Page 47 of The Hard Launch

We both look up as a happy sigh comes from the doorway, where Edmund is positively beaming.

“Are there tears in my eyes?” he asks the khaki pants and polo shirt with him. “A founder more concerned about time than ideas? I told you, Mike, it’s been a transformation.”

There’s a bustle of handshaking as we’re introduced to Mike, whoever he is; no last name is given.

“Tell us about what you’re getting up to in here,” Edmund requests, rapping his knuckles on Jude’s desk. I immediately flash to my legs wrapped around Jude’s shoulders on this same surface, and judging from the strange wheezing sound coming from him, so does he.

“Our main competitor has a habit of stealing our messaging,” I explain as Jude clears his throat. “So we’re discussing how much we want to adjust ours for launch.”

“You’re correctly asking for everything,” Edmund tells me. “And this guy’s reining you in like a CEO ought to.”

“The classic push and pull,” Mike chimes in.

“Indeed,” I say, unable to resist smirking at Jude.

I excuse myself, promising Jude we’ll go for big impact, small effort.

“She’s quite a gal,” I hear Edmund say as I leave. Yep. That’s me.

The tiger team is blocked by the video team, who is tired of me milling around behind them asking if there’s anything I can do. When Edmund comes in the room and asks if I have a minute, I can actually hear the relief from the engineers. As in, one of them mutters, “Thank god.”

“There’s a seating area in the lobby,” Edmund tells me as we walk. “It should be a quiet enough place for us to chat before I go.”

It’s an enormous hotel, and at least a five minute walk to the lobby. That’s a lot of time for awkward silence or discussion of the weather. I go with what I know, and ask if he has plans to see Guns N’ Roses soon. He doesn’t, but he has a new puppy wreaking havoc in his home, which is good for the remainder of the walk; Gus sounds like kind of a nightmare. But it’s almost enough to relax me for whatever conversation we’re about to have; he wouldn’t fire me after telling me about his puppy. Would he?

“I’ve been letting Jude know how impressed I am with what the team’s done,” he says, settling into a leather club chair, gesturing to the one adjacent to his. I take a seat.

“They’re doing some phenomenal work,” I agree.

“I also know from Jude and from Glenn that this strategy is largely your brainchild,” he tells me. When I start to deflect from taking credit, he shakes his head. “Ms. Lang, I know you didn’t have every idea and you didn’t code it. Tell me, do you accept responsibility when things go poorly?”

I nod.

“Then please do the same when they go well.”

“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”

“I’m sure you know I’m involved with many companies in addition to Lettercat. I worked with Glenn at his previous venture,” he tells me. “When I see talented people, I like to make the most of them. It’s not purely rooted in kindness, of course, but ultimately it’s win-win.”

I keep nodding. Saying words would introduce the possibility of messing up.

“I’m currently working with a startup that needs product leadership. Woman founders, a solid business model, but they need someone to help them get to product-market fit. I’d love to introduce you.”

He’s not looking at me; he’s watching me. I surreptitiously wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt.

“Well, of course I’m very happy at Lettercat,” I say carefully, in case this is a loyalty test.

“Sure you are. But you need to take a look at the org chart, Lacey. To be a real operator, you should be as strategic about your career as you are about your roadmap. Where’s your opportunity here?”

Edmund is unquestionably imposing and intimidating. Edmund is also unquestionably correct.

When I get back, Jude’s door is locked and the hackathon has been abandoned. Jonnie’s in there filling an enormous garbage bag and tidying up. I don’t know if it’s insulting to think of her as the mom of the company, but if she is, we’re all ungrateful children.

“Don’t you dare,” she says as I go to pick up a crushed LaCroix can. A halfhearted gesture, really, considering how much she’s already done.

“Recess!” She points to the door.

I find the team out back. Irina is alone, cross-legged on a bench, but the rest of the team is gathered on the lawn. As I get closer I see that most of them are cheering on a handful of others, who are playing a pickup game of soccer using the tiny pink ball. Dave is winded midfield, bent over with his hands on his knees. Trevor is sprinting, about to catch up with Jude. Ingrid runs close behind, barefoot and yelling that she’s open.