He felt
queerly out of place entering the ICP building, surrounded by
such abundance, such magnitude. He had even forgotten how long it
took for elevators to climb tall buildings; Wallaby's tallest
building was only three stories high, and almost everyone used
the central atrium stairs to travel between floors.
He shrugged his shoulders to straighten his suit - yet another
difference between casual West Coast wizardry and starchy East
Coast Big Business. He had felt uncomfortable walking through the
city, unable to see more than a few blocks in any direction,
surrounded by noise, exhaust, and serious faces. Indeed,
California, with its rolling hills and vistas, mild weather, and
no-hurry attitude had affected him more deeply than he had
realized.
In one hand he carried his briefcase, in the other a large binder
containing all of Wallaby's product plans, financial summaries,
and forecasts, as well as the strategy he had worked on two
nights ago. He had finalized the strategy on the plane yesterday
and printed the finished copy in his hotel suite last night with
his Joey Plus and portable printer.
He had come to think of the binder as his clay, molded into the
shape of a new Wallaby, a grassroots company deemed a serious
player by the most important counsel of all, based in this very
city: Wall Street.
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