“Because of the money, most likely. They have funding, and for every pair sold they donate a pair to a homeless person.”
“But that doesn’t even make sense. If someone doesn’t have easy access to washing facilities, surely that’s a health and hygiene issue?”
I can hear Cecily’s blazer shift as she shrugs. “Periods are hot right now; she’s going with the crowd.”
“I guess. Is there any way to get her back on our side?”
“The positive press coverage will help for sure, but I think we’re going to need a contingency plan if she notices that Spencer is onstage, not you.”
“I know,” I admit. “Do you think she’d still go for it if she thinks Spencer is in charge?”
“I’ll put some feelers out this afternoon,” she says before clicking off the line.
I sit in silence, staring at the wall. If we lose Dr. Bernie we can kiss this expansion into media goodbye. Running a hand over my face, I pace back into the hall for the next “voluntary” activity on the TechRumble calendar.
The chairs are arranged in two long parallel lines, each seat facing its opposite. The crowd is formed into different social pockets, nervous companies gathered together like puppies huddling for warmth.
Dominic Odericco steps up onto the stage as the crowd hushes. “Thank you, everyone, for coming and making time in your busy schedules. I appreciate and take note of all who have attended these voluntary events in addition to the competition events.”
“Okay, so they definitely are not voluntary then,” I whisper to Spencer out of the corner of my mouth.
The only thing I would be doing instead of this is inhaling tiny packets of complimentary nuts and wine on the sofa bed in Spencer’s room. This came with a free lunch, thank god.
Dominic continues, “A benefit of TechRumble is meeting fellow industry experts, entrepreneurs, and innovators to make professional connections and build a strong network. Whether you are a founder, CEO, coder, or marketer, your business has been personally selected by me and my panel to compete in Round Two. Some of you will be selected to join us in Vienna next month. This means everyone in this room is already in the top 10 percent of the current start-up ecosystem.”
The crowds murmurs excitedly. In front of me, a man whispers to his colleague, “We should put that in the next user update.”
He’s right; if we don’t get to the next round, Wyst can use this as a jumping-off point. I need to get a grip and appreciate that this is something to be happy about, not something I just need to hold on tight and get through. No matter whether we make it, it will force the investors who rejected Wyst to rethink their decisions. For a moment, my tight chest loosens, opening up enough room for a featherlight feeling of hope to slither through.
“My hope for this networking session is you all leave with valuable connections. With just three minutes to introduce yourselves to each person sat opposite you, you can maximize the new connections you make during your time at TechRumble.”
Spencer nods along enthusiastically, admiring Dominic from afar. “Very efficient.”
“All right, Steve Jobs, that’s only 1.5 minutes per person. We need to make sure we use the time effectively.”
Spencer rolls his shoulders; he was born for this. He whispers back to me, “It’s not my fault you’re a grower not a shower.”
My arms break into goose bumps when I catch sight of Oliver across the room. He’s watching Odericco’s speech from the back of the crowd while holding a laptop like a clipboard. He’s taller than most of the people around him, but something I can’t put my finger on makes him stand out beyond that. The way he holds himself, like he’s so comfortable being here he’s almost bored, clashing against the feeling that he isn’t meant to be here at all. After a few seconds, his eyes flick to mine, like he sensed me watching him. My immediate instinct is to look elsewhere, but I force my gaze back to his, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks as he subtly tilts his head, his face morphing from outrageously bored into an amused smirk. Did he get hotter overnight?
We shuffle over to our randomly allocated seats. I am in one of the seats that remains stationary throughout the next hour, whereas Spencer will be out of earshot moving along the row of chairs.
After three or four of the same conversation with identical men in their late twenties promising to change the worldwith their new food delivery, scooter rental, nutrition guide, or laundry service app, I look down the long conga line of people in suits. Counting their heads to calculate how many minutes I have left, I pause on Oliver, leisurely running my eyes over every inch of his face as he politely listens to his partner. He asked me out. That hot man asked me out and I wanted to say yes. It feels like a triumph in itself that I even wanted to pursue something with him. I haven’t felt that butterfly-in-stomach sensation for so long. Finally experiencing that again but Oliver being the one person I can’t act on it with leaves a bittersweet taste in my mouth.
Taking a quick look at the people down the line, I snag on a familiar one. Blood drains from my cheeks and my eyes can’t look away from the face of the man who ruined my life, Malcolm Steward.
For the next few minutes, I am almost in a comatose state, the numbness on my skin and panic in my ribs like raging water thrashing against a concrete dam. What happens when we get face-to-face? Maybe he won’t recognize me. My name is different here. I’ve changed my hair. I look older and I’m not dressed like a people-pleasing junior financial analyst anymore, but if the roles were reversed, I could spot him in a crowd of a thousand. In some morbid way I’d almost be offended if he didn’t recognize me.Does my face haunt your days and nights like yours does mine?
The timer goes off with a bloodcurdling ring, and the line of bodies move across the chairs.
“Hello again,” a voice that sounds like Oliver’s says.
“Hi,” my mouth says in return.
The butterflies I had expected to feel when Oliver sat in front of me have turned into vampire bats, draining the blood from my cheeks.
“How are you?” he asks.
“Good, you?” I reply in a monotone voice, glancing at Malcolm again. Has he seen me? I deliberately changed everything about myself since we last saw each other in that meeting with the head of HR. When the terms of the agreement were made. Now I wish I’d filed a restraining order just to guarantee I’d never have to look at his face again. I just wanted it to be over as quickly as possible. I should have pushed for more. I would know what to do now. But maybe that’s the curse—the only people who know how to act in extreme scenarios are the ones who have already been through them.
