Chapter 5

Lexical’s offices. The no fun zone. I didn’t find Serena in her cube. Probably in a meeting, though for what reason I couldn’t possibly guess. She did nothing worth talking about. Just pushed pixels around a screen in wholly unusable configurations.

When I entered my office, I noticed a few folks in the building across the street turn to look. My cheerleading squad. I gave them an exaggerated shrug. No Serena today, so no show. They turned back to their own business, no doubt disappointed. I wondered which porn sites our little encounter the other day had been uploaded to. It would be fun to watch it.

Evan Westley’s assistant emailed me to confirm our meeting. Gudrun. Icelandic, I think. A smoking hot Scandinavian woman, anyway. The kind of woman you dream about having a sauna with. I’d lusted over her the first time I’d met her, six years ago in Evan Westley’s office, when I’d secured my first significant round of funding for Sensus. He’d been one of my earliest angel investors. I returned her confirmation. I’d be there.

My phone alerted. A notification from Lyft asking me to confirm my tip. That irked me. Who were they to question my generosity? I confirmed the tip, then noticed Mia had left me a message via the app’s lost item feature.

Did you get a chance to look at it yet?

Good follow up. I had nothing on my calendar but weekly recurring meetings I didn’t need to attend, and a couple of one-on-one’s with two of my directors. I cancelled them all. I was also late submitting my quarterly budget to Sean and Patrick, but I didn’t care about that. I’d just fuzz the numbers from last quarter’s budget and send that to them.

I opened Mia’s business plan and found her phone number on the cover page. I sent her a text message.

Mia, it’s Ryan from last night. Read your biz plan. Let me know when you want to discuss.

My phone rang twenty seconds after I sent it.

“I forgot to get your phone number last night,” she said excitedly.

“I saw your message on the app. Clever.”

“So, what did you think of it?”

How could I put this to her? “I made a few notes.”

“Oh wow! That’s amazing! Thank you so much for doing that. Do you, like, have time to talk about it?”

“I have a meeting downtown in about two hours. Do you know where the Pennybacker Building is? About eight blocks from where you dropped me last night.”

“I’ll find it.”

I checked my watch. “Meet me in the lobby at three thirty and I’ll give you my notes. Don’t be late.”

The Pennybacker Building. One of the city’s oldest skyscrapers. Art deco inspired architecture, the façade and ornamented base supported tens of thousands of cubic feet of limestone and granite. The atrium lobby resembled a train station from the thirties, gorgeously appointed in hand-carved hardwoods and polished marble with metallic inlays. Mia entered through antique brass revolving doors tinged with verdigris and spotted me seated at a small table near the coffee bar.

I needed to talk to her about her appearance. Hobo chic. Camo pants, a pea green baggy t-shirt, and a flannel button down tied around her waist. She looked ready for a Nirvana concert, if it was nineteen ninety-two. In the car, I’d noticed how heavy she was, but it really showed in the way she moved. Not morbidly obese, but more than just a little chunky. She smiled at me as she approached and, once again, I was struck by how much she reminded me of Alexis.

“Thanks so much for meeting me,” she said, sounding slightly out of breath.

As I checked my watch, I wondered how far she’d had to hoof it. However far, she’d arrived five minutes early. Good for her.

I pushed a lidded paper cup toward her when she sat down. “Coffee?”

“Decaf?” When she saw my reaction, she picked it up and took a small sip. “Thank you.” She eyed her business plan, which rested atop the small table.

“So,” I said, “Slavery, Inc.”

She frowned at my jibe. “Capitalists have been exploiting the working class for years. What’s wrong with them getting a little something in return?”

I smiled at her and took a sip of my coffee. “You’re one of those types, huh?”

“What type?”

“A bleeding heart.”

She scoffed, but wisely refused to get sucked into a political debate.

“How old are you?” I asked, positioning her business plan in front of me.

“Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Almost nineteen.”

“College?”

“I couldn’t afford it, as it turns out,” she said with a smirk on her face. “Isn’t that what they say? The best business ideas come out of necessity.”

“Sometimes.” I opened her business plan. Her eyes popped when she saw the dense notes scribbled over every inch of her document.

“Holy shit,” she muttered under her breath. “When you said a few notes, I expected ... well, not that!”

We settled in and I tore her precious little business plan to shreds. She took my criticisms surprisingly well.

“So, basically what you’re saying is, my idea is shit,” she said with a sour look on her face. “Figures.”

The table was littered with empty paper cups and two empty muffin wrappers, all of them hers. She fought to keep her jittery hands still, and fidgeted in her seat.

“The idea’s fine. It’s this plan of yours that’s shit.”

“Okay, so how do I make it not shit?”

I pushed the business plan across the table to her. “First thing I’d do is toss that in the trash. No one does business plans anymore. They’re too old school. You need a deck.”

“A what?”

“A pitch deck. A slide presentation. Lots of pictures, few words. Investors have no time and no patience. Give them the big picture with a few graphs and charts. Hook them with a multi-billion dollar addressable market and the promise of a fat, one hundred times return on their investment.”

“What about the idea?”

“Who cares about the idea? Fuck the idea. People invest in people. You need to sell them on you. Which, by the way, you need to work on.” I indicated her wardrobe.

She looked down at herself. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t go into an investor meeting looking like that.”

“Why? What’s wrong with this?”

I sighed. “Look at how I’m dressed. Pressed shirt, custom tailored. Tie. Slacks. Shoes. Polished, of course. Look at this watch. Patek Philippe. Now, look at you. You look like you just crawled out of a cardboard box in a Seattle back alley.”

“Harsh.”

“Reality. Everything about me says I’m already successful, and I don’t need their money.”

“Then why would they give you any?”

“That’s just how the game is played. The less you look like you need their money, the more they want to give it to you.”

“Ryan!”

Evan Westley strode across the lobby toward our table. I checked my watch and stood to greet him.

“Evan. Great to see you. Our meeting’s not for another ten.”

“I know. It’s fine. I was just rushing back to make sure I got here on time.” He glanced down at Mia and did a double take. “Is that Alexis? Oh, wow! I haven’t seen you in what? Five years? Do you remember me? Your mom and dad brought you to my house for one of our Christmas parties. You’ve gotten so big. Grown up,” he said quickly. “How old are you now?”

I couldn’t believe how good his memory was. He’d met Alexis exactly one time, when she was twelve. “She just turned eighteen,” I said, before she could answer. Mia smirked at the deception.

“Eighteen,” Evan said wistfully. “No kidding? Time flies, doesn’t it. Look, I’m free now if you want to come up early.”

“Sounds good.” Maybe I’d make it to Alexis’ recital after all.

“You interning at your dad’s company?” Evan asked Mia. “Come to give your old man some support?” He laughed.

Mia opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “She has to run, actually.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Sure you don’t want to take a peek at the office?” he asked Mia. “I remember you said you were into space. We have a twelve foot replica of the Saturn V rocket that took the first astronauts to the moon hanging up in our reception. You should come check it out.”

This time, Mia cut me off before I could object. “I’d love to, Evan! Thanks!”

I flashed her a disapproving glare, then smiled when Evan turned to face me. Mia stood and scooped up her business plan.

“Wonderful!” Evan said. “Follow me.”

The offices of Westley Ventures. Tastefully and minimally decorated in that hip, understated Scandinavian fashion that let you know Gudrun had heavily influenced the interior design. A devout Mormon, Evan had five children and a beautiful wife he worshipped. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if he and Gudrun had a little something going on the side.