and I expect that you will guide me so that I might navigate to the best advantage."
"You truly care for this team?" It sounded as such, but Gwen could not quite believe it. Her first impression of the woman didn't point to it. Her opinion had been colored since, but the woman before her was not what she had expected. Perhaps that was it; what she had expected and what was reality seemed to be two very different things.
"I do not know anyone well enough to care as you are implying, Ms. Jones, but I care about excellence. We are truly a club of women now and that means that we must be better than everyone else. I intend us to be the best and I care about what it will take to make that happen. Perhaps we do not like one another, but there is much advantage to us working together toward a common goal, no? "
That she had more to prove than she could have ever imagined before her impulse buy of the team, Pansy did not add. She had known it would cause a bit of a stir, but the press had grabbed onto the story; the daughter of one of the most notorious Death Eaters now the only female owner of the only female Quidditch club in the league. The Harpies had always been watched, but the eye of the cameras were on them more than ever now. It was something that could be discouraging, but Pansy was of the opinion that they should say something to the camera, and say it loud while flipping the damn bird.
"Business," Gwen said. "That, I do think we can agree on." She kept Pansy's gaze, and if possible, the weight of her focus was weightier still. There was one more thing she had to clarify. "I would have you defer to my judgment on the girls we hire to play for us. I have spent half my career nurturing the right balance for an all-women's team."
Pansy didn't respond right away. It wasn't in her nature to give up control, but she had already told Gwen to take care of the pitch. This was part of that. "The pitch is yours, Ms. Jones, and that includes those girls that seem to adore you so damn much." She leaned forward and met Gwen's gaze square on. "If you keep me thoroughly informed, I see no reason I should doubt your expert opinion. Besides the fact I think you a rather self-righteous bitch," oops. She'd done it after all, "I have no reason to doubt your acumen on the pitch. Your record precedes you and I would be a fool to discard your mastery."
Pansy leaned back in her large chair then. "I am no fool, Ms. Jones. I may not like you, nor you, me, but I rather think we shall make very good business together."
"Indeed." Gwen sat back as well. Self-righteous bitch. The chit had stones if nothing else.
SUMMARY: Pansy calls Gwen into her office to break some news to her. They also discuss the future of the Harpies, and Pansy calls Gwen a bitch. To her face.
Gwen looked up from the correspondence scattered across her desk. Normally she had a smile for her assistant, Rose Mallory, but these days that hesitant tone could only mean one thing. "She wants me right this second then, yes?"
"Yes."
Gwen's mouth thinned, but she refrained from saying anything. She and Pansy had started out badly, but she refused to create more tension if she could help it, especially in front of the team or other employees. "Thank you, Rose."
Rose seemed relieved and nodded before disappearing back through the door.
Letting out the breath she'd been holding, Gwen made her way to Pansy's office and knocked lightly before pushing inside.
"Ms. Jones," Pansy said evenly, dark eyes none too friendly. Perhaps her features weren't so schooled as the older woman before her, but at least she hadn't called her a self-righteous bitch. Yet. "Do sit down."
It was in her to say she'd rather stand, thank you, but Gwen held her tongue and sat opposite Pansy. Gwen knew the power to be had just from sitting behind the desk and she didn't like being on the other side of it.
When nothing was said for a long moment, the muscles in Gwen's jaw tensed. "As I think pleasant niceties are a waste of time at this point, I'll just ask - what do you want, Miss Parkinson?"
Pansy nearly smiled in triumph; Gwen Jones was notorious for being an ice queen. After their first meeting, Pansy had done her research on the woman and everything that came back had painted her as a quite the society darling. She knew how to play the games and rarely betrayed her own feelings. It pleased Pansy to no end that a long stretch of silence between them got on Gwen's nerves.
"Effective immediately, Donald Park is no longer the manager for the team," she said as she folded her hands on the large desk and watched Gwen's face for a reaction.
Gwen nearly raised her brows in surprise. "You fired him?"
"Let us say we agreed that it was in his best interest if he decided to resign posthaste."
Meaning that Pansy would have fired him had he not chosen to leave on his own. Gwen had been doing the real coaching for nearly ten years, and as she held Pansy's gaze, she couldn't find it in herself to disagree with Pansy's decision to let him go. Patrick Davis Jr. should have done it years ago, but he'd been too busy elsewhere to be of any real use to their club.
"That was ... very expeditious of you, Ms. Parkinson," she finally said, features blank. She might agree with the decision, but that didn't mean she'd give Pansy the satisfaction of knowing that.
"Yes, I thought so," Pansy said, frustrated that she couldn't read anything from the other woman now. "After several meetings with him it became rather obvious that I was paying him a large sum to play with the press, and from what I can tell he was not even particularly good at it."
"He was better at it than coaching. I let him do it." Gwen was mildly surprised she had said anything at all.
"It kept him out of the way."
Gwen didn't answer right away this time, but eventually she nodded her head. "Yes."
Most everyone Pansy had met on the team - and in the whole damn League for that matter - had treated her as if she didn't know a Quaffle from a Snitch, but Pansy hadn't grown up surrounded by boys obsessed with Quidditch and learned nothing. She'd made a point to know it at one time, if only because it was what men liked to talk about.
These days she was surrounded by experts, but after weeks of getting comfortable in her new position, Pansy had come to realize it was less about her actually knowing the game and more about know the people she employed and the business behind the game. It was something she had learned while running Choyer, but the stress and agitation she had been plagued with since taking on the Harpies had blinded her. It was what the critics were predicting, but she would prove every single one of those damn vultures wrong.
"You do all of the coaching, do you not, Ms. Jones?"
"You already know the answer to that question."
"Then you know why Donald had to go. He was draining funds for frivolous lunches and ridiculous office comforts that can otherwise be used to make our team better. There are a number of other places the money could be useful. The marketing department needs more staff and new ideas, and the merchandising needs to be updated, not to mention that the uniforms are just dreadful."
Gwen's jaw tensed again. She had been managing those departments as well and Pansy would have known that. She knew the younger woman had been sniffing around everywhere. A more rational part of her pointed out that it was good to have an owner that actually cared about the team, but Gwen rarely found that she was completely rational around Pansy Parkinson.
"They're Quidditch uniforms, Ms. Parkinson. They're not intended to be a fashion statement."
"Yes, well that needs to change. I'm not a fool Ms. Jones. You have almost single-handedly made this team what it is today. I'm not ignorant of the League Championships the team has under your leadership, nor that the Harpies have consistently ranked in the top three in attendance for the past decade. What I intend to do is improve upon that. Puddlemere sells more jerseys and kits, and their players have more endorsement deals. The Falcons have better advertising."
Pansy leaned forward, dark eyes steady and intent. "We can do better in those areas. I am not a coach and I will never claim to know every in and out of this bloody game, but I do know how to throw a party, Ms. Jones, and the Harpies are the damn bash of the decade, no?"
Gwen kept Pansy's gaze though didn't say anything. She wanted very much to dislike this young woman, but as she looked at her - the determination and sheer force of will in her bearing - Gwen was very suddenly reminded of someone.
Herself.
She leaned forward then, dark eyes just as intent on Pansy's. "If you trust me to take care of the pitch, then I will trust you to make sure those girls get everything they deserve."
The words were weighted and if Pansy wasn't so focused on keeping a foothold in this conversation, she might have been momentarily overwhelmed by the heaviness of Gwen's focus. She was a formidable woman. That she had offered what she had - a truce of sorts - meant something. It was important to Gwen, and Pansy could feel it spiced like a heated thing. This was a woman one wanted on their side.
"I will not be hiring another manager at this time."
"You do realize that it's been centuries since a team has forgone such, yes?" Despite her words, Gwen was not displeased. The pitch would truly be hers - officially.
"I also hear it's been quite a long while since a woman has owned a team. As you can see, I couldn't give a shite how long it's been. I do what I want, when I want and if someone has a problem with that, then they are handled accordingly."
"I have seen that, Ms. Parkinson," Gwen said. "I'm quite glad we're on the same page."
Pansy could have sworn Gwen smiled, or something like it - a brightness to her eyes that hadn't been there prior - but it was gone before she could be sure. "I expect to be kept thoroughly in the loop. I know that you did much of the work Patrick should have done, and I expect that you will guide me so that I might navigate to the best advantage."
"You truly care for this team?" It sounded as such, but Gwen could not quite believe it. Her first impression of the woman didn't point to it. Her opinion had been colored since, but the woman before her was not what she had expected. Perhaps that was it; what she had expected and what was reality seemed to be two very different things.
"I do not know anyone well enough to care as you are implying, Ms. Jones, but I care about excellence. We are truly a club of women now and that means that we must be better than everyone else. I intend us to be the best and I care about what it will take to make that happen. Perhaps we do not like one another, but there is much advantage to us working together toward a common goal, no? "
That she had more to prove than she could have ever imagined before her impulse buy of the team, Pansy did not add. She had known it would cause a bit of a stir, but the press had grabbed onto the story; the daughter of one of the most notorious Death Eaters now the only female owner of the only female Quidditch club in the league. The Harpies had always been watched, but the eye of the cameras were on them more than ever now. It was something that could be discouraging, but Pansy was of the opinion that they should say something to the camera, and say it loud while flipping the damn bird.
"Business," Gwen said. "That, I do think we can agree on." She kept Pansy's gaze, and if possible, the weight of her focus was weightier still. There was one more thing she had to clarify. "I would have you defer to my judgment on the girls we hire to play for us. I have spent half my career nurturing the right balance for an all-women's team."
Pansy didn't respond right away. It wasn't in her nature to give up control, but she had already told Gwen to take care of the pitch. This was part of that. "The pitch is yours, Ms. Jones, and that includes those girls that seem to adore you so damn much." She leaned forward and met Gwen's gaze square on. "If you keep me thoroughly informed, I see no reason I should doubt your expert opinion. Besides the fact I think you a rather self-righteous bitch," oops. She'd done it after all, "I have no reason to doubt your acumen on the pitch. Your record precedes you and I would be a fool to discard your mastery."
Pansy leaned back in her large chair then. "I am no fool, Ms. Jones. I may not like you, nor you, me, but I rather think we shall make very good business together."
"Indeed." Gwen sat back as well. Self-righteous bitch. The chit had stones if nothing else.
SUMMARY: Pansy calls Gwen into her office to break some news to her. They also discuss the future of the Harpies, and Pansy calls Gwen a bitch. To her face.