My stomach drops, my body tingling with a different kind of adrenaline. This is the kind you’d feel if you bungee jumpedoff a bridge and realized halfway down you’ve forgotten your harness.
Eyes widening, I scan the top of the email again. The application, I sent it from “Mr. Cole.”
I turn to Spencer, who is sat on the other side of the room yawning and typing emails with one finger. He senses me staring and sits upright, clearing his throat.
“Sorry, was it porn? Let me know if it’s good.”
A few hours later the bus trundles along the cold concrete as we head to Soho for the Dr. Bernie meeting. I tap my finger against my phone screen, reading and rereading the draft of an email reply to Odericco Investments.
“What’s a professional way of saying, ‘I accidentally pretended to be a man when submitting this application; can I still go ahead despite trying to dupe you please?’”
“Hmmm, that’s a hard sell. Admin error?” Cecily offers.
“I don’t know which sounds worse to a company like Odericco; I’m careless enough to make this kind of stupid mistake or reckless enough to subconsciously do this on purpose.”
She puts a hand on my arm. “Maybe let’s focus on Dr. Bernie for now. She’s a real, viable option.”
“You’re right.” I sigh, sending the half-written email reply to drafts as the bus lurches to a stop.
We enter the hotel lobby with nervous energy, gilded columns and raspberry-red walls giving the space a maximalist grandeur that suits this occasion perfectly. I etch the details into my mind almost as though I know this is a core memory as it’s happening. An out-of-body experience where I can’t fully feel or hear what’s happening around me, like I’m recalling themoment as I’m living it. This could be it, a defining moment for Wyst.
Our heels click on the marble tile floor as Cecily and I weave our way through the lunch crowd of freelance creatives on their third spicy marg. According to her assistant, the only time Dr. Bernie had available today was her thirty-minute “Caesar salad slot” in between a radio interview and filmingThe One Showto promote her latest self-help book,Permission to Feel. As well as hosting a chart-topping podcast, her books are front and center in every airport, train, and chain bookstore.
As we approach her table, I put on my confident CEO persona. “Dr. Bernie? Jess Cole. So lovely to meet you—I’m a big fan.”
Cecily shakes her hand. “So, so great to meet you; thank you for making time for us.”
“Hi ladies, please sit.” She waves at the two chairs in front of us in a way that somehow doesn’t come off entitled. She’s definitely used to the praise and doesn’t have time for it today.
Sensing her urgency, I jump straight in. “Let’s get down to it, shall we?” I open up the folder with the pitch.
“Sweetie.” She rests a soft, perfectly moisturized hand on mine, silver rings with turquoise stones cold on my skin. “Firstly, we’re not in session; please call me Bernadette. Secondly, I would likeyouto tell me, not a pile of paper.”
Cecily gives me an encouraging nod, her eyes suggesting this is a good sign.
“Sure.” The folder creaks as I close it and slide it off the table onto my lap; my fingers brace the cardboard edges like it’s a sled and I’m about dive off a snowy cliffside.
“Wyst is, at its core, a discovery platform. A way for women,girls, and people who identify as women to have a constantly evolving resource on everything to do with women’s health.
“As I’m sure you already know, women’s physical and mental health is, the majority of the time, not taken seriously. How many times have we heard ‘It’s because of your period,’ ‘Try losing some weight,’ or ‘Come back if the pain gets worse’? Then with search engines losing their potency in the wake of AI integration, most users are resorting to Reddit or Quora. Which is the Wild West for misinformation.”
She nods her head so I power on. “We are launching a completely free-to-the-user resource where women can access clear, professionally vetted, judgment-free advice from leaders in the industry such as yourself. We already have a wait list of twenty-five thousand users for our beta. Womenwantsomething like this.”
Cecily chimes in, “With you as the face of Wyst, it brings credibility and global recognition to our mission.”
Having reached the end of the rehearsed section of my pitch, we wait for her response. Bernadette’s jaw twitches as she studies me. “Why are you the person to build something like this?”
My brain reverts back to sales-pitch mode. “Because I care about women of all ages having access to information about their own bodies and minds.”
“Don’t we all.” She smiles into her tea, then purses her lips as her blue eyes cut back up to mine. “But as the founder, whyyou? With your background at Graystone, you could have had a fruitful career in finance. Why this? Why you?”
I freeze. Literally freeze in every sense of the word. Does she know what happened? My mouth is open mid-thought,my blood sends a shiver through my veins, my hand begins to shake like it’s just been stuck in a bucket of ice.
“I...”
Sensing my hesitation, Cecily jumps in. “Jess is incredibly passionate and hardworking and—”
Bernadette’s hand comes up, immediately silencing Cecily.
