I smooth my hands over my dress—navy blue, professional but feminine, my first real maternity clothing purchase. I figured I couldn’t walk in here wearing sweats and one of Grant’s shirts.
The receptionist—a woman in her thirties with kind eyes—looks up with a warm smile. "Ms. Sullivan? They're ready for you. Conference room B, just down the hall on your right."
"Thank you."
My heels click against the hardwood, a steady rhythm that feels like a heartbeat. I feel confident and strong—at least that’s what I’m telling myself.
I worked on this pitch for two weeks straight. Poppy made me practice it with her so many times she can probably recite it in her sleep now. I know my numbers. Know my vision. Knowexactly what makes Essence different from every other fragrance line trying to break into the market.
The conference room door is open. Inside, three women sit at a long table, sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows behind them. I recognize Chelsea Harrington immediately—she's in her mid-fifties, elegant in a cream blazer, her dark hair swept into a low bun. The other two introduce themselves as her partners, Elizabeth and Kimberly.
"Emma, thank you for coming in." Chelsea stands, extending her hand. Her grip is firm, her smile genuine.
I set my portfolio on the table, my presentation tablet already cued up. "Thank you for meeting with me. I'm excited to share what I've been building."
"We're excited to hear it," Elizabeth says. She's younger than Chelsea, maybe forty, with curious eyes. "Your preliminary materials were impressive."
The nerves flutter again, but I channel them into energy.
"Essence started with a simple question," I begin, pulling up my first slide—a photograph of my bottles of essential oils lined up on my workbench. "What if luxury fragrance could be completely clean? Not just natural, but truly sustainable, ethically sourced, and formulated without a single synthetic ingredient?"
I walk them through my training in Florence with Daniela Conti. I talk about how I develop formulas, test blends, and build relationships with small farms that grow jasmine and roses without pesticides.
I show them my sales projections, my marketing strategy, the gap in the current market that Essence is positioned to fill. I talk about the growing consumer demand for transparency, for brands with values, for products that don't force people to choose between luxury and wellness.
I have them smell the signature scent I've been perfecting—neroli and bergamot and sandalwood, bright and grounding at once. I’ve also brought samples of the other fragrances in the line and they ooh and aah over them all.
The questions come fast. Kimberly wants to know about supply chain vulnerabilities. Elizabeth digs into my customer acquisition costs. Chelsea asks about scalability, about what happens when demand outpaces supply.
I answer each one. Honestly, thoroughly, sometimes admitting I don't have perfect solutions yet but explaining my strategies for getting there.
When I finish, there's a moment of silence. The three women exchange glances, some kind of silent communication passing between them.
Then Chelsea leans forward, her fingers steepled. "Emma, I'm going to be direct. What you've built is extraordinary. Your formulations are exceptional, your vision is clear, and your passion is evident. But what really impresses me is your honesty about the challenges."
My heart hammers. "Thank you."
"Too many business owners come in here trying to pretend their businesses are perfect, that they have all the answers." Elizabeth's smile is approving. "You know what you know, and you know what you still need to figure out. That's the mark of a CEO who's going to succeed."
"We'd like to invest," Chelsea says simply.
The words don't register immediately. I blink at her, certain I misheard.
"You—what?"
Kimberly laughs. "We want in, Emma. Athena Capital would like to offer you $500,000 in seed funding, with the potential for a Series A round in eighteen months depending on your growth metrics."
Oh my god. Half a million dollars. And it’s not a loan from my father or charity from Grant, but actual investors who believe in my work.
"I—" My voice catches. "I don't know what to say." I wasn’t expecting them to make a decision so quickly.
"Say yes," Chelsea says warmly. "We'll have our lawyers draw up the term sheet. You'll want to have your own attorney review it, of course."
I’m about to explode from excitement, and I try to maintain some semblance of professionalism. "Yes. Absolutely yes. Thank you."
We all shake hands and I leave.
The elevator ride down feels like I’m floating.
