AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Archer found a place and they pulled in, getting a valet ticket and walking to the building with the aid of Google Maps. Archer carried a briefcase with printouts of the pitch deck and his laptop with the presentation. It was now or never, and Dragan desperately needed a win.
He hadn’t texted June, hadn’t spoken to her since last night, when shit hit the fan. She had texted him that morning, saying hello, but he couldn’t respond. He couldn’t face the way she looked at him, the way she saw him, since his dad threw a punch and Dragan retaliated. They’d been friends for so long, but that night solidified they could never be anything more.
Dragan adjusted his tie, the noose around his neck. Archer pointed to the building they were supposed to go to and led the way. Or more like strutted. Dragan followed close behind, taking in the gray buildings. They entered through large glass doors, giving their names to the security guards at the front desk. After standing for a photo pass and scanning the barcode to get through the gate, they walked through the marble foyer to the elevator banks, riding up to the tenth floor.
The ding sounded, doors opening to a large loft. The reception desk stood in front of a frosted glass partial wall. The concrete floor and brick walls echoed the sounds of typing and muted voices, while the large windows all around the floor allowed the mid-day sun to stream in.
Dragan definitely didn’t belong here.
“Mr. Carter and Mr. Thompson?” The receptionist greeted them with a straight, bleached smile, her tight brown curls piled high on her head. Her white blouse matched her teeth, glowing against her dark skin.
“That’s us,” Archer said, giving her a flirtatious smile and leaning one arm on top of the desk. Dragan tried not to roll his eyes.
“Great, you can take a seat over there —” she pointed to a row of armchairs against the wall with the elevators, “— and they’ll be right over.”
“Thanks,” Archer said, giving her wink and walking to the chairs. Dragan caught the eye roll the receptionist gave him behind his back before turning to join his friend.
They sat in the grey-blue chairs for awhile, watching as casually dressed people came in and out. Eventually, two men in suits approached them.
“Hi, I’m Mark Vasquez,” one said. He was on the shorter side, with tan skin and slick black hair.
“And I’m Isaac Musa,” said the other. He was taller than his coworker, his skin a rich black that glowed beneath the lights.
They shook hands and introduced themselves, following Mark and Isaac through the office to a conference room in the back. It was a casual space, but in the back they mounted the signs of who they worked with. A familiar blue F, pinkish camera square icon, and bright green circle with signal bands were prominently displayed above a host of smaller logos, some Dragan recognized but most he did not.
Whatever strings Colton had pulled, they’d been big.
Mark opened the door to the conference room, the interior walls entirely glass. The brick exterior wall had two massive windows. Dragan and Archer stepped inside, Isaac pointing where they could set up. Dragan started setting the paper pitch-decks in front of the twenty swivel desk chairs surrounding the table. Archer pulled out his computer, hooking it to the projector hanging from the ceiling. He joined Dragan at the front of the room, the Bluetooth remote in hand to click through the projection slides.
One by one, people started entering the room. Some were old, young, in suits, in jeans. It was an eclectic mix, and by the end fifteen people sat around the table, looking at Dragan and Archer expectantly. One man in particular, probably in his forties, kept a keen eye on them. Dragan cleared his throat, sweat collecting on his back. His suit jacket felt even smaller than before.
Archer looked at Mark, who held a remote of his own. He clicked a button and blackout shades drew down to cover the windows. Another button caused thick off-white shades to cover the glass walls, cocooning them in the conference room. The projector turned on. Dragan looked over his shoulder at the screen that showed off the first slide of their pitch deck.
It was now or never.
He cleared his throat. “Hello, and thank you for taking the time to meet with us. Our app company, Gaol — Scottish Gaelic for ‘relationship’ — was founded two years ago with the intention of connecting small-towns with the world at large.”
“Our first project,” Archer cut in, “is an app that notifies users of upcoming elections based on their permanent mailing address. This will help ensure more people are exercising their right to vote. The app will include features such as best times to go, wait times, and short lists on what each candidate represents.”
Dragan didn’t have time to gauge their reactions — hell, it was too dark to even try — but once he and Archer got in the swing of things, it was like pulling off a report in high school with his best friend. They paged through data, demographics, potential growth options. By the time they finished, they were both shiny with sweat but beaming ear to ear.
The shades pulled up, and the majority of those around the table looked pleased.
“We’d love to answer any questions,” Archer said.
One woman raised her hand. “How would you protect against voter fraud and identity theft?”
“Great question,” Archer smiled at her. “Since users can’t actually cast their vote through the app, they will only need to upload their ID for verification, but still go through standard ID practices at their place of polling. Identity theft is a real issue. I won’t go into boring specifics, but as an ex-Marine who worked as a data systems specialist, I can assure there are plenty of safety measures we will implement.”
“I have a question,” a guy shouted out. “How’d you get that shiner? Are there any criminal records we should be aware of?”
Dragan stared at the man, stunned. He clenched and unclenched his fist. Before he could respond, Archer spoke. “Neither of us have criminal records and we would be happy to submit to a background check, should you decide to move forward. Anything else?”
“Are you looking for an investment or a buyout?” The question was firm but gentle, and came from the man in his forties who’d been staring at them since he walked in.
“We’d be open to both, depending on the contracts,” Dragan shot out. He was pretty riled from the one question, and this guy seemed more on board with their product than any of the others. Dragan needed to get out of here sooner rather than later.
The man smiled and nodded, scribbling something on the pitch deck. Archer looked at his watch. “Ah, looks like our time’s up! We don’t want to keep you, but if you have any more questions, please feel free to call or email.” He gave them a winning smile while Mark and Isaac helped him pack up. Most of the people left, but some stuck around and murmured about the viability of their product. Their words crawled through Dragan’s ears, but the snippets didn’t do any good. He couldn’t tell where anyone stood, and thinking too hard about it was going to give him an aneurysm.
