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T blinked and glanced over at the older woman.
“Your insecurity,” Mrs. Jacobs said baldly. “It shows on your face, and that’s the quickest way to shoot yourself in the foot.”
“I—”
“Do you think these men feel insecure?” She gestured at the room, to the suited and powerful men as though they were at a boring art exhibit they’d been forced to attend.
“I—maybe?” Well, they probably did, right? No one could be 100% self-confident. Not all the time. No one could think they were right every single moment of every single day.
“The answer,” Mrs. Jacobs said, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “is the dumb ones don’t.” Her lips quirked up, emphasizing the heavy laugh lines she had at the corners of her mouth. Teresa liked the idea of this woman smiling and laughing so much that her face showed it, showed that happiness. She wanted to be like Mrs. J when she grew up, especially when Mrs. Jacobs declared, “And the smart ones do have doubts and insecurities. They’re just better at hiding them.”
Teresa grinned, working on some laugh lines of her own. “I—”
Mrs. Jacobs poked her on the arm. “So, I’m telling to you wipe that expression off your face, woman up, and know that regardless of what happens with those jokers,I’mwriting you a check.”
“I—but—” Teresa should have had something smart to say, something businesslike, but instead she was standing there like a gaping fish until she managed to clear her throat. “I couldn’t—”
“And that’s stupidityandinsecurity talking.”
Well,thatfelt nice.
Which apparently was written on her face because Mrs. Jacobs leaned even closer, until the soft floral scent of her perfume hit Teresa’s nose. “Business isn’t nice, dear. You’ll accept the check for the amount you told me you’re hoping to solicit over the next months to a year because your business plan is a good one, and I’ve learned that it’s worth it to go with my gut, especially when it’s a small amount of money.”
Small being relative, Teresa supposed, considering she’d been expecting it to take a year to raise those funds.
“I—” The word was a croak, but she managed to pause, to clear her throat, to breathe, and then to say calmly,professionallyeven, “Thank you.”
An approving smile.
A pat to her arm.
“Nowthat’sthe spirit. Also,” she added, tilting her head to the men again, “feel free to impress these bozos, but know that when I send my check over and we sign an agreement, that I don’t like to share. If I’m your investor, I’m it.” Another pat—or maybe it was a nudge. Forward.
Toward the group of bozos.
She glanced back over her shoulder, saw that Mrs. Jacobs was smiling encouragingly. “Go get ’em, honey.”
Teresa let that settle into her—the confidence a stranger felt for her because she’d been able to carry on a conversation, because she had a good idea, because—
She’d been herself.
Teresa had beenherself.
And that had been enough.
And…thatsettled on her, settled over her, filled…
No.
Felt.
Shefelt.
Because of a little old lady in a pantsuit, with a bedazzled cane, white curly hair…and a laugh line on either side of her mouth.
Teresa smiled, deep and wide.
So much so that lines were probably forming already.
