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Before I can answer, she halts me with a raised hand. “I’m not talking about your first VC investment. I’m talking about the actual money to buy the laptop you were making your business plan on, or how you paid for the graphic designer to do your logo, your website… how much did it cost you? Ten, twenty K? It might be loose change for you, but for some people, it’s all they can save in a lifetime.”
“Just so we’re clear, I worked for a few years at an investment bank right after college, saved the five-figure end-of-year bonuses, and used them to pay for rent in Silicon Valley—where I shared a house with five other smelly dudes—and made the initial investment in my company.”
That shuts her up, and her expression softens.
“Okay, then I partially misjudged you,” she concedes. “I’m sorry. What I was trying to explain to you,” Blake continues, “is that for the longest time, so many doors stayed closed to me, and I had to break them open kicking and screaming. While you probably found a butler in white gloves, welcoming you and offering you a cup of champagne for your trouble.”
“I can assure you it was no easy feat to get my A-round investment; I had no help from my family whatsoever.”
A shadow passes over her face and she looks away, no comment. So I push. “Can I get at least a partial retraction on my start-up money being handed to me on a silver platter?”
Again, she avoids meeting my eyes. “Sure.”
I walk down a step so that we’re now sharing one. “Why do I feel you’re holding out on me?”
“It’s just a rumor I heard.”
My nostrils flare. “What rumor?”
She waves me off. “I’m sure it was just nonsense.”
“I’d still like to hear it.”
Blake looks at me undecided, but she eventually speaks. “That Fidelity Credit Union financed your A round because your father made them the unofficial partner for all of Mercer Industries’ dealings in the West.”
The accusation shakes the very foundations of my being.
A slow heat creeps up my neck. Dad would never… we had a deal that he’d stay out of my business.
Blake takes in my dismay and offers me a small smile. “Sorry to ruin the corporate fairy tale for you. I’d imagined you would’ve connected the dots a long time ago.”
The truth is that after securing that first loan, I went into tunnel focus and didn’t pay attention to anything happening outside my start-up until we reached the breakeven point. And a cloak-and-dagger deal like that wouldn’t have been publicized. It’d take years of analyzing each of Mercer Industries’ transactions in the West to reach that conclusion.
“Who told you that?”
She hesitates. “My ex works in finance.”
I’m about to counter-argue when the roar of an engine distracts me. I turn my gaze toward the sound, and my mouth gapes open. The 1960 Aston Martin GT Zagato of my dreams just pulled up in front of the museum.
I watch with a slack jaw as the valet jogs up the steps and hands the keys to Blake, saying, “The keys to your vehicle, miss.”
A roar of laughter bursts out of me as I shake my head.
Blake floors me with a stare. “Something the matter?”
“Oh, you had me fooled Miss Still Getting Used to The Bubble Wrap. You seem very well adjusted to it.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s a 1.2-million-dollar car you’re taking home.”
Her eyes narrow. “You an Aston Martin fan? That was an almost perfect appraisal.”
“How much did you pay for it?” The question is crass, and I wouldn’t normally ask it, but I want to know by how much I lost.
Blake’s red lips curl in a wicked smile. “One million, two hundred and five thousand dollars. The owner told me the second highest bidder came in at a clean 1.2 mils. It must’ve been a man.”
“Why do you say that?”
