The woman nods appreciatively.
“Well, from one plus-sized woman to another, thank you for all that you’re doing,” she says to us both. “I saw your pitch and texted about half a dozen of my friends about it. I think you’ve got something special.”
We say our thanks to the woman and she leaves.
“Holy shit,” I breathe. “This is…this is amazing. People like our app. Theyreallylike it. I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” Kristen says. “Pinch yourself; this isn’t a dream.”
“I needed this,” I say. “I needed this so bad.”
“I know,” Kristen says, her face changing to one of soft sympathy. “I’m so sorry. I knew you’d have to run into him eventually…it’s just awful luck that it had to happen the night before our big presentation.”
I nod, deciding to save the full details of how I came to meet Vincent last night for another day. If I tell Kristen that I went to Vincent’s hotel room after a bad date and a long round of crying, it’ll just make her worry about me.
She worried so much after the initial breakup, and I don’t want her to think I’m experiencing some sort of heartache relapse…even though I’m fairly certain that’s exactly what is happening.
Though I slept easily last night after what felt like a victory – telling Vincent to his face that I feel nothing for him – today I’m struck with the realization that I’m disappointed. Disappointed that I didn’t see Vincent in the audience during our presentation. In fact, I haven’t seen him all day.
I was sure he’d be here. In fact, I was certain that Startup Week was the whole reason he’s even in town. Because he’salwaysat things like these.
But not today. A fact that hits me like a punch to the stomach, forcing me to realize an uncomfortable truth: That in spite of all of the progress I’ve made in the last year, I’m still very much in love with this infuriating man.
We leave the bathroom, turning the corner and almost immediately bumping into a large man in a suit.
I back up, steadying myself on my feet, and look up. He’s got bright green eyes and deep brown hair, a hint of a beard on his strong jaw. He’s handsome. Almost as handsome as Vincent.
And like Vincent, everything about him screams expensive. From the lapels of his jacket to the cologne that lingers in the air between us.
“Sorry,” he says with a voice like velvet. “I don’t mean to impose, but I saw your presentation and was wondering if you’d be interested in a private meeting. My name is Damien. I work with a variety of private investors in the northeast area. One of my clients is interested in providing funds.”
I look at Kristen excitedly, but she’s frowning at the man.
“Who’s the client?” she asks.
“He’d prefer to remain anonymous until we get closer to final paperwork,” he replies easily. “It’s fairly standard. Industry practice, really.”
“Says who?”
I look at Kristen. Her chin is jutting upwards, and she’s not smiling, not using her usual charm on a male investor the way I’d expect her to. Instead she seems closed off, skeptical, her arms crossed in front of her ample chest.
Damien doesn’t seem offended by Kristen’s line of questioning, though. There’s an easy smile on his face, a playful look in his emerald eyes.
“My associates and I reserved a conference room upstairs for the day. Some coffee and pastries laid out, just a place to congregate with promising startup founders and have private discussions like these,” he says. “Why don’t we take our conversation there, and see if we can settle some of your concerns? I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“I don’t feel uncomfortable,” Kristen replies steadily. “Just skeptical.”
“You’d be unwise not to be,” Damien says, bowing his head. “Please. Fifteen minutes of your time. My client was extremely enthusiastic over the phone when we discussed your app. He’ll be very displeased with me if I don’t manage to get a meeting with you.”
I look at Kristen, a pleading look in my eyes. I might just be the geek behind the computer and not the business-minded piece of our partnership, but this seems like a promising opportunity.
“There’s no harm in having a quick discussion, is there?” I ask Kristen hopefully.
Her eyes slide from Damien to me, then back to Damien. She shrugs a shoulder.
“Fine,” she says. “Fifteen minutes. And we’re not disclosing any details about our technology until an NDA has been signed.”
“Naturally,” Damien says, his smile widening.
