After the call ended, I stared at my screen. The edges blurred and my arms tingled. Despite being seated, I struggled to breathe. It felt like the air was only reaching the top half of my lungs. I inhaled deeply—audibly—five times, lifting my chest up with each breath. It helped, but only for a minute or two, and then I needed to do it again. I repeated the exercise until I finished therevisions and sent all the documents to the counterparty an hour later.
I was so exhausted I felt physically sick. Coffee seemed to be making it worse at this point. I stumbled into my bedroom and fell asleep for an hour. When I woke up, I mentally went through my to-do list: check in with the juniors about the recent data room uploads, respond to a backlog of emails from a different client, and finally sit down and review the key vendor contract that Brower wanted the tech company to renegotiate.
Even though I wasn’t looking at my phone for once, I nearly collided with the person exiting the bakery next to my building as I entered. Gripping a paper bag containing a muffin I wasn’t sure I even wanted, I trudged into the office, barely feeling the chill spring wind on my cheeks and questioning how much longer my body could operate on adrenaline and coffee fumes.
At least we were well on our way to getting this deal signed and the client was happy.
By later that evening, I’d somehow managed to finish most of my tasks and review seventy-five pages of the 120-page vendor agreement.
That was when I made the fateful decision to stop by John’s office on my way home.
5
The Day After the Fainting Incident
Ihunched over my desk and read the three-page email of diligence updates from Claire while holding back tears. I’d just told her to go ahead and send the note directly to our client when a knock on my glass office door jolted my system like a jump-scare straight out of a horror movie. My heart rate settled slightly when I saw it was Mallory and not John. I waved her in.
Please don’t have a new deal for me.
Mallory was a partner I enjoyed working with and often sought out for advice. She was one of only a few female partners in the private equity group. She had a daughter, made partner three years ago, and was a great mentor.
“Hey, Val. Just checking in. You’ve seemed more stressed than usual lately, and I wanted to see if you’re okay?”
Is it that obvious?
The concern on her face was genuine. It made me want to cry.
And then, a burst of anxiety.Does she know I fainted last night?
“I’m okay.” I willed down the emotion in my voice. “It’s just thatthis Brower Capital deal has been super intense. But I’ll get through it.” Even as I said it, I wasn’t sure I believed that anymore.
She nodded, her dark bob bouncing slightly, but she looked skeptical. “It’s supposed to sign by the end of next week, right? Will you get a breather after that?”
“Yes, and I hope so. There’s another deal I’m on with Carl that’s percolating, but I hope it doesn’t take off for another couple of weeks.”
She reached for the hand I had splayed on top of that printed vendor contract and gave it a brief squeeze. “Hang in there, okay? Let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”
I nodded as hot tears burned right behind my eyes, hoping Mallory would turn before they fell.
What is wrong with you?I chided myself as she closed the door behind her.Nearly crying in front of a partner.
It wasn’t until I sent my comments on the Brower vendor agreement to John two hours later that I let myself feel a glimmer of temporary relief. I started packing up my things in a hurry. Not that I had any Friday evening plans. I was just excited to sleep before I saw my parents tomorrow.
My hand was reaching to pull the cord out of my laptop when my office phone rang—a piercing, awful sound.No, no, no.
I inhaled, blew out a shaky breath through pursed lips, and answered. “Hi, Carl.”
“Val, great news. The Choice Partners deal is back on, full steam. The client is sending us those two key agreements they need to renegotiate within the hour. Can you take the first pass and send me your comments by Sunday night?” With each statement, he sounded farther away, drowned out by the tidal wave of stress collapsing on top of me.
It was Friday. The time on the corner of my computer screen said 4:00 p.m. I was going to throw up.
I opened my mouth to ask for more time, but then I heard John’s voice in my head.“You need to work on producing work product faster.”
“Okay,” I said instead.
“And the data room will open back up this weekend, too.”
I swallowed the growing lump in my throat.
