by Anna Yen
Andre tried to sway me by promising ten-foot-high art installations made entirely out of Popsicle sticks, but it didn’t do any good. He even offered to set me up with a few of his single friends. “They just cofounded new search engine technology that’s going to make them rich,” he said.
Once we were at altitude, the copilot unbuckled his seat belt and took a few steps toward me. “Can I get you anything?” he asked.
“Um, a Pellegrino would be terrific, thank you.”
Seems appropriate for a private jet.
Seconds later, I heard the sound of ice in a glass, the crack of a bottle cap seal breaking, and a hissing sound that I assumed was the espresso machine. Mr. Pilot returned with my Pellegrino and a glass of ice with a slice of lime in it. He made one more trip to the galley, but this time he walked past me to the cockpit holding a Diet Coke in one hand and a tall mug of something in the other.
Before I could unbuckle my seat belt, I heard Andre’s voice.
“I asked for two yellow ones, one blue one, and one pink one,” he said, referring to the sweeteners in his latte.
I guess I won’t be getting organic, vegan, non-GMO here.
As I stood up, the pilot walked past me holding the same steaming mug as he had before. Then Andre said as he unbuckled his own seat belt, “Sophia, come to the cockpit. Let’s talk shop.”
During the hour-long flight, Andre asked me about my strategy for investor presentations, managing Wall Street analysts and investors, my past experience, and how that related to what he was doing with Ion.
“You and Treehouse have a lot in common, even though you’re in two entirely different industries,” I responded. “Investors doubt that there will be a market for your products. You’re both using the newest technologies to create your products for industries that haven’t changed in decades. And most people don’t believe that you can actually manufacture the products that you plan to sell. Those are really strong headwinds for investors, but I know how to tell the stories that will convince them to buy your stock.”
Two nods from Andre, who didn’t seem to care that I had to stand to speak with him.
Fifteen minutes before we landed, Andre said, “I’ve met Scott Kraft once. Really interesting guy. I’d like to call him and ask him about you, if that’s okay.”
My stomach felt as though Andre’s jet had dropped several thousand feet.
“Scott doesn’t give recommendations. And he doesn’t know I’m here, so I’d appreciate it if we keep this all confidential,” I said.
Andre nodded as though he was making a mental note that he would no longer give recommendations, either. He then reached toward the dashboard and flipped several switches before he said, “One of my board members knows Scott, so he can casually ask Scott about you for me. Your boss won’t know you were here.”
He strapped on his seat belt again and told me to sit down and do the same. Then he asked one last question. “What would be your primary responsibility if you were my IR person?”
Without batting an eyelash, I responded, “To make you look good.”
Early that evening, as I drove alone to meet Audrey and her family for dinner, I kept playing Peter’s message over and over in my head. He had left it for me while Mr. Pilot flew me home from Reno; when I listened to it, I felt as though I’d been punched in the gut.
“Hello, Sophia. It’s Peter. I’m going to pass on dinner tonight. I’m just not up for it. I was thinking—I’m going to be really busy for the next three months welcoming the new residents and playing a big role in getting them trained, so I’ll call you when things get settled. Hope your interview with Andre went well. Take care.”
Take care? Talk to you in a few months? Is this how every man is going to react to my career? Such babies! Part of me knew I wasn’t being fair and that I’d hurt the man I loved. Give him time to lick his wounds. But the other part of me was ready to label all relationships impossible, and I wondered if I would ever be able to live up to what my parents—and society—expected of me.
Audrey’s home was a stone’s throw away from downtown Burlingame, a bustling area filled with young mothers wearing overpriced yoga pants and pushing strollers. She and her husband, Hank, lived in a white Craftsman with a wraparound covered porch and forest-green shutters with a matching front door. Two bright yellow rocking chairs added the perfect amount of character to the house, which looked very modest from the outside. But inside, the twelve-foot ceilings, dove-white walls, and black-trimmed farmhouse windows gave the home an impressive yet relaxed and airy feel. It was like stepping into a Diane Keaton movie set in the Hamptons—bright, modern, and warm. A wall of French doors along the back of the house opened onto a landscaped courtyard where teak furniture and bright Marimekko cushions drew me outside. When I arrived, my sister was playing with Ava on the grass just past the courtyard while my brother-in-law manned the grill.
I can’t wait to tell them about the interview.
“Hey! Look, Ava! Look who it is,” Audrey exclaimed. “It’s Auntie Sophia!”
Ava looked up and donned a smile that could melt any heart. She ran toward me with her mouth open so she could breathe and giggle at the same time. I could tell she was very pleased with herself when she reached me and I whisked her up into my arms, hugging her close. Ava reached for my diamond necklace—the one that Audrey had given me—and said, “Ooooh, that’s shiny and pretty. Can I wear it?”
Audrey and I laughed while Hank rolled his eyes. “Oh no. Don’t be teaching her about diamonds just yet. She’ll learn about those on her own,” he said before asking, “Hey, where’s Peter? I’m not being invaded by women tonight, am I?”
“Something came up at the hospital,” I said, my heart aching slightly as I told the lie.
“How did your interview with Ion go?” Audrey inquired. I was thankful my sister changed the subject by staying true to her let’s get down to business self.
“Oh yeah, how did it go?” asked Hank.
The excitement of my interview with Andre was overshadowed by the idea of leaving my hardworking but comfortable life for Ion, an unknown.
“I think I got the job,” I said without much enthusiasm. “At least it seems like Andre liked me.”
“Why aren’t you more excited?” Audrey asked as I twirled Ava around in circles.
“I am,” I responded over my niece’s giggles.
Audrey looked at me with a doubtful expression; I knew she sensed my hesitation, so I stopped twirling and explained, “I’m just stressing over leaving Treehouse. A new place, new people. I don’t want to leave Scott and Jonathan. They’ve been so good to me. I’m just getting back on my feet, so I’m wondering if now is a good time to take on a bunch of stress.”
My brother-in-law chimed in with one of his many statistics. “They say changing jobs is one of the top five most stressful things a person can face—that and death, marriage, moving, and having children.”
Audrey glared at Hank, then scolded me. “Why are you stressing, you idiot? There’s absolutely nothing to stress about. All you know right now is that you have a job and you explored another opportunity. Period. That’s it.”
I nodded.
Fair enough. Why worry about a decision when there’s no decision to be made?
Audrey continued with some sisterly advice. “Well, I think you should take it if it’s offered to you, Sister. It would be great for your résumé, and you’ve been at Treehouse long enough. How long has it been?”
“Almost three years.”
“Mm-hmm,” she said. I could see the wheels spinning in her head as she made some sort of calculation. “You arrived at Treehouse too late to get low-priced stock options, and you certainly don’t have enough of them to give you any sort of real nest egg. Don’t get me wrong—you’ve done well and all, but you could do better. Besides, you know what Silicon Valley says about staying in one job for too long?”
“Employers read that as complacency,” my recruiter brother-in-
law shouted as he looked over at Audrey for approval. When she nodded and smiled, he looked like a game show contestant who just won the million-dollar jackpot while he flipped a chicken burger on the grill.
Kiss ass.
After dinner, I gently pushed Ava in her swing and found myself comparing Andre to Scott. Both men were geniuses building their legacies—legacies that I wanted to help establish. Scott was improving people’s lives through technology and entertainment; Andre was trying to save the planet. Both men were also notoriously difficult, but Scott’s kind of difficult—demanding and irrational—had been easy for me to handle. Thanks, Mom. He was also overly confident, but knew he needed a trusted inner circle and engaged experts when he wanted to know more. Andre, on the other hand, wanted to do it all by himself. He didn’t seem to be the type to listen to others, or even care what they thought. I guessed that Andre held people at arm’s length—that he was unwilling to be questioned but willing to be convinced. My analysis seemed supported by the CFOs that each man had hired: Jonathan was a consigliere of sorts to Scott, whereas Rajesh seemed to be only an inexperienced yes-man. Then I told myself I wasn’t being fair.
It’s way too early for you to pass judgment.
“Hello!” I shouted after jumping out of the shower to answer the phone.
“Sophia? This is Rajesh Patel from Ion. Andre enjoyed meeting you and he’d like to extend you an offer.”
I smirked satisfyingly at the image of Rajesh trying to talk Andre into hiring someone else—some banker Ivy Leaguer—only to be overruled. I was certain Andre’s approval of me meant I had a strong upper hand, and that I could use it to my advantage.
“We’ve done our background checks and we hope you’ll start next month.”
I did it! I got the job!
It felt incredibly satisfying knowing that I’d made it into one of the hottest companies in Silicon Valley. Despite my health, despite my lack of an Ivy League education, despite everything! My silence must have made Rajesh uncomfortable; his hard and unfriendly voice sprayed cold water all over my excitement as he asked, “What is your salary requirement?”
Game time. Ask for the moon.
I recalled the first time I saw a salary figure that made my eyes pop—it was the day Grant asked me to review one of his clients’ employment agreements. I remembered wondering if I would ever make that much money in my entire life. Back then the best I could have hoped for was marrying someone who earned a salary that impressive. Yet here I was, speaking to Rajesh and staring at a VP-level job in a very hot company. I decided to negotiate that same dollar figure for myself, but became quickly disappointed when the number I asked for didn’t seem to alarm Rajesh.
“That’s definitely within our range,” he said easily, making me wish I’d asked for more. “We are also offering forty thousand shares of stock options that should add to the appeal of the offer. Our VP of HR will be in touch.”
I held my voice steady even though my stomach was doing somersaults. “Um, could we talk about the option grant before you hang up? In my view, much of my role is to generate support for Ion’s stock, and it behooves you to grant me more shares so I’m fully incentivized. I’m expecting options more in the seventy-five-thousand-share range,” I said.
Rajesh sighed and remained silent for a few seconds; I wondered if I’d pushed too far. It felt like hours before he said, “That’s more than I’m comfortable with. Some of our other VPs with actual operating roles don’t even get that much.”
Did he just offend me?
“None of your operating VPs are responsible for your stock price the way I would be.”
Another few moments of silence passed before Rajesh said, “It’s a fair point and I will pass it on to Andre. Either way, our VP of HR will be in touch because I’m taking my family on holiday for the next two weeks.”
I pressed the End button to hang up my phone, then double-checked the screen to make sure the call was disconnected. Slowly, gently, I put the phone on the bathroom counter and took one deep breath. Then another. Suddenly I began screaming—loud and long—as I felt power, strength, and electricity run through me. There was an underlying feeling of dread as I wondered if my new job would mean a permanent end to me and Peter. Should I call him to let him know I got the job? No, he said he was busy. Lie low, Sophia. Give him space.
I tried to focus on Ion again, on how easy it was for me to ask for what I wanted and the possibility that I could actually get it. Whether I got the job or whether I took it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that I felt like I could conquer the world. Like Dad always said, “It never hurts to ask.”
“I’m moving out,” I declared over the telephone, figuring it was better to tell Mom and Dad my news while they were overseas. They could threaten and complain all they wanted, but there was little they could do about it from over there.
I heard Mom freak out in the background. Dad used his CEO voice. “Excuse me?”
“I’m moving out.”
“Over my dead body,” Mom shouted into the speakerphone.
“Sophia, please don’t upset your mother. We won’t allow this.”
“Oh puh-lease, Dad. I’m not a child. Stop treating me like one.”
“You’ll always be our baby,” Dad said.
“Well, your baby is moving out!” I exclaimed with joy. “The lease is signed and I’m moving out!”
“What? She’s renting? That’s just money down the drain,” Mom said, disgusted. “Where does she think she’s moving to exactly?”
“San Francisco. The Marina District. It’s really safe there,” I added, hoping that would help ease their angst.
“Sophia, I will burn down your apartment,” Dad threatened. I was certain he believed he actually would take such action, but Mom and I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of his statement, which softened Dad’s voice.
“With who? Kate?” he asked. “No boy roommates, right?”
“Kate’s married now, Dad, remember? And no—no boys. I’m living by myself. It’s a two-bedroom, so you guys can come visit anytime!”
A Yes I am, No you aren’t went on for about thirty minutes more. Dad tried to trick me by saying, “Okay, fine. We’ll talk about it when Mommy and I get home,” then tried to delay me by saying, “Okay, but only when you find a nice roommate.”
“Oh no, no, no. I’m moving out next week,” I said, patting myself on the back for timing my lease application perfectly with my parents’ overseas trip. “I’ve got to go. Love you and see you when you get back home!”
I hung up even though I could still hear my mother’s voice reverberating through the receiver. Seconds later, my phone rang again and (Thank God for caller ID) I ignored it. Another few minutes later, it rang again—this time it was Audrey. I laughed because my parents were trying to call in the cavalry, but it was no use.
I’m movin’ on up!
The FedEx truck caught my attention the second I walked out of Starbucks because I could see that it was blocking me in. While telling myself the driver should be right back, I calmly climbed into my car and sipped on my soy au lait, which warmed me that chilly early morning. Minutes passed and I gave myself credit for being so patient; then I pushed my hand vigorously on the horn. When the driver didn’t appear, I got out of my car and walked up to the large steel truck; there were keys inside the ignition. Stupid, stupid driver. It was awkward climbing into a truck while wearing a knit dress, but I did it anyway and sat on the edge of the driver’s seat, as far forward as possible so that my Prada-heeled feet could reach the brake and clutch. I turned on the ignition and put the transmission in first gear, then let up on the clutch so the truck moved forward just enough to block someone else. I turned off the truck and climbed back into my car. Voilà. Problem solved.
Back inside my car, I noticed my BlackBerry vibrating. I picked it up and saw the email I’d been waiting for.
To: Sophia Young
From: Ion Human Resources
>
Subj: Offer letter
Dear Ms. Young,
We are pleased to offer you the role of Vice President of Investor Relations at Ion. Enclosed please find the details of your offer. Please note that they are exactly as you and Rajesh discussed.
I am also including a full benefits summary for you to review. I look forward to discussing with you, although we are in the middle of moving offices so I will call you next week.
Thank you.
I opened the attachment and skimmed the first page, stopping only when I saw the salary and stock option figures Ion offered. I wasn’t sure whether it was Rajesh or Andre who’d agreed to the terms, but they were indeed the same ones I’d requested. Seeing those figures in print with my name attached to them filled me with a sense of accomplishment. The letter proved that I was valuable, not because of the dollar figure, but because Ion, a highly respected company, went above and beyond just so they could recruit me. Little ol’ me.
I quickly reached for the phone to call Peter. He’ll be so happy and proud! Then reality kicked in and my excitement turned into disappointment. I slouched over my steering wheel and set down my phone.
He doesn’t want to talk to me.
We hadn’t spoken since Labor Day, and I allowed myself to acknowledge how badly I missed Peter; how much I wished he were there to witness the moment with me. A debate ensued inside my head for the hour-long drive to Treehouse: he’d want to know versus he wants some space. By the time I arrived, I was kicking myself for allowing a man to ruin the moment. My moment. I shut my door and called Grant. He’d want to know, and I wanted to thank him again for recommending me for the job.
“Are you going to take it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. But it’s nice to be asked.”
“When do you have to decide by?”
“They didn’t say. The HR person is calling me next week, which brings us to the end of September, and I’m due to go to L.A. for a few days the following week so maybe that will buy me some more time to decide.” I realized I wasn’t really answering Grant’s question but rather thinking aloud, so I finally said, “Rajesh originally said October but that’s right around the corner. I’m going to try to drag it out.”
