I know I have no business knowing this about her. But after that first day, I had her thoroughly investigated. I couldn’t help it.
She’s also had no serious relationships in the last two years. That last piece of information shouldn't have pleased me as much as it did.
I watch her walk away and turn left to take her usual route to the coffee shop three blocks over, where she spends her lunch breaks most days.
She always sits at a table by the window. She loves herself a turkey sandwich.
The moment she goes out of sight, my heart strings like it needs to follow. I don’t even think; I just go on autopilot.
I put the car in drive and pull out, keeping a careful distance. This has become my ritual. Watch her walk to lunch, circle the block, park again, and wait for her to return to the office.
It's pathetic, this fixation, but I can't seem to help myself. It’s crazy, I know.
But there's something mesmerizing about watching someone who has no idea they're being watched. I can see her for who she truly is, and so far, I haven’t found a goddamn fault. Except maybe how she always has her phone trapped between her ear and shoulder while she walks and carries that huge-ass bag in both her hands because of how heavy it is at times. This habit of hers seems dangerous to me.
She’s doing it again. Crossing the street like that.
She should invest in some earbuds. Or at least pay more attention to her surroundings. Boston isn't exactly known for its safety, even in the business district. And with her working in a Zakharov building...
The thought of her being in that lair sends an uncomfortable chill down my spine.
I pull into an empty spot near the café and watch as she enters. Through the window, I can see her order.
I should be watching the building. I’m so sick of following her around that I made a decision. Impulsive. Spur of the moment.
It feels like it’s time to see if this fascination holds up to reality.
Chapter 2 - Gela
Why won’t my hands stop shaking? Here I am, trying to make what could be the biggest deal of my entire life, and I feel like I did when I got picked up for prom.
I take a sip of my coffee, but then push it aside, thinking better of it. Right now? I need poise, confidence, and most importantly, calm. Caffeine jitters aren’t on the menu.
This pitch has to be perfect. I could have taken the call in the office, but there was too much noise outside. The floor above us has been occupied, and apparently, the movers and packers need to ensure the entire building knows they’re doing their job.
I switch on my computer and stare at the clock, wanting to log in exactly on time. I’ve still got ten minutes left to go, but it’s better to be early than late. First impressions matter, and my team and I have spent weeks making sure we put our best foot forward today. We’ve refined our PowerPoint presentation over a dozen times, developed a watertight budget, and invested thousands in a market research deck that the company doesn’t even expect us to provide on a preliminary call.
But having dedicated four years to a Northwestern marketing degree has taught me one single, spectacular truth: the show starts before the client ever hires you. The client doesn’t care about their products or services as much as they care about the spin I can put on it. The truth is: Many companies don’t believe in their product, and that’s why they need people like me to come in and create sales and to do it so damn well that they leave saying we always knew we had a hit on our hands.
And that’s what I plan to do today in the next thirty minutes.
Fitness Haven could be my biggest client yet—the kind that takes my little agency from a cute side hustle to a whale of a business. I plug in my charger, just in case, adjust my hair, and check my lipstick one last time on my phone screen.
Game time.
“You've got this,” I whisper to myself, typing in the Zoom meeting ID.
But the truth is, my hands still shake. I wish I hadn’t read the press alert this morning. Until last night, I knew Fitness Haven had deep pockets, but this morning, I learned that the company has just secured Series A funding to the tune of $25 million. They’re on track to become a billion-dollar company within the next decade, and somehow, by some miracle, they're considering my tiny agency to handle their social media rollout.
Hell yeah, I’m nervous.
Six months ago, I was just another marketing grad with a dream and a mountain of student debt. Then Z Ventures appeared like a guardian angel with seed funding. I still remember staring at the email, convinced it was spam. They offered me such a substantial amount of money that I had to find out who they were. But all I saw was a never-ending paper trail that led to no names. None of my classmates had heard of them either.
“Who cares?” my roommate had said. “Money is money.”
It should have been a red flag, but I was so desperate to get my ideas off the ground that I simply thought I’d get to the bottom of it if the money ever came.
My roommate was right. That mysterious funding turned my dream into a real business: Gela Jones Digital Marketing. It all felt so good that I never even questioned who my fundersmight be. But sometimes, I find myself wondering why they’re so anonymous.
