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“Yeah, and I’m not leaving without this in my portfolio. What is it that Patrick likes to say? Go bigandgo home? That’s going to be me.”
“Okay, we’ve totally got this. Let me pick your clothes for you, and then you can practice your pitch on me. It’s going to be killer. But I only have an hour to work this miracle because I’ve got myself a hot dinner date.”
“Thank you. I owe you.”
“Least I can do. You’re the one who gave me Jason’s number. He said he’s had a crush on me forever.” She gave me a huge smile. “You can do this, Ana. You know you can. You can make a hell of an app. You may not be able to land a plane, but youcanland this account. Get it?”
“God, Heidi,” I groaned. “Yes, I get it.” I didn’t love the comparison. Ihadto land this because it was the only shot Apollo IT would get.
Chapter 13
I arrived at the Family Sports Center in Centennial way earlier than I’d intended to. Traffic hadn’t been bad, and I’d been unable to sleep most of the night before anyway. When I had, I’d dreamed of beating Melvin over the head with a hockey stick. Not healthy and, although satisfying, not practical. I shook off the thought and glanced up at the structure in front of me. Heidi was right; this place was massive. I’d driven past it a million times as a kid, and a few friends had had birthday parties here, but not being in the sports world, I’d never given it any thought. But now…now things were different.
I had enough time to wallow in my anger before getting my game face on. I was wearing Heidi’s creation: dress pants, wedges, and a tailored sweater. All my hair was wound into a low bun that had been sprayed to a stonelike texture. I could definitely pass as an adult, but not as a skydiving, knife-wielding EBUG who expressed his time in “a war” through art. You couldn’t have everything.
I willed my blood pressure to stay down as I entered the building. Ithought longingly of going to the arcade (video games were a great destressor) but followed the directions to the meeting room. It was on the west side of the complex, located on the second floor.
Could I do this? I could totally do this. Deep breaths. I opened the glass-paneled door at the west end labeledHOCKEY OPERATIONSand walked up to a receptionist’s desk. She looked a lot like me, or me on a regular day. Fresh-faced, bright, and probably worth more than several of her bosses put together.
“I’m here to see S.J. Sharpe. I’m a little early.”
She looked me up and down and then met my eyes. “Name?” she asked.
Here we go. “Indiana Aaron.”
“I’m sorry, did you say—”
“Yes, Indiana Aaron. I have a meeting with S.J. Sharpe.”
She blinked but kept her face neutral. “Yes, of course. S.J. is just finishing something up. I’ll let the team know you’re here, but it might still be a while.”
“I understand,” I said. “I’m happy to wait until they’re ready.” I felt a little ill. Truth was, I wasn’t going to be sure I could pull this off until I’d actually done it.
She made a note and tapped her pen against her desk. “You might be more comfortable waiting in the second-floor lounge. The elevators are just over there.” She pointed down the hall. “By the way, there’s a bathroom right when you get off. You might want to freshen up first.”
Yikes. My hair must be a disaster. I thanked her, then headed to the elevators and punched the up button for the next floor. I shoved my self-doubt down deep, but one thought kept resurfacing: If my own colleagueswouldn’t value me for who I was, how was a random stuffy old man going to appreciate my talents? I could feel myself getting angry again, and I let it fuel me as the elevator doors opened and I stepped through them into my future. A tall imposing man wearing a custom suit with the build of an athlete strode toward me, and my courage drained completely. I ducked into the bathroom. No way was I going to talk to him before I’d fixed whatever was wrong with my appearance.
The bathroom was plush, with silver fixtures and lots of off-white colors. There was a fainting couch in one corner (I hopedIwouldn’t need it), mirrors along one wall, and several individual stalls.
I went to the sinks and checked my hair. It hadn’t moved at all. Everything else looked normal, too. No lipstick on my teeth, no raccoon eyes. So why had the receptionist suggested I “freshen up”? I turned on the cold water and splashed just a little on my cheeks. It calmed my nerves, but I had on way too much makeup to appreciate the full effect.
A toilet flushed, and an older woman came out of one of the stalls. She had shoulder-length dark hair and was wearing cream slacks with a matching sleeveless sweater. She was messing with her phone and cursing under her breath.
She gave me a wan smile as she joined me at the sinks and threw the phone in her purse. “Useless piece of junk,” she muttered.
“What’s wrong?”
She shoved her bag away from her and looked herself over critically in the mirror as she washed her hands. “The phone never connects to the network here, and I don’t receive messages in the building. Sometimes I just want to throw it against the wall.”
“Mind if I take a look at it?”
“Go ahead. It might as well be a paperweight.” She dug the phone back out, unlocked it, and passed it over.
I thumbed past the lock screen, then rummaged around in the settings. “Just a few little tweaks should get you going,” I murmured as I clicked a couple of different toggle switches. I handed it back. “You shouldn’t have any more issues,” I said.
She blinked at me, then looked down at the phone. She quickly scrolled through a few apps and then pulled up her messages. “You fixed it. How did you do that? And so fast?”
“I work in IT. Technology is my thing.”
