I Run with the CFO who Runs

He passed me off to a couple of his minions. One responsible for ABC; the other responsible for XYZ. Neither got back to me immediately. Eventually, I emailed both again "to see if you had any questions re: the materials we sent." I never heard back from XYZ; ABC got back to me a couple of days later. She filled me in on a couple of streams of work that they were pursuing and then described a niche need they needed addressing, a niche my company just so happens to address.

A follow up call with ABC turned into a request for further materials and then another call -- with her minions. Extended vetting. During it all, I dropped the occasional and informal note to the CFO, just to "keep him in the loop" with the progress of things between me (my company) and his team. Each note included a personal reference to running ... Wishing him luck in the upcoming marathon, asking how the marathon went etc. When telefonic and electronic discussions with the minions reached a point where a face to face was certainly justified, I let the CFO know that I would be in town to meet with his team.

"Would he have time for a coffee or a rain check on that run I had missed?" I wrote.

In hindsight, I do not recollect the true motivation behind my "keeping in the loop" the CFO. Certainly, my company extols the virtues of aiming high in customer relationships ... The higher up the food chain, the safer you are. Part of me now wonders how much of my diligent follow up was inspired by professional diligence and how much by personal chemistry.

The CFO responded quickly. He suggested a run in the evening, followed by dinner, then to have lunch as his "partner" at a tennis event he had been invited to the next day. The only problem with the run was he would have no where to clean up ... Unless I didn't mind a) his not showering b) skipping dinner (that would be a shame) or c) his using my room for showering.

Whoa!

Normally red flags would be flying all over the place, but my instincts, as shaky as they have been, told me I could trust this guy on the face of his message:  he would make 'work' time for me, but there could be an element of 'dating' to our contact. The decision was laid before me: to accept one or various of the invitations, to make them into what I would, and to trust that nothing further would be expected or required.

"We're adults for Christ's sake. He just needs a place to shower." I told myself. "But go to a lunch as his 'partner'?  That sound like a date!"

I replied to him, "I will happily wait in the lobby with a beer while you clean up using my shower."

I kept the surface nonchalant and innocent; the undercurrents kept me awake during the nights leading up to the 'dates.'

Were the undercurrents in my head?  If not, was I excited?  What would I do? 

The evening we were to meet in my lobby - dressed in our running kit - came. A tropical-esque downpour hit the city whilst I waited. I read my phone. Then I heard a faintly familiar lilt when my name was called.  I looked up to see a fully work-dressed and drenched CFO standing in front of me with a gym bag. My stomach took a churn.  He is a handsome man, but it was the gym back that put me on edge. A man I didn't know - other than a superficial meeting - was going to be using my hotel room. 

I nonchalantly gave him my key and told him the room number. He asked which way -- if it was to the left or to the right of the lifts.  I shrugged. "Follow the signs." It occurred to me that maybe this was an unusual arrangement for him as well, and he was nervous too.  Why would he ask left or right? Everyone just follows the signs.  

I decided to be as transparent as possible. As we lightly trotted to the park, I commented on the unusual circumstances of our current meeting.  "It's not very normal to go running with a customer -- least of all a prospective customer."

He gave me a quizzical look. "It's the new networking." he said as he patted his stomach, "The new executive wants to be healthy.  Lot's of business is done over golf.  I like to run.  Sales people usually look out for personal interests of their customers." He was playing it cool; he didn't think running with me was so out of the ordinary .

During our forty five minutes around the park where we had first seen each other, we talked about work, running, and the history of the city. He did most of the talking as I huffed and puffed to maintain his pace.  "Do you want to walk a little bit?" he finally asked with a sympathetic smile on his face. "You need to slow down to increase the distance." he was exceedingly kind.

Back at the hotel, I went up to my room and showered first. I noticed he had left his gym bag unobtrusively hidden in a corner with his work clothes folded on top. When I finished my clean-up, I went downstairs, and we exchanged the room key like it was a baton.

We went to dinner. I studiously watched my wine intake. He went very serious when it came time to talk about my company and our services. I suddenly felt like I was in an interview. I couldn't read whether I had answered correctly.  He could have been playing poker.

The discussion turned and was stiffly bandied about between between professional and personal interests. I was on guard with the desire to impress professionally.  He seemed somber. I asked questions; he answered.

This isn't going as swimmingly as I had hoped.  I chastised myself for both thinking a sales person can operate on charm alone and that maybe there had been more than work behind our meetings.  In the thick of it, my previous intuition seemed off.

Why didn't I prepare better, research the equivalent of the GAPP here?  Why had I let my mind wonder about other possibilities.  But why had he, a busy (busy!) man make so much time for me?

 I remonstrated myself.  My shaky instincts grew shakier.

After dinner was paid for (he reached for his wallet since he had invited me and chosen the place, but I insisted on paying given it was a prospective customer call), he lost the fully somber exterior with which he had intimidated me during the dinner inquisition. Now he asked if I had ever seen some of the more popular sites of the city centre. I vacillated with indecision:  he is just being a polite host of his native city, but what if he's not? What would you do?

I went along for 30 minute mini tour of the old town, which ended at my hotel, where his gym bag was still in my room.  More indecision.

Do I make him wait downstairs and I go up and get it? Do I give him my key and wait for him to get it? Do we both go up to collect it - together in the same lift, on the threshold ...

Suggesting either of the first two options that had flitted through my mind felt rude and needlessly suspicious. I decided to trust the running CFO.  We rode the lift to the fourth floor, he picked up his gym bag, gave me a kiss on each cheek as is the custom in the country, and returned to the lift where he disappeared. 

I was relieved. 

But perhaps a little disappointed.