Dear Mr. Cole,
Mr. Odericco would prefer all candidates to be vetted personally. If you are not available at the listed times, we will unfortunately have to consider that a pass on this opportunity.
Mr. Kavanagh
“No, no, no!” I say into the screen.
Cecily reads the email. “Shit.”
Despite the chilled air, my hands start to sweat as they plow against the keyboard.
Dear Mr. Kavanagh,
That is completely fine. I am more than happy to take the call personally.
Best,
Mr. Cole
I stare at the message for a few seconds and glance up at Cecily before pressing Send. Just a small lie to cover up the last.
No big deal.
Chapter 4
Business Account (WYST) BALANCE: £12,058.89
Personal Account BALANCE: -£1,960.63
Recent transactions:
Charlotte Street Hotel: £45.69
FemTech Monthlymagazine subscription: £15.99
“This is going to work, right?” I say mostly to myself before leaning back in my chair, the nerves fully taking flight. An anti-nausea tablet and that yellow “herbal remedy” throat spray would usually give me the placebo courage I need to get through a phone call like this with no trouble. But the added factor of deception on the phone to a potential investor is clawing through any medicinal walls built to house my anxiety.
Pacha stands over me, his neon yellow tracksuit glistening in the speckled sunlight. “My program? Yes. Your plan? No.”
When I asked Pacha if he could create a voice changer software for me, I did not imagine he’d be able to do it so quickly, no questions asked. This plan came out of pure unadulterated panic, and he didn’t say anything, but I think he could see it on my face. I’ve been holding on by the tips of my fingers forthe past three years, and this might be my last chance. All that money, time, and energy. I have to do this.
My stomach gurgles like a washing machine on a heavy load as the voice changer spits out my voice at a lower octave. There’s a second-long delay, which I blame on my old phone’s crappy signal. I have no doubt Pacha would have been able to create some sort of all-out AI man-face filter for me, but I’m still thanking the tech gods Odericco Investments didn’t want a video call.
As the clock ticks toward 3 p.m., my hands vibrate against my phone. Cecily answers the intercom and receives a gigantic bouquet of pink, yellow, and purple flowers. She admires them in the kitchen for a few seconds and then breaks the bunch into four mini bouquets, placing them in used jam jars.
This is a fairly regular occurrence. She will deny the existence of sugar daddies in her life but if I had four or five adoring men who want to take me out for dinner at the hottest restaurants, buy me flowers, and send me for massages and facials at the swankiest hotels in the city, would I really be saying no? I’ve heard people in tech say “never spend your own money,” a phrase I clearly didn’t take to heart. Cecily’s parents have more than enough money that she doesn’t need to work a day in her life, but it doesn’t mean she has to spend it. After a while, Cecily started referring to them as her personal “investors,” because is what we’re doing really any different? No. Is she much,muchbetter at soliciting financing from men in fancy suits? Yes.
She brings one of the bunches to me with a warm smile, the pink roses, violets, and yellow ranunculus vibrant against the dull gray, black, and white of my desk setup.
“You’re going to be great,” she says, squeezing my shoulder as I plug my headphones in.
“Thanks.” I tap my pencil on the surface until my phone begins to shift under vibration. I let it ring once, switch the voice changer on, and answer the phone. There is an odd sense of camaraderie radiating from both Cecily and Pacha at this moment. It’s not like they haven’t been supportive of Wyst getting funding in the past; they are wholly aware that eventually Wyst’s cash flow, aka their salaries, will eventually run out if we don’t. But maybe it’s me edging on a panic attack, my excitement at the email invitation to this call, or maybe the desperation of this plan that is hinting at something not being quite as fun and exciting as these kinds of opportunities used to be. It feels dangerous to fuck this up, rather than exciting to go forward. This feels and probably to Pacha and Cecily looks like a last chance. A Mary I’d only be hailing if things have really gone to shit.
“Mr. Cole?” a smooth, self-assured tone asks.
“Yes, this is he,” I reply, bringing down my own voice just in case the voice changer doesn’t work. I catch the feedback of my lowered tone, genuinely thinking for a second that Spencer is also on the call. Cecily sucks in her cheeks as I try not to acknowledge the ridiculousness of this situation. But we’re in it now, no going back. With nothing else to do, I go into business pitch mode. “Thank you so much for the opportunity to talk to you about Wyst, Mr. Kavanagh, we are big supporters of Odericco Investments and would be thrilled to be thought of among your top-tier portfolio.”
“That’s great.” Mr. Kavanagh seems unfazed or perhaps completely uninterested by my compliment. “I’d like to start by hearing a bit more about Wyst.” His American accent doesn’t surprise me. The call came through from a blocked number, sothis guy is probably calling from the New York office. Odericco Investments have offices in London, New York, Paris, and Hong Kong and do business in just about every other country in the world.
