“Really?” I turn to him wide-eyed, our faces so close it’s like we’re back in my room again.
“I’m a man of my word. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”
“Remind me to scratch your back more often,” I say before I can think. Thankfully the dimmed auditorium lights shroud me in partial darkness, covering my warm face.
“Well, you have a very nice back, so the pleasure was all mine.”
We hold each other’s gaze for an unfriendly amount of time, until finally he breaks.
“So after the mixer thing tomorrow I have the night off. Maybe we could go get a drink or... dinner?”
My head immediately nods, not breaking eye contact. I do want to spend time with him. But then, I blink. And the butterflies in my chest start disintegrating into dust. I picture going for dinner with him, having a great time, and maybe getting to relive that night in Rome with the ending we both wanted. But what happens after that? After the competition ends? I say,Hey, by the way, my name isn’t Violet; it’s Jess, and I’m actually the CEO of that start-up I’m pretending to work for. The start-up that’s competing in a competition judged by your boss slash cousin.That’s insane. It’s not sensible; it’s not safe to continue something that can never go anywhere, even if I desperately want to feel his hands all over me again. To get to know him outside of the confines of TechRumble.
I open my mouth, close it, then open it again on a nervous laugh. “Ummm, actually, I don’t think it’s a good idea. At least not during TechRumble.”
“Okay, right. Yeah, sure.” He glances toward the exit over my shoulder and then back to me.
“I’m sorry, I—” I sit back, damping my urge to move forward and kiss the embarrassed look off his face.
“No, please don’t apologize. It’s totally fine.”
“Maybe if we—” My words are interrupted by blasting music followed by the rapturous sound of shouting, whooping, and clapping echoes around the auditorium. This feels like if theHunger Gameswas introduced in theWolf of Wall Street.
Oliver licks his lips and swallows as he sits back in his chair. I flick through the brochure from my seat to see the group Spencer will be paired with for the panel talk. A language app that aidslearning through images rather than words, a gaming system for “online athletes” that uses a VR mouthpiece, and a new age social media platform, which allows you to “at” someone directly on any page of the internet instead of sending a link. A fairly decent bunch, and I get why we are in with this group. It’s our best shot of making it to the next round. It’s creative, not the fintech, SaaS management, cybersecurity, or AI-based categories Spencer would fall short against. He will understand all three of his competitors and what they do, better the devil you know. I’m hoping all their founders are complete nerds; that’s one thing you can rely on in the start-up industry. Perversely, Spencer has the advantage of not caringtoo much. If I was up there, I’d be so stressed out I’d probably end up mincing my words and self-sabotaging. Spencer’s lack of investment gives him an easy air compared to everyone else, and hopefully for the judges that will translate into confidence onstage.
The contestants step out to much less applause than Dominic. They all look so stressed apart from Spencer, whowavesto the crowd like he’s a comedian on a late-night show. His laid-back demeanor makes it look like he doesn’t even need the money. Maybe this is what all companies should do, hire a charismatic front man who can talk about the company without a true passion for it. Move hubris out of the way and appoint a spokesperson for everything. Who knows how much further Wyst would be right now if I’d done this sooner?
Chapter 18
Business Account (WYST) BALANCE: £2,782.43
Personal Account BALANCE: -£1,857.10
“From the coverage online it seems like we made it out of the panel talk relatively unscathed.” Cecily’s voice blasts from my headphones as I sit tucked into a corner in the hotel lobby.
I drag my thumb down the social media notifications, watching for any indication of doubt. Any sign that someone had seen the live feed or been here in person and realized Spencer had no idea what he was talking about.
“Okay,” I breathe and sink into a red medieval-style armchair in the lobby. “No drama. That’s good.”
“Ummm, minor drama... there might be a problem with Dr. Bernie.”
My eyebrows raise. “What happened?”
“Well, do you want the good news or the bad news?” she asks.
“Ideally, I want no news.”
“Well,FemTech Monthlyis reporting that she’s considering a strategic partnership with a different brand.”
My eyes widen. “What?” My voice echoes across the marble, causing a few people wandering into the conference roomnearby to shoot daggers in my direction. “Who?” I say quietly into the receiver.
“It’s a period pants start-up.”
“Fuck,” I say.
“Yeah,” she agrees.
“Why is she wavering? Can you talk to her people?” My hands start to sweat against the back of my phone.
