Chapter 33
FROM THE OFFICE OF DOMINIC ODERICCO:
After much deliberation over Ms. Cole’s statement and her stepping down as CEO, we have decided to disqualify Wyst as a finalist
from TechRumble. Wyst will not receive the allocated prize money, and Odericco Investments will choose another from our list
of finalists to receive the third-place prize, to be awarded in the coming days.
However, we would hasten to admit that Ms. Cole’s actions are a reflection and consequence of the current tech landscape.
Only 11 percent of all applicants to TechRumble are female-founded or female-led companies. There is a major bias toward men
within the tech industry. We cannot award Wyst a place in the final three of TechRumble. We will, however, include Wyst in
a selection of female-owned businesses for our new venture, the FemTech Fund. Investment exclusively for companies prioritizing
the improvements in the quality of life for women and women’s issues. More to be announced soon.
Dominic Odericco
Oliver’s chest rises and falls in deep movements as I read the statement out loud.
We both scanned the draft Dominic’s new assistant sent me last night but seeing it across the Odericco Investments website and social media felt like reading it in a different language.
It’s 7 a.m. The sun is barely ready to rise, and despite both of us waking up unemployed this morning (my new role working with Dominic starts in a month and Oliver’s culinary course starts next week), our internal clocks are still set to wake up in a cold sweat of panic about whatever emails have landed while we were asleep.
Instead, we use the morning more wisely. My heartbeat spiking as he pulls the laptop out of my reach and lifts my T-shirt.
He leaves slow warm kisses down my chest, my stomach muscles twitching at the contact.
“Do you remember what you told me your idea of a perfect morning was?”
My brain grapples to find the memory underneath the tingling sensation of his mouth. “I said I want someone to wake me up
with coffee, feed me French toast, then go down on me.”
From my waistline, he looks up through dark lashes, his fingers curling around the edges of my underwear. “Does it need to
be in that specific order?”
I bite my lip and shake my head. “I could consider making an exception just this once. But I do need to talk to Cecily this
morning before we release my counterstatement,” I say.
“Mm-hmm,” he says, his tongue running up the inside of my thigh.
My lips part on a gasping inhale. “And I need to meet with Lana about coming on board in three hours,” I say to the ceiling.
He laughs, his breath tickling against the soft cotton of my underwear. “Does that brain of yours have an off switch?”
I sink deeper into the mattress. “Yes, try and find it.” My voice is hoarse as my fingers dig into the sheets.
He climbs back up my body, sinking his lips into my collarbone, my hands running down his bare taut back. “Is that a challenge,
Miss Cole?” The friction of his thick thigh sliding between mine runs straight to my center.
“That depends on how competitive you are. And if your French toast is as good as you say it is.”
My palm circles the back of his neck, pulling his soft lips to mine. My tongue slides against his, the taste of minty toothpaste
waking me up even more. He wraps an arm around me and shifts us farther up the bed, placing my hands on the headboard.
“Oh, it’s as good as I say it is.” He takes my wrists in his palms and slides them under the pillows. “These stay here, all
right? No checking your emails,” he instructs onto my lips.
I nod silently, blood rushing to my cheeks.
He drags my underwear down my legs, leaving them hanging off one ankle, before licking his way back up to my center. My body
jolts with pleasure, riding the feeling of his tongue pressing into me. My blood pulses through my head, the need building
and building until I’m clawing the edges of the pillows. My throat is dry from gasping inhales and whispering his name, “oh
god,” and “don’t stop” into the morning air.
His hands follow the sloping path of my breasts, squeezing and pinching my nipples in rhythm to his tongue’s thrusts. He adds
a finger, then another, priming me for him.
“Fuck, you taste amazing,” he says, his lips glistening. The sight takes me over the edge, keening and moaning so loud I thank god the only other being in the apartment is Warren Buffett.
An hour later I’m gulping down my first sip of freshly ground coffee at the kitchen counter when Oliver’s phone vibrates against
the countertop.
He answers, nodding a few times with a serious expression shadowing his face before holding the phone out to me. “It’s for
you. Maybe you should ask Dom if you can hire an assistant.”
I raise my eyebrow at him. “Looking for a job?”
He rolls his eyes and kisses me on the cheek before shoving the phone into my hand. “I’ll assist you anytime you need.”
Cecily’s voice rings through the speaker. “Hey, I know you’re meant to be lying low right now, but you’re going to want to
take this. Can I merge the call?”
“I’m going to take this in your room,” I say to Oliver, who nods in return and goes back to the saucepan sizzling on the stovetop.
“Hello, this is Jess Cole.” I tuck my hair behind my ears.
“Hello, Jess. This is Bernadette Reid.”
My body freezes, alarm bells going off all around me. “Oh my god! Hi!” I immediately cringe at my overexcited tone, clearing
my throat. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good. I imagine I’m doing better than you this morning.” Her accent makes it hard to understand if she is being sarcastic.
To be safe, I laugh nervously. “You’re probably right.”
“I watched your video. What you did was . . .” She mulls her words on a hum. “Inadvisable.”
My feet begin to stalk back and forth around Oliver’s bed as though they are trying to run away from this conversation. “Yes,
I know. And I just want you to know that when we had our meeting I was complet—”
“Inadvisable but admirable,” she clarifies.
I stop pacing. “Oh. Thank you?”
“I have had many emails and messages from my audience to interview you.”
My heart begins to pound. “Right, well, I am technically still the owner of the company but I’m no longer the CEO, so I’m
not really doing any press at the moment. But maybe in the future we coul—”
“I do not want to interview you,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Okay,” I say, finally matching the flow of her speech.
“I’d rather meet to discuss prospective investment options.”
My eyebrows hit the ceiling. “Excuse me?”
“Do you have a portfolio you could send to my business manager? Some of my network is also very interested in hearing more.”
I scramble to the floor, pulling my laptop onto my lap. “Umm, yes, of course. I will send it over right away!”
“Thank you. I’ll have my team contact you to discuss next steps.”
“Great, thank you so much!” My voice wobbles as I try to get the words out.
“I am hosting a women in business event in London next month. You should come.”
“Ummm, okay. I’ll discuss it with Dominic and get back to you.” As amazing as that sounds, I don’t know if I’m quite ready for it yet.
With every neuron in my brain firing at five times speed, I tentatively step out of Oliver’s bedroom and into the kitchen.
Oliver is clanging pots and plates around, dipping his finger into some sort of jammy sauce and tasting it. “What was that
about?”
I blink furiously, trying to decide whether the call was real, before looking over to him. “I think I just got an investor
for Wyst.”
He drops his pan of eggs into the sink. He scoops me up, arms linked under my backside, and spins me around. “Are you serious?”
Droplets of liquid appear on his T-shirt, and I realize I’m crying. The relief, the stress, the pain, the excitement. Everything
swirls in my head and comes out of me in a teary fit of laughter.