LANA

 

 

I don't think I've ever been this nervous in my entire life. I haven't slept in days. I lay awake at night and stare at the ceiling, alternating between counting the remaining hours for me to stay in bed until I have to get up for class, and mentally testing new ideas on how I could improve my project, and moreover, its presentation.

Jackson has helped me as much as he could, providing me not only with market insight and his expert knowledge, but also with the emotional support I wouldn't get anywhere else, especially not from my family. They still don't know anything about this. As far as they are concerned, I'm working on my master's thesis, getting ready for the next level of my education, and talking to different professors as potential Ph.D advisers.

I feel horrible about lying to them, but right now, I don't see any other way. I couldn't handle their pressure and expectations while finishing up my degree and still trying my best to make this alternative option work out for me.

When the morning of my presentation in front of the investor committee finally arrives, I find myself up and awake at 5 a.m. Celia has been a total sweetheart these past few weeks, not only keeping my relationship with Jackson a secret, but also supporting my idea of trying to do this startup thing. I don't want to wake her up, knowing that she stayed out late again.

But my nerves get the better of me and cause me to clumsily bump against my nightstand, and my lamp falls to the floor with a loud crash.

"Fuck," I hiss, startled and in pain because I stubbed my toe pretty badly in the process. I'm holding my foot, trying to process the pain as quietly as possible, but it's too late. Celia turns in her bed and groans.

"Just turn the fucking light on, girl," she mumbles from beneath her covers.

"I'm sorry," I whisper in the dark. "I didn't want to-"

I'm interrupted by the sudden transition from dark to light as Celia turns on the light on her nightstand. She rubs her eyes and yawns dramatically.

"Whatever," she says. "Just do your stuff, and get ready. This is a big day for you."

She squints at me through sleep-heavy eyes and winks. "Let me know if I can be of any help."

I cast her a grateful smile and shake my head. "I’ll be quick."

"Mhm," she murmurs, wrapping herself in her covers before she turns around, her face to the wall. Moments later, I hear her faint snore resonating through the room.

I take a quick shower and make myself presentable, then gather my things, making sure about a hundred times that I'm not forgetting anything. I'm wearing a navy blue ladies suit with a white blouse underneath, my hair pinned up in a loose bun, finished off by delicate silver earrings. This is the only fancy get-up I own, and I don't feel comfortable in it at all. I've only worn it twice before, and can't wait to get out of it tonight.

Tonight. That seems a million light years away. Tonight will be after the presentation. Everything will be different after tonight, unless I fail to convince the committee. I can't let that happen. While I feel confident about my proposal, there are a few things that Jackson and I disagreed on, and he urged me to think about his suggestions before appearing in front of the investors. He's a smart man and he knows his business, but I still insist that in some areas, my ideas outshine his. Today will be my chance to prove exactly that.

When I open the door to get on my way, I hear Celia turning in her bed again.

"Knock 'em dead," she says, raising one fist in the air.

I smile at her. "Thank you."

It’s not very far to the financial district, but complicated enough for me to opt for a cab.  I've gotten so used to their convenience, even though this is the first ride in ages that I'm paying for myself. I won't deny that there are definite benefits to having a boyfriend who's loaded and loves to spend his money on me, but I have no intentions of relying on his generosity forever.

The cab ride takes less than fifteen minutes. I step out of the car upon arrival, taking in the scenery before me, as well as a deep, deep breath. My heart is racing, my entire body is tense and ready for this, and so is my mind.

There will be no special treatment from Jackson, he made that very clear. I wouldn't want it, anyway, but when I make my way toward the entrance of the modern office building with its giant windows reflecting the sun so brightly, it looks as if the entire building is sparkling. I feel my confidence rise just knowing he’s inside, waiting for me. He's helped me get this far, and I know he'll support me in there as much as he can without being unfair toward the other startup newbies who are not sleeping with one of their potential angels.

He warned me ahead of time that there would be others competing against me, but when I step out of the elevator on the eleventh floor and run right into a group of five of them, I suddenly feel scared and discouraged, nonetheless.

The waiting area is crowded with people, some of them younger than me, though most appear to be around my age or older. There's so many of them already here that I fear I might be late or the last one to show up, but I learn that many of them are joined by support groups. The group that is standing closest to the elevator consists of five young guys, all wearing the same polo shirt with their brand clearly displayed on the back and above the heart. They're chatting excitedly, only turning their heads to me for a moment to see who's stepping out of the elevator behind them. They don't deign me more than a quick once-over before they return to their conversation.

Fair enough, I'm not here to make friends. Still, I feel alone among the groups of chatting people. There are only two other applicants who seem to have showed up alone, and just like me, they're not wearing shirts with their brand logo on it, but dark-colored suits. Both of them are guys, and neither look at me or anyone else, but rather down at the floor in front of them; one sits in complete silence, while the other is whispering to himself, seemingly rehearsing his presentation one last time.

I wonder if I should do that, too? I've practiced the speech so many times, with and without the strict eyes of Jackson on me. But if he's doing it...

"Good morning everybody!" A voice tears me out of my contemplation. I turn around and spot a woman. She doesn't seem to be much older than me,  tall in a pair of heels that would kill me, her thin and blonde hair cut short, ending around her skinny jaw line. She's wearing a ladies suit similar to mine, which gives me a weird sense of affirmation.

"There's still time before we'll start with the first of you," she continues, as most eyes are now on her. "But I just wanted to let you know that there are drinks - coffee and water --  for you around the corner. Some of you might still have to wait quite a while. We'll randomly select the order in which you will present your ideas once everybody is here."

She pauses, casting us a friendly smile. "Until then, just try to relax, and don't be too nervous."

Easier said than done. I glance around the corner that leads to a long hallway, equipped with doors left and right, wondering if Jackson is already behind one of them.

As I would learn later, he is already in the building, but I don't get to see him until about two hours later when my name is called and I enter the room that might very well decide my future.

Just as he told me beforehand, there are five people sitting behind a row of slim white desks, one woman and four men, each with a bottle of water and some papers in front of them. Jackson is sitting at the far end and casts me an encouraging smile as I slip through the door. He looks stern, but so unbelievably handsome with his hair gelled to the side and a black blazer that I've never seen him wear before.

Nothing in the way he looks at me suggests that we know each other. I blush at the memory of just a few days ago, when he tied me to his desk before unleashing fiery blows with his belt on my behind because I left a little note on one of my recent essays to tease him. I know he checks them before he hands them over to his assistant, but he still thought that I was playing a risky game and needed to be reminded of the risk we're taking. Especially now that I'm going to present to this group of investors -- him being one of them -- we need to be even more careful.

I greet the committee and take my place in the  front behind another desk.

We were asked to send in our PowerPoint presentations a few days ahead of time, and the first slide in mine is already lit up against a white screen next to me. There's no one in the room except for me and the five potential investors. They each introduce themselves, and my heart stops for a second when the last one, Jackson, raises his voice to greet me. He introduces himself as CEO of PortCon, the name of his main communication empire that made him rich. Since it's no secret that we do know each other from school, he also mentions his position at my university that will end at the beginning of the next semester. He turns to the other four investors, seated to his left, when he mentions that I was one of the students in his class, nothing else.

They reply with an indifferent nod and look at either me or the notes in front of them. My heart is racing and I feel my hands shaking at my sides, cold sweat running down my spine. This is it.

"Ready when you are, Miss Harlington," Jackson says, his expression all professional and serious.

I suggest a nod in his direction and take a deep breath before I start with my introductory words.

The speech itself does not cause me any problems. I've memorized it well and the cue cards with notes and starting points help me along the way. Most of the time, I don't even need them, allowing me to keep eye contact with members of the committee instead. I try to avoid Jackson as much as possible, fearing that even looking at each other could suggest too much intimacy between us. Also, I'm afraid that if he doesn't like what he's hearing, he might make it obvious with the expression on his face. When I get to the part we disagreed on the most, I demonstratively turn away from him and only eye the other four members. Reading their faces is close to impossible for me. There are a few moments when one of them might regard me with a supporting nod or a smile of some sort, but most of the time, they just sit there, listening to me with completely straight faces.

By the time I'm done with my presentation, I'm drenched in sweat. My hands are not shaking anymore, but pressure is pulsating behind my forehead. I'm going to need a lot of aspirin once this is over.

The committee doesn't applaud or show any kind of appreciation. Instead, all five of them are taking notes, while I wait for them to ask their questions.

Finally, the man at the far right breaks the silence, thanking me for my presentation and shortly concluding that he likes my idea a lot. He goes on to list the specific factors and points that interested him the most, gives a few hints here and there on how I could improve my project, and concludes with a friendly smile, saying that he'd like my idea to come to fruition.

I know there will be no final decision made right after the presentation, just a first assessment to give me an idea of how much of a chance I stand - and they sure as hell keep up the suspense. As each member of the committee leaves me with their opinions one by one, I'm faced with two positive and two rather negative reviews by the time it's Jackson's turn to speak.

I should feel safe; after all, he knows my project, he helped me develop it, and he knew pretty much all about it before today. Unlike the others, he hasn't heard my proposal for the first time today.

But his face worries me. His face is so grim when he looks at his notes. He clears his throat and looks at me.

"I see a lot of potential in your proposal, Miss Harlington," he begins, and my heart jumps - just to drop even lower once he continues to speak.

"But I don't think I could support it in the form it's been presented here today."

I try to keep my countenance, looking at him with a blank face as he continues to list all the things he didn't like about my idea.

He mentions one thing that I knew of beforehand because we talked about it while we were discussing it in his office. While I want to limit my approach on people and communities for now, he feels strongly that I should include local business from the start. I explained why I don't like the idea a thousand times, sticking to the point that this could lead to my app becoming just another platform for advertising, which I would like to prevent.

When I make a move to object to his submission, he raises his hand to tell me to remain quiet until he's finished. I bite my lip, angry at his interjection and this rude gesture to shut me up. Why can't he leave his alpha attitude in the bedroom?

"We don't have time to discuss this further," he concludes, casting me a warning look as he sees me boiling with fury. "You'll hear from us."

I swallow hard and gather my things up as quickly as possible to get out of the room. His negative review of my project means I have three negative against two positive responses. Everybody knows what this will mean for the success - or lack thereof - of my project. I have little to no chance of getting this funded if I don't have the majority of the committee in my favor.

My vision blurs as I hurry out of the room before anyone sees the effect Jackson's betrayal has on me.