Chapter Twenty-Six
Madison
Seattle looks very different when the sun is shining. Sitting in a comfortable leather chair and staring out the tenth-floor window in the reception area of the elegant executive building, I’m lost to the urban city landscape, blue water, and mountains in the distance. With this beautiful view to keep me company, apologies that I’ve been kept waiting are more than okay. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to have a little more time to mentally prepare.
It’s been a little over two weeks since I quit ZipMeds. I couldn’t keep working there knowing Elliot chose his job over me without giving me any say. Leaving like I did may have been cowardly, but giving up the job was easy compared to the thought of seeing him every day.
I run my sweaty palms down the navy skirt of my power suit. I’m here. Having a meeting. My stomach roils, this time having nothing to do with the nauseating drive from the airport. This is either the worst or best idea I’ve ever had. I’ll confirm which when my meeting is over.
Madison Michelle. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?
The idea to start my own handbag company first occurred to me a couple of months ago, a little seed in the back of my mind that never really went away. With free time on my hands over the past two weeks, though, I’ve done nothing but cultivate it (my fingers hurt from all the sewing!) and put my finance knowledge to good use—spreadsheets, financial forecasts, market analysis, profitability, expansion.
For the thousandth time, my mind drifts to Elliot and the note I’ve memorized. I know our notes back and forth weren’t based in truth and were meant to mask our mutual attraction, but I haven’t been able to get this particular one out of my head. I suspect the heart of a risk-taker beats underneath your whip-smart attitude. But in the competitive world of financial management, you also need to be fearless.
Thank you, Mr. Sax, for making me mad enough to realize other options. I’ll be forever grateful.
In truth, I never would have had the courage to start my own business if it weren’t for him and the things he taught me. About business. And about myself.
“Madison? Joaquin is ready to see you now. Again, I’m so sorry for the delay,” Joaquin’s assistant says, interrupting my thoughts.
“No worries. I was enjoying the scenery.” I pick up the large hard-case hatbox off the shiny marble floor. The deep, round box that I splurged on from Nordstrom is a great carrier for my handbags.
I follow Ms. Roy—I think she said that was her name—down the hallway toward Joaquin Santos’s office. When he agreed to meet with me, I did a happy dance around my bedroom that may have included some twerking. After I reached out via email last week, he’d said he remembered me very well. He asked to see my business plan, I sent it, and the very next day he invited me to a sit down. The cost to fly here and meet with him personally is an investment I pray pays off.
“Hello, Mr. Santos,” I say as I walk into his spectacular office. My legs are shaking, my stilettos a little wobbly. I ignore both, fake it till you make it and all that. Deep breath, Madison. You’ve got this. I hear the click of the office door behind me, Ms. Roy giving us privacy.
“Miss Hastings, it’s nice to see you again.” He strides around his desk and extends his hand. His handshake is warm, friendly, a nice compliment to his good looks. I hope he doesn’t feel my anxiety through my palm. The last time we were together, Elliot did most of the talking.
“Thank you for meeting with me. And please call me Madison.”
“I appreciate you considering me as an investor in your new company. Please have a seat.” He gestures toward a couch. “And call me Joaquin.”
“Okay,” I say, taking a seat. He sits across from me in a high-back chair. There’s a dark wood coffee table between us. And then because I’m nervous, I launch right into the pitch I’ve practiced over and over again since scheduling this get-together. It’s nerve-racking, approaching a businessman instead of a businesswoman, given most men don’t carry purses or bags so they might not understand my passion, but Joaquin has his hands in many different businesses, and we’d met before, so I figured it was my best place to start.
I open the hatbox, showing him several of my purse designs as I continue to speak. “The line includes shoulder bags, handbags, tote bags, lightweight travel bags, and special occasion bags. Each purse is a fabulous piece of unique and distinctive wearable art all handmade in California. And all of the bags are made from man-made upholstery fabric, not animal products.”
“Nice,” he says.
This is my biggest comfort zone, talking about my product, so I keep going. “Each bag features a decorative front panel with organza roses in a variety of reds, purples, and pinks with a splash of green. The insides are lined with satin and feature a phone pocket, as well as other pockets arranged at different heights and sizes, so contents can be organized rather than left in a jumbled mess at the bottom. All of the bags are surprisingly roomy and can hold loads of essentials. Or not. It’s up to the owner. And with an adjustable strap, each bag is versatile in how it can be worn or held.”
“May I?” He reaches for one of the bags.
“Please.”
While he checks out my handiwork, I open my tote and pull out a hard copy of my business plan, referring to specific numbers as I take the time to personally provide and interpret the financial information I sent him. He listens attentively.
“I also want to make a difference,” I add. “And would like to donate a percentage of sales to women’s charities across the U.S.”
Joaquin flashes his very nice white teeth. “This is all very impressive.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I say aloud. Inside I’m screaming, Holy shit he thinks I’m impressive! I’m also quite pleased I got through everything without throwing up on his Italian leather shoes.
He runs his hand across his strong clean-shaven jawline. “I’m in.”
My heart flips over. “Really?” Jeez, Madison. Could you sound any more like an amateur?
“Yes, really. I’d be happy to invest in your company.”
It takes all my willpower not to jump up and down on the couch like a ten-year-old. I’m an adult and need to act like one.
“Your plan is solid, but I do have a few thoughts.”
“I’m happy to hear them.”
He glances at his watch. “Unfortunately I have another meeting in a few minutes. Are you staying in town overnight? If so, we could grab dinner.”
“Thank you, but I’ve got to fly back tonight.” I gather my purses back into the hatbox.
“Phone call then.” He stands and helps. “Do I have a number for you?”
I made a few business cards with my cell phone number on them for just such an occasion. I pull the card out of the top pocket inside my tote.
“Another thing those pockets are good for,” Joaquin says around a smile.
“Yes.”
He walks me to the door, my legs much steadier now that I’ve secured my first investor. I give him a firm handshake. “I think I forgot to say thank you for investing in Madison Michelle. You won’t be disappointed.”
“I’ve no doubt. Have a safe flight home.”
The second I’ve got my seat belt on for the car ride back to the airport, I call my dad. He offered to finance my business for the first year, but I turned him down. This has to be all mine—my successes, my failures, my learning curves. All of it. He understood and told me there was only one other time he’d been prouder of me. And when I asked which time, he said the time I left my groom at the altar. It was the first time he’d intimated such a thing, let alone stated it out loud.
He apologized for waiting so long to tell me. I apologized for not calling off the wedding sooner. Then he hugged me close for a long time and said I had nothing to be sorry for, that I had the best heart of anyone he knew, and I should never apologize for it.
Dad doesn’t answer the call. I dial my mom. She doesn’t pick up, either. Harper and Teague are AWOL, too. Where is everyone? I’m bursting to scream this news. I reluctantly send texts instead. While doing so, I notice I missed a text from Brooks. I call him back.
“Hey, Madison.”
“Hi! Guess what?” I don’t even give him a chance to answer “what” before I launch into what happened with my meeting.
“That’s awesome. Congratulations. So where are you now? I think this calls for a celebratory drink.”
“I’m in the back of an Uber on my way to the airport.” I stare out the passenger window at the Seattle landscape.
“We’ll celebrate when I help you move then. You still want me on Saturday?”
“Yes, please.”
“So, how does it feel to officially be your own businesswoman?”
“Amazing.”
“I’ll be able to say I knew you when.”
I like the sound of that. Brooks has turned into a good friend. Someone I can talk to and rely on. “‘When’ what exactly?”
He clears his throat. “When I had to thread a needle for you.”
“I was drunk!” Brooks invited me over to his condo for dinner to cheer me up after I quit working at ZipMeds. He cooked a frozen vegetarian lasagna and made me cocktails from a bartender’s recipe book his roommate has. We ate and drank on the couch and watched John Oliver. When he asked if I could sew a button back on his uniform for him, I said sure. Talk about hilarious. I couldn’t focus on the needle and poked myself a gazillion times.
“I’ll leave that part out.”
“Brooks!” That makes it worse. I think.
He laughs. “You are so easy.”
“You wish.” I press my lips together. I have no idea why I said that.
“You flirting with me across state lines?” he teases.
“Not on purpose.” There’s only one person I want to flirt with and we haven’t said a word to each other in weeks. It hurts, thinking about Elliot and how much I miss him.
“I know. I’ll see you Saturday, Mad. Congrats again. I’m really proud of you.”
“Thanks, Brookie.”
He groans. He hates when I call him that, but it’s his fault for plying me with enough drinks to come up with the nickname. A minute after I hang up with him, my dad calls. Then my mom. They’re proud of me, too. Texts with Teague and Harper follow and go like this:
Yo the Boss Woman! So excited for you.
You’re legit, girlfriend. So happy for you.
Drinks on us!
Will you name one of your handbags The Harper?
Congratulations! Love you.
XOXOXOXOXO
There’s one more person I should text: Mateo. He’ll hear the news from Teague, but I know he’d like to find out from me. The thing is, I’ve mostly avoided him the past two weeks through no fault of his. He’s reached out. Called to make sure I was okay. I just need a little more time away from anything that reminds me too much of Elliot.
The flight back to L.A. is uneventful. When I land, I see a text from Auggie. Besides losing Elliot, I’ve kind of lost her, too. It’s my fault. It’s hard to talk to her and not ask about him. How’s he doing? Is his new assistant nice? Does he ever mention me? But Auggie insists we keep in touch (I love her for it) and when I told her about my plans and that I was meeting with Joaquin, she was thrilled for me.
How did your meeting go????
Great. He’s in. This is really happening!
Oh my God. That is fantastic. Congrats! We’re going to lunch to celebrate. I know you don’t want to, but tough shit. We’re going. I’ll meet you somewhere one day next week, k?
Okay. Thank you. I include a kissy face emoji.
She sends a bunch of happy, congratulatory emojis back.
It’s past nine o’clock by the time I get on the freeway, so traffic isn’t bad on my way home. The house is quiet when I get there, the usual lights left on for me. Only two more nights, then I move to my own place. I did accept a small loan from my dad so I could rent an apartment. I’d told my parents about the place I found with Harper before I quit my job, and after I quit, Dad said he understood how much I wanted to live on my own, so why not let him help. I agreed as long as he understood that when I could, I was paying him back. I may be living on cereal for a while, but I’m cool with that.
I turn the light on in my bedroom and immediately latch on to a huge bouquet of yellow and pink roses on my desk. The arrangement is gorgeous. Their floral scent fills the room. My parents shouldn’t have. There’s even a note card. I slide the card out of the envelope.
My heart jumps to the back of my throat.
Congratulations, Madison. Your successes are just beginning, and I look forward to watching you soar. Best wishes with your new company, Elliot.
Shock barrels through me. My body shakes from a mix of happiness and bafflement. How did Elliot know about Madison Michelle? And does this mean he misses me? Is this his olive branch? He threw our relationship away so carelessly, if he thinks flowers are going to win me back, he has no idea who he’s dealing with.
He promised me we’d figure things out. We. And then he broke that promise when he decided what was best for both of us. I’m still not over the hurt. Not even close.
I plop down on my bed. Nothing in the note indicates he wants me back. I’m delusional. Harper or Teague probably told Levi or Mateo, and one of them told Elliot and he felt the need to congratulate me, is all.
Pulling my phone out of my bag, I start to text him a thank-you. That’s the polite thing to do. Thank you. The flowers are beautiful. Delete. Thank you for thinking of me. I love the flowers. Delete again. I try a third time. Thank you. I stare at those two little words. They’re innocent enough. Simple. Meaningful without meaning too much by themselves. People say them all the time, even to strangers.
Still. I delete them.