Page 27 of The Hard Launch

My neck feels hot. I see my stupid face onscreen, flushing, and I’m grateful that Glenn’s not in the office to see it in person.

“I meant that she’s saving my ass on a daily basis. That’s all.”

“Got it,” he says. “Sorry. And sorry I’m not able to help you more.”

Glenn’s work-life balance has tilted heavily toward life recently, and I can tell he’s feeling guilty about it.

“I won’t say it wouldn’t be easier with you here,” I say, “but considering the circumstances… let’s just say, if you were here and not there, I’d worry about what kind of person you are.”

I see him lean back in his chair, and for a second I think the glasses are going to come off. But they stay on.

“When people are under pressure, it reveals a lot about who they are. So as hard as this feels right now, just know that it’s showing what a great leader you are. I mean it; I’m impressed.”

If only.

I can’t take this compliment from him, not when I consider the information I’ve been sitting on.

Glenn will shortly have three kids needing diapers, health insurance, and housing, and his paycheck might not be as guaranteed as he thinks it is. It’s not fair for me to keep the full picture from him.

I tell him that I wish what he said was true, and I tell him everything Edmund threatened me with. We’re not building the next chapter of Lettercat right now: we’re fighting for its survival. I can’t say with certainty that there will be a company for him to come back to after paternity leave.

He takes the news like I would expect him to. He’s understanding and appreciative of my candor. He wants to make sure I’m okay, but of course I’m not.

“Am I wrong to not tell everyone?” I ask him.

“Not at all,” he says. “The impulse is coming from the right place. But if people start jumping ship, there’s no way the company survives. I’m not going anywhere, because I believe in you. I think you’ll do it.”

It should feel good right now, to have someone as smart as Glenn in my corner. His faith in me would mean a lot more if I had more in myself. And if—even while coming clean about the realities of Lettercat—I hadn’t just lied to him.

Because I did need that reminder; I haven’t been careful with Lacey, not at all.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LACEY

I never knew I possessed such an amazing ability to take a bad situation and make it so much worse.

Let’s start with how I’ve been toiling at Lettercat for two years, implementing other people’s ideas while mine just never quite make the roadmap. And then I finally get a big project approved—not just a big project, the project that’s supposed to literally save the company. That’s a lot of pressure already.

But then add the big, scary deadline to it. Thirty days or else—or else what, exactly? Who knows! All that matters is how now absolutely positively everything is riding on this idea that I championed, that I told people was the direction we needed to go, and for once they listened to me. It’s officially my opportunity to shine. Time is ticking, problems are mounting, so what’s a girl to do?

Oh, just try to kiss the founder and CEO of the company. What a fantastic fucking idea.

My mother would be so angry with me. Glenn would be so disappointed. Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Meg Whitman and hell, probably even Elizabeth Holmes would be ashamed of me.

My mom’s told me that it’s a burden to be the only woman in the room, but that it’s also a responsibility. She taught me to always take the opportunity seriously, to remember that you’re representing more than just yourself when you’re in there. Once you make it into that room, you’re supposed to use your voice, to have incredible ideas, and then invite other women in there with you. Or something inspiring like that.

But what you’re not supposed to do is use it as an opportunity to put the moves on your boss’s boss, to literally caress his arm (oh god, I did that) and tilt your chin up at him, practically begging him to make out with you while he’s innocently white-boarding.

Maybe this is what happens when you choose work as your boyfriend: cage yourself up long enough, any monkey in there with you will do.

This is unfair to Jude, I know. He’s turned out to be a pretty nice monkey.

Not that I can ever look at him again, or speak to him, or be in the same office building as him after last night.

He said it himself: it was a terrible idea.

It’s not lost on me that he said it while his hand was up my skirt and he was looking at me like I was a perfect 10 on the 30-day NPS survey rollup.