—
The turnout is amazing. We get there fifteen minutes before the session starts to set up and even then, the room is already buzzing. Subu is as tempting as I hoped it would be. Connor will have a full house.
Lunch and Learns always take place in “The Pit,” a purpose-built space laid out amphitheater-style in a semicircle around the stage. Priya introduces us to an IT guy who mics up Connor and Ben and tests all the slides to make sure they’re appearing on the screen as expected.
By the time Priya returns, ushering in several trolleys of food, the place is packed. John and I swoop in and fill up a plate for the guys, knowing everything will be long gone by the time we’re done. Up front, Connor and Ben are both serene. It’s only me that’s vibrating with nervous energy.
I scan the room and am pleased to see most of the product team have actually showed—even Andy, who was very iffy about the whole thing the three times I stopped by his desk to beg him to come and bring the rest of his squad with him. I leave the guys to guard the food and go over to say hello.
Andy usually skips the Lunch and Learn, as this is exactly the kind of forced bonding that is typically beneath him. But having Andy in the room matters. If he takes up the dashboard, the rest of his team will too, and so will the rest of Product.
“You came,” I say, sliding onto the bench besidehim.
“Don’t tell me you’re surprised. You’ve been reminding me all week,” he teases.
I shrug. You never know with Andy.
“Plus,” he adds, the corner of his mouth curling up, “I figured I owed you one, for forgetting you’re Canadian. I still don’t know how I did that.”
I laugh, nudging into his shoulder. “You’re forgiven.”
Connor and Ben are hanging around beside the stage, waiting to get started. I can see him watching me talking to Andy, and I give him a wave from where I’m sitting, mouthinggood luck.I catch Carrie sliding in at the end of the back row over my shoulder just as the lights start to dim, and then we’reoff.
Any anxiety I felt on his behalf is wasted. As soon as he opens his mouth, goofy Connor is gone. In his place is this other person: one who takes control of the room, cracks little self-deprecating jokes that people laugh at, who fields questions from the audience with ease.
I’m a strange mixture of proud and possessive watching him up there. Pleased he’s doing well, but also territorial, too, like Connor’s laughs and smiles were my own personal discovery, and thus meant to be exclusive tome.
He and Ben make the perfect double act, so natural with each other that you’d think they’d done this a hundred times before, each sticking to their own side of the stage and seamlessly passing their jokes back and forth, Connor in his blazer and Ben in his smart shirt. They’re refreshingly unpretentious, never once using words like “paradigm-shifting” or “cross-platform alignment” like the rest of the execs usually do when they make minor announcements about anything. When I scan around the room, people seem genuinely engaged with what they’re saying.
We’d agreed in advance that if no one asked any questions I would raise my hand so that Connor and Ben could demo a report, but as it turns out, we needn’t have worried. The crowdis genuinely enthusiastic about the dashboard. There are so many people asking him to troubleshoot their reporting issues that his presentation runs over by twenty minutes. Even Andy raises his hand.
None of us can get near Connor and Ben when the lights come up—people are literally lined up to speak to them. But by the time I make my way over to John and Martin, Ben has managed to slip away from the crowd. He gratefully accepts the plate of food we saved for him and the four of us settle into the debrief.
“How good was that?”
“Way better than we were hoping,” Martin answers. “Connor is going to be so jazzed.”
Ben takes a huge bite, groaning as he does. “You’re in the hall of fame for this one, Annie, for real.”
We all watch as Connor chats away, and John points out a few of the people buzzing around him, including the head of paid search, who has just pulled him aside for a one-on-one. We all agree: it’s a good sign.
With that under control, it’s now time for the second part of my secret plan: introducing Carrie to Ben. I wave her over, watching as she weaves her way through the crowd.
“Hey, Ben,” I say, wrapping a hand around his arm and pulling him away from the conversation he’d been having. “Have I introduced you to my friend Carrie?”
“No?” he says, face quizzical.
“Well,” I say to him as Carrie comes to a halt in front of us. “Carrie, this is my teammate Ben,” Isay.
I’ve already lightly primed her for this; I’ve been talking up Ben, and the rest of the team, all week, telling her how great they all are and how they make a refreshing change from the losers we’re usedto.
Ben and Carrie chat away, and soon we’re joined by Martin and John. I’m not exactly sure how we got there, conversationally, but by the time Connor makes his way over to us we’re all deeply engrossed in a debate about whether it’s better to have arms for legs or legs for arms.
“Glad that’s over,” he says when I hand him a plate of food.
“You were so great,” I tell him. “I think the blazer really madeit.”
He tugs at the jacket, a smile lurking. “You like this, do you?”
