The merger went smoothly for a number of years. We met KPIs, the business was under control and it was like clockwork. It was almost time for an important press conference, invites to reporters and all the relevant people were about to be issued. We had important news to announce.
Then came the takeover.
It was quick, relatively painless at first, but none were prepared for the epic shitstorm that followed.
The harbinger of said shitstorm was a 6 foot, tough-talkin’ and fist-thumpin’ Wickham-esque fella who sowed seeds of doubt in my Charlotte-mind.
He scoffed at the safe sameness and security of my merger and questioned its validity. Wickham wanted in on the organization, the Charlotte half to be exact, and he was not going to take no for an answer.
‘Take a risk, don’t play it so safe. The outcome might be better and so much more worthwhile!’
‘Why can’t you see that this could be good for you? Don’t you want excitement? Fun? OUR merger would be greater, better and incredible.’
The persuasion and negotiations were coupled with sweetness, tons of humour and a future so frighteningly unknown yet so alluring.
The seduction was ridiculous, a logical and sensible person would have been able to resist.
Why spoil a good merger?
Alas, this level headed Charlotte turned into giddy giggly Lydia, and ran away.
With Mr Wickham.