Page 3 of The Hard Launch

“Venting can be healthy,” Ingrid pipes in.

They’re all waiting for me to unload, so I turn to face them, and I give them what they want.

“Do I wish he’d paid even a moment of attention during one of my earlier demos, or clicked through on one of the many links I sent the entire company while it was in testing? Sure. Would I rather he’d come to me or messaged me privately to tell me his concerns? Absolutely. Do I love that all our hard work was just completely derailed so he can look like a visionary genius in front of the whole company, while I stand there like an incompetent fool? No. No, I do not.”

They’re all looking at me, and not in a go off, queen kind of way. Because in our haste to find some closed doors to complain behind, not one of us bothered to hit the L button to send the elevator down to the lobby. Which means that when the next person showed up and hit the down arrow, the doors slid open.

As I was ranting.

I turn around and, of course, the person standing there is Jude.

“Hey guys,” he says.

Speechless after my speech, I slink deeper into the elevator. He gets in and turns his back, presses the L, and we ride down, all of us exchanging panicked looks behind him. Ingrid looks at me and taps her ear, tilting her head toward Jude.

I look up at him to try to figure out what she’s talking about. I don’t remember him being this tall, but then, he doesn’t usually have shoes on, and I don’t usually stand this close to him, so close I can feel the heat radiating off his back.

I lean to each side to look under all that hair at his ears—which feels kind of intrusive—and see what Ingrid’s trying to tell me: his AirPods are in. Maybe I got lucky and he didn’t hear. Maybe he’s listening to a podcast that gives tech bros tips about new ways to humiliate women at work.

The doors open and he walks out without saying a word. We shuffle into the lobby in a stunned pack.

“I don’t think he heard,” Dave says.

“Definitely not.” Kate agrees.

Ingrid nods. “Noise canceling is so good these days.”

I don’t say anything, but I one hundred percent disagree. There’s no use in debating it. I caught a glimpse of the side of his face as he walked away and saw that over the course of the elevator ride, he’d turned red and splotchy, just like when he got all worked up during my demo.

Jude heard everything.

What an achievement for me: I’ve successfully pissed off the CEO twice in one day.

CHAPTER TWO

JUDE

Six meetings down and three more to go.

Only fifteen minutes until my next one, which was going to be plenty of time to make it to Blue Bottle for a coffee and back. But no way am I going to head there now. Nope, I’m going to walk two extra blocks to a Starbucks and probably be late to my next call, just to avoid my own employees. How’s that for executive leadership?

Edmund James, big-shot venture capitalist and chairman of Lettercat’s board of directors, would be horrified but unsurprised. He’s constantly telling me I need to be a killer, a winner, and a warrior if all of this is going to work out. I lie awake at night stressing about that, in addition to dozens of other issues Edmund thinks would be rectified if I could only change everything about myself.

The sad thing is, I didn’t even want coffee. I heard where they were heading when they passed my office, and I thought if I went to Blue Bottle too, I might end up in line behind them, and Lacey and I could toss around some ideas about where else we can improve engagement. It seemed less awkward than walking over to her desk and striking up a conversation.

At least it did until I hit the down button for the elevator and got yet another perspective on everything that’s wrong with me. Get in line, Lacey Lang.

But she certainly does have her head around our user data; the way she was spouting out stats reminded me of the days when I first started Lettercat, when I was obsessed with our customers and nothing else. Back before my days were a blur of cap tables, board decks, and trotting around begging venture capitalists for money. I’ve tried to explain to Edmund that I’m a killer and a winner and a warrior when it comes to building things—that’s why there’s even a company here to run—but he says those are problems for other people now.

I’m so focused on the forest that I never get to see the trees. I couldn’t tell you what was in our last release. And apparently that’s for the best, since I can’t ask a Product Manager a question about a new feature without inspiring an angry elevator TED talk. It took me a second, honestly, to compute that the person she was spouting off about was me. All I did was ask a question. I thought that was why we have an All Hands in the first place.

But I had my AirPods in, giving me plausible deniability that I heard anything she said. So sure, my Executive Feedback Assessment said I can be conflict-avoidant at times and identified open dialogue to resolve challenges as an opportunity for my professional growth. Maybe I’d do some soul-searching on that if I didn’t have three more meetings this afternoon and a deck I’d claimed was mostly done when it isn’t even started. I have an outline, though. In my head.

I imagine what Edmund would have me do in this situation. He’d say I should fire her on the spot. Don’t tolerate gossip or insubordination or people who question your authority. He would absolutely not recommend scuttling off to Starbucks to wait in a too-long line for a coffee that’s going to sit and get cold on my desk. Fine then, I’ll take a walk around the block. It’s not weird to go back to the office empty-handed. Steve Jobs used to go for walks all the time.

“Where’s your coffee?” Jonnie asks when I get back. I forgot I’d told her where I was going. She keeps my schedule up on an iPad on her desk so she can make sure I’m at my meetings on time, and any last-minute departures get her a little worked up.

I look down at my hands, like I’m expecting to see a coffee there or something. I shrug and walk into my office, hearing her cluck to herself about absent-minded geniuses and how it’s a wonder I remember to put on my jeans each morning.