Beatrice glared down at him, her eyebrows creased the way they did when someone contradicted her. “Sam, do something! And I don’t mean research.” Her voice was persistent and unforgiving. She’d arrived unexpectedly, gliding over from her office by the big window. A first.
Shoes. Stunning white wedding shoes, created exclusively for the bride with all the best skills and technology the company offered. Cinderella, eat your heart out. But the shoes hadn’t disappeared at midnight; they’d started shining when it rained.
“It’s gone viral. The memes will destroy us.” She smiled with her mouth, not her eyes. “Save us. Make us proud. Make your daughter proud.”
Samir’s thoughts were on his daughter. He wished he’d never told Beatrice about her. “We could spin it.” His voice was uncertain, so he gestured with a thin hand towards his computer monitors, with his tools for tracking social media and news coverage. “Look: the shine on the shoes matches the umbrella above her. We say we designed them that way. It was meant as a surprise.”
“You think our customers want shoes that change colour?” Beatrice glared at him. “I’m trying to close orders from the world’s greatest film star for her wedding, and from a glam-rock singer for the stage.” She turned. “Do it, for now.”
Samir worked on the comms. He begged two people for help, plus a supply of coffee and doughnuts.
Late that afternoon, he had a visitor. Mina wasn’t the company’s top designer, but she’d befriended him on his first day, just four months ago. She pulled up a chair, sat forward, and stared at him with big brown eyes. It was so intense he had to lean back. Her voice was high-pitched. “What you’re writing isn’t true. We don’t design them to change colour; it just happens. Shiny, red-brick, mouldy green — it depends on the material. That’s why we always discuss where customers will wear them. You’ll remind Beatrice, won’t you?”
Samir figured Beatrice knew her own products, and he’d get a sharp response. He added Mina’s warning to the marcomms report, below the summary.
Within two days, the crisis had died down, and the talk shifted to Beatrice visiting her friendly rock star. Samir had barely started work when she appeared at his desk. “Shoes that go red. Rain-responsive material. Brilliant! My rock angel is going to wear them on stage and have someone throw water at her.”
Samir figured water near electronics was a bad idea, but he kept silent.
“We’ve closed two more big sales with these materials. High-profile sales. And all because of your news story.”
Beatrice left, and he flipped to his screen and checked the rock star’s order, looking for the material’s technical name. He checked the sale to the film star. Rain-responsive, but a different material. “Oh, God!” he exclaimed, loud enough for his colleagues to look up. “The world’s greatest film star has shoes for her wedding day that go mouldy grey.”
The tips of the words showed at the bottom of the document. He scrolled down and read them: Requested feature.
The ideas and text for this story are mine. AI was used for research, analysis, editorial testing and image generation.