Page 30 of The Hard Launch

“Keep me posted, okay?” I tell him.

“I will,” he says. “And Lacey: thank you.”

Fifteen minutes after we hang up, he sends me a message. It’s a screenshot of a text from Glenn, announcing the birth of his daughter Ryley, along with a photo of a tiny, disgruntled person wrapped in a blanket, wearing a hat. Mom and daughter, Glenn’s message says, are both tired but doing great.

I add a dozen reaction emojis. Jude adds all mine, and at least ten more.

In product management, you’re not supposed to do anything based on instinct; it doesn’t matter if the green button looks better or matches your brand, you go with the orange one if it gets more clicks. Data never lies.

But as soon as you introduce a human, it can all go to hell. We have a tendency to see in the data what we’re expecting to see: it’s called confirmation bias. It can lead you to cherry-pick data that serves the point you’re trying to make. For instance, I can give facts that show I’ve been flirting with Jude, that I pushed it too far, and he and I had a late-night near-miss the other day. End of story.

However. If you look at the complete set of data, another story might reveal itself. Jude opened an Uber door for me. He came back to the office after happy hour when he knew he’d find me there. He was upset about Glenn and he didn’t go to Ella or Trevor. He came to me.

After further analysis, the data is showing that Jude Mulholland likes me. Like, likes me likes me.

Add another data point: this information makes me happy.

CHAPTER TWELVE

JUDE

I wish someone had told me that starting a company is like getting on a ride that you think is going to be fun, only to find, thirty seconds in, that you hate this awful ride that will take all your time and become a substitute for your life, and that in the best case scenario, you can’t get off for years.

I’ve had highs and lows, demonstrated questionable judgement with one employee, and almost cried over another, and that’s just since the alpha demonstration, two very long days ago.

I arrive at the office and pause to remind myself of Glenn’s insistence that we celebrate the wins. The continued existence of Lettercat counts as one of those. As does the overall positive energy I sense around the office lately. Glenn’s family is fine, and I was up late making real progress on the next phase of the ad network. If Lacey’s in the office today, I can tell her some news: I think she’ll be able to launch a beta in the next week. And speaking of Lacey, I’m thankful we’ve moved on with no signs of fatal weirdness from the other night. I will be careful going forward.

It’s going to be a good day, I silently tell the Lettercat sign.

I badge in and stow my helmet under my desk, plug my laptop into my workstation, and go look for my water bottle, which I have a bad habit of leaving all over the office. I find it near the foosball table, where Dave and I played a few points while sorting out the caching problem he wanted my thoughts about.

I’m heading to the kitchen to fill it up when I see Jonnie walking out, carrying a coffee and a bottled water. The ones we save for guests. She looks rattled.

“Good morning,” I tell her, because it is one.

“You didn’t see my messages,” she says.

My eyes revisit the water bottle in her hand.

Edmund is here, and he’s waiting for me in the conference room.

“Am I crashing your party?” he asks me, after I’m done shaking his hand and over-boisterously telling him what a great surprise it is to have him here.

“Not at all,” I say. “We’ve got some great stuff going on. I can show you if you like.”

“Absolutely. Sit down,” he says, gesturing to the chair across from him. “But let me dial Wally in first.”

This is when I know for sure that this isn’t a friendly drop-in, or a helpful unannounced coaching session. Edmund will hand me my ass in those settings regularly, but when he’s after full course devastation, Edmund likes to have an audience.

“Wally, I’m here with Jude.”

“Hello Edmund,” Wally’s voice says from the speaker on the table between us. “Jude.”

“Good morning, sir,” I say, still pretending to be jovial.

“I was just about to ask Jude how he’d feel if someone took one-point-four million of his dollars and then stopped answering his calls,” Edmund tells the telephone.

“Ah,” Wally says. “I’d be interested in knowing that answer myself.”