Negotiations: Read the room
Ushered into what I assumed was the boardroom, I could feel my ankles begin to itch –– a sure sign that I knew deep down this could go badly.
I’ve known since I was nine or ten that anxiety is the cause of my ankles’ itching. If the itch gets bad enough, it’s nearly impossible not to scratch.
Everything here is guaranteed to make me uncomfortable, starting with being called in to meet with the C-suite on short notice. I’d meet with the CMO several times but never with the CEO and the CFO –– hence my ankles.
We’re fifty-four floors up –– windows floor to ceiling –– with a sweeping view of the city and the river below.
The table seems of impossible size. Twenty-five, thirty feet long? That size and only one piece of wood?
The door opens, and I snap my head into the moment as a well-tailored woman –– mid-fifties? –– enters.
“Mr. Leonhardt, so good of you to come.”
I rise and begin to circuit the table and…
“The executive team will be here in a few moments. Please excuse the delay.”
With that, smiling, she exits the room.
I wander to the windows, wondering what the cause of the delay is.
Clearly, something is amiss. She didn’t introduce herself and left too quickly for any pleasantries.
I checked my watch, remembering my coach saying, “You have all the time in the world.” It’s not really true, but the thought always reminds me to be patient and consider the possibilities. They’re only ten minutes late.
I watch a tug gently nudge a cruise ship from a dock far below. Vacation thoughts pass through my head.
The door opens, and three execs enter. Low voices, I can’t make out, in rapid-fire conversation. It’s the CEO, CMO, and the CFO — all in jeans T’s.
I instantly feel out of place in my suit and tie. I feel the urge to remove my tie, but I resist and walk towards them, extending my hand to the CEO.
“Thanks for coming, Ted. I’m glad we could finally meet.” I nod and smile.
“And please excuse our tardiness.”
“Of course. No problem.” I respond and wait.
The CEO pulls out a chair and sits while the other two continue to converse, glancing at us while continuing their barely audible debate.
I sit.
We wait.
The CEO is going through his phone.
The two Cs sit. The CMO apologizes for the delay and asks, “Ted, what is the biggest obstacle you’ve experienced in a rebrand like this?”
That’s a signal. They’ve had some setbacks.
So, I answer with, “Oh, lack of agreement by senior stakeholders.”
I see the CMO nodding and the CFO sitting with her arms locked across her chest. I wonder –– perhaps hope –– that my answer was broad and general enough to relate.
The CMO quickly follows up with, “How do you deal with that?”
“I like to understand, as best I can, what the concern is. It’s always legitimate. I think conversation is the best way to understand. And I must say that on projects like this, the closer we get to launch, the more objections surface.”
“We might as well tell him.” This from the CEO, “our largest shareholder, the Chariman, just said no to the whole program.”
“Did he say why?” I ask. “I could assume, always dangerous, given that his grandfather founded the company, I could assume it’s personal.”
The CMO jumps in with, “We’ve reviewed all the research with him, and he did indicate he understood the why. I thought we had a green light.” She is flushed as she speaks. As the newest member of this team—as most of the CMOs are these days—perhaps she feels vulnerable.
She had pushed the program forward with tremendous enthusiasm. We were six months into it. Tons of money and lots of effort are at risk if the project is abandoned. For her, I suspect, it’s personal. She could lose her job if her decisions were found at fault.
I lean forward, “I’d like to help. I have some thoughts. But first, how do you think we should proceed?”
The CFO speaks for the first time. “As you guys know, I didn’t favor the rebrand. I’ve been here the longest and relayed the Chairman’s concerns from the beginning.” I couldn’t help but think, “smug bastard.”
After a bit of a pause, the CEO adjusts himself in his chair and says, “But when I went through the research with the Chairman, he seemed on board. More than onboard, he said go ahead.”
Okay, I think the CMO is all in, perhaps thinking her career depends on it. The CEO is into the logic of the change but could back out. And I wonder how the CFO feels about her situation. Maybe she’s not against the rebrand, just against the disapproval of the Chairman. Perhaps she wanted to be CEO and got passed over.
I stay quiet. Desperate to jump in. Hold your horses, Teddy boy.
“So, Ted,” The CEO asks, “what are your thoughts.”
With that, I know that whatever happens, I can maintain my role and help them consider the possibilities. I suggest I get with the CFO and share the footage from the consumer clinics with her. I knew she hadn’t had an opportunity to see it yet, and as I said this, I could see her nodding.
And second, I pointed out that I needed her insights and history with the Chairman to help me understand his view of the rebrand. Finally, if she agrees, determine how to give the Chairman the broadest possible understanding of the issues driving the project so he could decide whether to rebrand or not. I always like to show a willingness to listen and change my view as new insights surface.
I noticed the CFO had relaxed her arms, no longer crossing against her chest, and she smiled for a moment.
When I left that day, my ankles had calmed. No longer itching. We had a plan.
I did meet with the CFO and later the Chairman. The rebrand was canceled. In its place, a broad social effort was launched, which, in effect, rebranded the company by changing how people felt about it.
All three C-suite execs kept their jobs.
I wish I could tell you who the company was.
But I can say that reading the room was a massive help that day.
