Startup executives routinely asked for those connections, always wanting the name of someone high up in the food chain in order to reach a key decision-maker more quickly, thus expediting a sale. But Kade and her colleagues never played these cards lightly or often. Doing so would only frustrate a previously friendly contact, who wouldn’t hesitate to stop returning calls or emails if they doled out his or her name indiscriminately. Kade insisted that there be a strong fit between demand and supply. She hadn’t gotten where she was by burning bridges.
The fact that Jen was MIA on meetings with two contacts in Kade’s network made her bristle. This kind of thing simply didn’t happen in her industry. A CEO would have to be on his or her deathbed to skip a meeting stemming from a VC introduction. Short of Jen’s hospitalization, which she was not hoping for whatsoever, Kade wasn’t ready to accept many excuses, certainly not the woefully inadequate “something’s come up,” which she’d received twice now.
After the earlier meeting with Brian Marshall, Kade had called Jen, in part to let her know that Brian had agreed to be a referral partner. But she mostly wanted to confirm that Jen was fine and able to attend their second meeting. Jen hadn’t picked up, so Kade had left a voice mail and followed up via email. Jen finally responded that she was well and confirmed she’d be there. To have Jen now bail a second time with the same anemic excuse was insulting and disrespectful.
Unannounced arrivals weren’t part of her usual MO, but today Kade found herself practically stomping up the cement steps to the Creative Care office after she’d once again been forced to handle a Creative Care meeting alone. The entrance was made of glass, so she could see several cubicles, monitors, plants, and other office paraphernalia, but no people. A pull of the handle failed to gain her entry. She rapped on the glass door. No one answered. To the far right of the door, she spied a handmade sign saying Deliveries, with an arrow pointing to a black button beneath, which she pressed. After still no answer, she turned to leave but saw something move in her peripheral vision. A shaggy, sandy-haired, twenty-something man with an unkempt beard pushed the door open.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Jen Spencer.”
“Everyone’s at Disneyland.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Yeah. My brother’s in town so I had to bail. Bummer. Feel free to stop by tomorrow if you want.”
“Thanks.” Disneyland? Kade surprised herself by calmly descending the stairs instead of yelling profanities. She no longer required an explanation from Jen. All she needed was to cancel any remaining meetings they had and extricate herself from further Creative Care commitments. She would not allow anyone to sully her reputation.
Back in her Matlock office, Kade plunged into work. She’d recently met with a virtual-office-assistant company, and she needed to decide whether to recommend to her partners that they make an offer to invest by sending a term sheet and, if so, what the terms of the offer should be.
Kade spent the rest of the day researching the startup and contemplating other areas in which the technology could be useful. One of the most satisfying aspects of her job was future-tripping like this. The business term for people like her was “visionary.” For Kade, being a visionary was like having a pair of virtual-reality glasses she could put on, allowing her to view things from different perspectives. She was always able to ask herself, “What if?” Searching for answers to that question propelled her forward and helped her land on ideas that took shape in the form of finding new ways to apply existing technology.
Kade lost herself in the world of artificial intelligence. When her calendar popped up a reminder about dinner, she decided to continue working at the office instead of going home to do the same thing. She phoned in an order for delivery, closed multiple browser windows related to her research, and tried to scan the daily stock-market news until her food came.
But the words on the digital pages failed to take root in her brain because it kept reverting to Jen. Her mind warred between wanting to check in on her and wanting to yell at her. Jen’s own messages contained no hint she was in anguish but didn’t placate Kade in the way they usually would. She wanted visual proof that Jen was healthy and in one piece.
On the other extreme, Kade couldn’t get over the slight of Jen’s failure to stick to their well-defined plan. Jen hadn’t provided any suitable account of her absences, and perhaps worst of all, this hurt Kade’s feelings. Why wouldn’t Jen tell her the truth about her reasons for cancelling? Did Jen feel she wasn’t trustworthy? It wasn’t as though Jen was withholding information about nuclear codes. This was about nonattendance at a business meeting, and Jen couldn’t trust her with the reasons behind it?
If this was how Jen planned to handle future meetings, the only thing Jen could be sure of was that Kade wouldn’t be involved.
Although Jen’s absenteeism was a disaster professionally, it left no question for them personally. Closing the door on their relationship had done little to prevent Kade from staring at the virtual handle, and the impulse to ignore her own edict remained strong. Now, however, that door was sealed, and it was for the best. Kade had been wading into deep water with her, which would only end up causing Jen pain. As much as Kade struggled against Jen’s powerful draw, she cared too much for Jen to disregard the probability of hurting her.
The death knell to their relationship rang, and the sharp stab of disappointment it brought was as familiar as the sound of a clock striking the hour. Heartache was nothing new to Kade.
During dinner, while she finished reading this morning’s Wall Street Journal, which in reality meant rereading the same paragraph over and over and absorbing nothing, Kade glanced up to see Roger Daniels in her doorway. One of the firm’s senior partners, Roger had been instrumental in recruiting Kade. He was one of those average-looking, bland-featured men you couldn’t describe even if you’d been stuck in an elevator with him for hours, but in the intellect department, he had few peers. She’d taken the job in part because she wanted to learn from him.
She invited him in and offered some of the takeout. He declined as she knew he would, but given that his seniority should mean she’d never expect to see him at the office so late and the number of times she did, she suspected his ongoing divorce had something to do with his office hours, and she felt a little sorry for him. As he sat, he pointed to the full-page article open on her desk and asked a question about it.
Caught, Kade gave him a bemused smile. “I’m pleased you asked. My key takeaways? It’s written in English, it’s in today’s Journal, and it contains information.”
Roger laughed. “Happens to the best of us, Kadrienne. Have we put too much on your plate?”
She waved him off. “Not at all. A little research overload, I think.”
“Is this the virtual-assistant company?”
Kade nodded. “What’s the best excuse you’ve ever gotten for someone cancelling an important meeting on you?”
Roger didn’t seem to mind the pivot. “Hmm. Probably a toss-up between a spouse’s water breaking and acute appendicitis. How about you?”
“East Coast blizzard that shut down Newark Liberty, JFK, and LaGuardia for two days.”
“Seems reasonable.”
“Worst excuse?”
“I’m not sure. When one isn’t given, I suppose.”
Kade nodded.
“Emergencies aside, it’s my experience that people cancel when they’ve determined something else has come up that’s more important. If I’m not among their priorities, fine with me. Why do you ask?”
Kade was reluctant to admit to Roger that she’d scheduled multiple meetings to help Creative Care’s prospects. With the number of hours she logged in a day, she didn’t necessarily feel she was shortchanging her own portfolio or research, but his take might be different. So she approached the subject less directly. “I provided some introductions to relevant industry execs for one of Charles Jameson’s companies, Creative Care, to help them
gain traction ahead of their next financing round. Meetings were scheduled, but I heard from a couple of contacts that the CEO cancelled on them without explanation.”
Roger nodded and steepled his fingers as if in thought. “What do you think of Creative Care?”
“You mean like, ‘Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?’”
Roger smiled. “Yes.”
“Huge market opportunity. I like what they’re building, and eBay and Amazon have proved that the marketplace angle can work. Certainly replicable with the right pricing model and distribution strategy.”
“Should we be taking a look?” Roger asked seriously.
“You know I can’t act on this one, Roger. I’m not impartial.”
“I realize that, but our bylaws allow a different partner to advance an investment when another has to recuse him or herself.”
“True. It hadn’t occurred to me.”
“What about the leadership team?”
Kade’s head started to spin. A Matlock investment in Creative Care? She forced herself to focus on Roger’s question. “I’m on the fence at the moment. The CEO is capable, bright, affable…well-versed on the technology…and until recently I would have said driven. Both she and the CTO seem to have fantastic rapport with their team and have been able to recruit remarkably well as a result. The head of product is solid, too.”
“But you have reservations about the CEO.”
Kade cocked her head, thinking through her issues with Jen on a professional level, trying for objectivity. “Our styles are very different, so it’s hard for me to judge.”
“Try.”
“I don’t have any evidence to support this, but I wonder if she’s popular among her team because she doesn’t force them to work as hard as they should. They’re months behind on getting their minimum viable product out the door, and I wonder about the causes. They’re taking steps—the right ones, too, I think—to address the delays, and it seems they’re on track again, so I’m not even sure there’s an issue.”
“There’s an issue if she’s not showing up for meetings.”
“I agree. It bothers me. Plus, this behind-schedule team that’s rapidly running out of money recently flew down to Disneyland for a day. A weekday.” She didn’t mention what she thought of Jen’s desire to provide severance to a VP of sales who hadn’t sold anything, let alone hiring him in the first place.
Roger nodded slowly. “I don’t have to tell you this, Kadrienne, but if you don’t think she’s the right person for the job, you’ll need to disclose your concerns to potential investors.”
“I know.” As a board member, Kade knew prospective investors would solicit her feedback, as they tended to call existing backers and customers to vet a company’s team and technology before investing millions of dollars.
She hoped Charles’s recovery was proceeding apace so he could retake his board seat in short order. Under no circumstance did Kade wish to have to share her thoughts on Jen’s leadership skills.
Chapter Fifteen
The first sign of something amiss was the quiet rap on the door before Holly entered Kade’s office. The second was the gentle shutting of the door behind her. The third was the tentative way Holly stood just inside before slowly walking toward Kade’s desk, wearing a concerned expression Kade hadn’t seen in years and having lost all color in her face.
Immediately anxious, Kade sat up straight on the edge of her chair. “Your parents?”
Holly shook her head.
“Are your brother and sister okay?” She arose and took Holly’s hands in hers, then sat them both down in the visitor chairs. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Your mom called. It’s your father. He’s had a stroke. A pretty severe one, apparently.”
Kade was up and rounding her desk. “Why didn’t she call my cell phone? What line is she on?” None of the light indicators signaled a call on hold.
“She’s working the phones. She didn’t want to talk to you until she had more information and had spoken directly to his doctor.”
Kade threw up her hands and felt the internal shift as she moved from worried to angry. “Well, what am I supposed to do with that information? And why is she involved?” She sat abruptly. “Thank God it’s no one in your family.” Completely rattled, she stood just as quickly and threw up her hands again. “Did anybody look at his calendar? Maybe he scheduled the damn thing and it’s all going according to plan.” She began pacing between the door and where Holly sat. “Notice it wasn’t a heart attack. You actually have to have a heart in order for that to happen.”
She made the mistake of looking at Holly, whose mouth was quivering and whose eyes were misting. And she started to lose it. She crossed one arm over her chest and held her head in her other hand as she cried. She didn’t say anything as Holly took her into her arms, her staggered breathing the only sound in the room.
* * *
Jen believed the chances Kade would answer her door were slim and that they would plummet farther once she realized Jen was on the other side. She owed Kade an explanation for her no-show to two important meetings, and she hadn’t yet figured out what to say. The truth was simplest but carried weighty consequences. Jen wasn’t much for lying, but she didn’t want to admit the reason behind her absences.
To Jen’s mind, last-minute issues with Nana’s care should rightfully be considered family emergencies. Nana needed care, and Jen needed to provide it, one way or another. But the treatment her CEO friend had received after announcing her pregnancy—a situation that Charles confirmed was all too common in venture-backed startups—was eye-opening. Her friend immediately became damaged goods because she dared to have a family while being a C-level executive, signaling that her job was not the sole thing she lived for.
Female entrepreneurs in Silicon Valley were already on precarious footing, and Jen didn’t want to give any indication she couldn’t handle what was on her plate. She believed if she used “family emergency” as an excuse more than once, she would earn a reputation for being unable to solve that emergency. If she was seen as unable to live up to her basic responsibilities as a woman—the family-caretaker role unequally imposed on women—how could she be trusted to run a company? Moreover, using the same excuse twice or more could suggest she wasn’t a problem-solver—a skill required of chief executives—because she should have found a solution after the first occurrence.
Jen believed if she signaled that her family was her top priority, her tenure as a CEO in the Valley would be short-lived. “Something came up” was a terribly weak excuse, but its repeated use didn’t automatically signal that the same issue kept arising or that she couldn’t adequately address it.
Given all this anxiety, she still might not have had the courage to show up at Kade’s door unannounced. But her concern had skyrocketed when she’d received a puzzling email from Holly in response to a request to get on Kade’s schedule.
Time out.
That was the message.
What did that mean? Was Holly taking time off? Even if she was, it seemed likely that, of her own choosing, she was at Kade’s disposal 24/7. Was Kade taking time off? Or was Holly suggesting some sort of truce between Kade and her in a fight she hadn’t realized she was in?
Jen rang the doorbell, its humorous tones failing to entertain her this time. The song snippet ended and silence greeted her. She tried again. No muffled footsteps. Nothing. Fully expecting the door to be locked, she tried the handle, and it opened. She poked her head inside and didn’t see or hear anyone. “Kade?” she called. Why was the door unlocked?
She entered and felt around for the light switch. Kade was normally tidy, but something was off tonight. First a shoe, then a purse, then another shoe, then keys littered the floor in a line toward the dining room. Following these was an earring and a second earring. The condo was dark.
A tryst, with clothes being shed in a lust-filled frenzy, was the first thought that came to Jen’s mind and made her
hesitate. On top of the stress she’d been feeling about Nana’s situation and Creative Care’s funding status, Jen didn’t think she could handle seeing Kade with another woman, regardless of the fact she had no claim on her. But the objects appeared to be Kade’s, and the place was quiet. “Kade?” She didn’t follow the path, which led toward Kade’s bedroom. She would leave that for last, if necessary, preferring to find Kade in a less intimate setting if possible. Instead, she followed her instinct, which took her to the den with the wet bar.
The lights lining the bar mirror reflected from it and dimly lit the room. Kade was curled into a seated position sideways with her feet on the couch, hugging her knees, a fairly full bottle of expensive-looking liquor and a three-fingers-full glass on the coffee table in front of her. She wore a thick cotton robe Jen couldn’t tell the color of but guessed pale blue. Briefly raising her chin, she looked at Jen blankly before resuming her position. What appeared to be a wooden boxcar from the train that normally traveled around the dining and living rooms sat in her lap, and she rotated its wheels absently with one hand, holding tissues in the other.
Jen had never seen Kade so undone, so lifeless. Usually bursting with bustle, this Kade seemed small, like a child in time-out. Mascara lines formed small smudges beneath puffy, red eyes, and her hair was unkempt, as if she’d run her hands through it for hours. Jen was at a loss for what to say or do. She rounded the table and sat on the couch by Kade’s feet, tenderly stroking the back of Kade’s calf after settling in.
Kade shifted, curled next to Jen, and rested her head on Jen’s thigh. She sobbed quietly, her short, staggered intakes of breath tearing at Jen’s heart. Jen sat back and stroked Kade’s hair, letting her release some of the pain.
Jen didn’t know how much time had passed before Kade shifted again, sitting upright, blowing her nose and wiping her eyes. “Sorry,” she whispered, swallowing with difficulty. Instead of telling her not to apologize, or saying things would be all right since she didn’t know what Kade was dealing with, Jen asked, “What can I do?”
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