Page 25 of The Hard Launch

“I’ve been trying not to,” I say.

“Yeah, I think he’s figured that out.”

The larger conversation has stopped; everyone’s now listening to Glenn and me.

“Did he see the demo?” Lacey asks.

“He did,” Glenn says. “I won’t say he was blown away, but by the time we ended our conversation he was able to agree that the progress you’ve made is encouraging.”

Encouraging.

Lacey looks disappointed, but I tell her Edmund probably found his kid’s first steps to be not more than “encouraging.”

It’s been a frustrating day after this morning’s high, to tell the truth.

“Enough,” Glenn says. “You guys are all forgetting to celebrate the wins. Remember? There’s always catastrophe around the corner. That’s why we pause, pat ourselves on the back, and go have a beer or four. Or sparking water with lime, I don’t care. We’re going to celebrate the win.”

He goes out onto the main floor and rings the gong in the sales area, then announces that everyone is expected at Woodbury in a half-hour. The AI consultant informs me she’s an introvert and will be heading home, which is fine with me, considering her hourly rate.

I close my laptop and get up to go. I have a few messages to reply to if I’m going to be out the door in thirty minutes.

“Are you coming?” I ask Lacey, who’s still seated and frowning at the whiteboard.

“It doesn’t seem optional,” she says. “So, yes. I’m going to try to remember what the win felt like, and then I’ll go celebrate it.”

I go back to my office and reply to a few messages. I suppose Glenn is right, and at the very least we need a break from the grind. Maybe it’ll shake something loose.

I put my shoes on, and I’m about to see if the product team’s ready to go, when my sister appears in my doorway.

“Want to walk down together?”

“Sure. We can wait for the product team, maybe.”

“They’re all packing up. If we go now, it gives you time to open the tab, CEO.”

Pretty much the whole team turns out for our impromptu happy hour, and instead of feeling panic about how each of these people depend on me for their livelihood, I take a minute to hang out with them, somehow always a step behind Lacey. Kate tells me a completely inappropriate story while I see Steve showing Lacey something on his phone. When I make my way over, she’s gone, and I’m treated to photos of his typewriter collection. She’s talking to Trevor, but when I arrive he makes me take video of him and Glenn doing a shot.

I see Lacey talking to Ingrid and Dave, but by the time I make it over there she’s moved on and instead I’m stuck with Ingrid, listening while Dave reads us the setlist from Joy Division’s last ever concert. Which took place in 1980. I see Lacey slip out the door without saying goodbye.

I tell the bartender to leave the tab open until ten o’clock. I love hanging out with the team, and I’ve been known to overdo it at the holiday party, to the point where I did my Uber rating a real disservice last year. But sometimes, when I’m pushing everyone really hard and they need to let off steam, it’s better for them to do it when I’m not standing here. Partly because I’ve had some awkward conversations with disgruntled drunk employees, but mostly because it all feels different when the boss is around.

I also have a feeling that when Lacey left, she didn’t go home. I head back to the office. If I’m wrong, maybe I’ll have a breakthrough on my own and figure out an impossibly short way to a successful launch.

Of course she’s there and trying to beat me to it.

The office is dark but the conference room is fully lit. I stand in the hall outside and look in at her. Lacey’s sitting on the table with her legs crossed, tapping one sneakered foot into the other while she stares at the whiteboard. The sticky notes for the project are arranged there in front of her like a puzzle she’s determined to solve.

I clear my throat to let her know I’m here, but she doesn’t even look over.

“You’re late,” she says.

I put my bag down and join her on the table. We study the board in silence for a few minutes.

“What if there isn’t a solution?” I ask. “Sometimes the long way is the only way there.”

She nods.

“It just feels like there’s another option,” she says.