A Winter Dream

Chapter


Twenty-seven


Things are going well, which, of course, means it’s time for change.

Fate abhors nothing so much as contentment.

Joseph Jacobson’s Diary





The day before Thanksgiving, Charlene buzzed me in my office. “J.J., Mr. Ferrell would like to meet with you.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Immediately.”

“Tell him I’ll be right in.”

Charlene smiled as I approached her desk. “He’s waiting.”

“Thanks.”

Mr. Ferrell was sitting at his desk. In front of him was a bottle of Dom Perignon and two long-stemmed crystal champagne glasses.

“What can I do for you, sir?” I asked.

“Have a seat, Joe.” (Mr. Ferrell was the only one at the firm who I allowed to call me Joe. He told me to call him George, but I never felt comfortable with it.) I sat down in the leather chair facing his desk.

“Are you ready for Thanksgiving?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s easy. I’m spending it alone.”

“Sounds refreshingly simple. We’ve got all of Peggy’s family coming over. Maybe I’ll join you.”

“Let me know,” I said. “I’ll pick up another Hungry-Man frozen dinner.”

He smiled, then his demeanor turned more serious. “I need to tell you something.” He leaned back in his chair. “Last night I received a phone call from Don Shelton. Do you know who that is?”

“No, sir.”

“Don’s the Chairman of the Board for Leo Burnett. He gave me some news that I’d like to share with you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“First the good news. The rumors you’ve heard milling about the energy rooms are true. I’ve been promoted to CEO of Leo Burnett Worldwide.”

“That’s fantastic news,” I said. “You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” he said, downplaying my excitement. “Now the bad news.”

My excitement drained nearly as fast as it had come. I looked at him anxiously.

“With me leaving, I’m afraid there won’t be a place for you here in the New York office.”

I fought back my disappointment and surprise. “I’m sorry to hear that. I thought things were going well.”

“And they have been,” he said. “But if business has taught me anything, it’s that nothing is as constant as change.” He looked at me for a moment, then said, “I hope losing your job here doesn’t stifle your creative flow, because I’d like you to come with me as the new Global Chief Creative Officer for Leo Burnett Worldwide.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “You’re promoting me?”

Grinning, he opened the bottle of champagne and poured it into the glasses on his desk. “Of course I am.” He lifted both glasses and then walked around the desk to the front, offering one of the glasses to me. “You’ll be my number one.”

I was speechless.

“We work well together,” Mr. Ferrell said. “I’m no fool. The Florence Initiative is the main reason I got the promotion. And we’ve just begun. I believe that the two of us can fulfill my dream of a creative renaissance—not just for Leo Burnett, but for the whole world.”

“I believe so too, sir.”

“I know. You’re a dreamer like me.”

I held up my glass. “To the dream.”

“No,” Mr. Ferrell said, holding up his glass. “To the dreamers.”