Chapter 3 Olivia #2
“It matches technical talent with opportunities and funding, yes.”
“Like a work-related dating app for nerds?”
“It’s significantly more sophisticated than that, but—yes, essentially,” he says.
“And you’re a billionaire because you figured out how to match people?”
“I optimized the process, yes.”
“But you need to fake a girlfriend to accompany you to work-related events?”
“I don’t need to,” he says. “I’m choosing to.”
“For the sake of convenience? Really?”
John sighs, dragging his fingers through his dark hair. He stands up and begins pacing around. Slowly. Gracefully, even. It all seems a tad rehearsed, but whatever. “All right,” he says. “You want to hear me say it plainly, out loud, with words you can understand?”
I cross my arms in front of my chest. I’m going to enjoy this. “I really do.”
“The truth is, Olivia, I need your help.” He continues to pace back and forth with more and more energy.
“The reason I’m traveling to England is there’s a semiretired Oxford professor named George Merrick.
I’ve been trying to recruit him as CTO for the most important start-up I’ve ever invested in.
It’s in the food-tech space. The founders are based in London.
Professor Merrick is a genius. I mean, I’m a genius, but this man is a super-genius.
He spent over thirty years studying sustainable agriculture and pioneering sustainable-agriculture technology. ”
I still don’t see what this has to do with me, but I haven’t seen Johnny speak with this much passion since he tried to explain the Schrodinger’s Cat costume he made for Halloween one year.
“A decade ago, he published groundbreaking research and built a demo of his vertical-farm system. He had the proof of concept and showed that it can work, but he never commercialized it. He didn’t want to deal with the business side of it, and he has some very valid fears that the technology will be misused.
He made patents available for licensing, and I have so far invested seventy-five million—forty million of which is my personal money—in an agritech start-up founded by a couple of guys who’ve licensed Merrick’s research and patents. ”
He starts to use his hands more, and I can’t help but notice how nice they are.
“They’ve built vertical farms in London and Amsterdam—urban areas—and had initial success, but we’ve hit scaling problems. The goal is for this technology to become available anywhere—the desert, the Arctic.
High-density, low-income neighborhoods. But there are problems the founders, Alfie and Baxter, can’t solve.
Merrick is the only person on the planet who can solve our specific problems. Without him, the company fails in twelve to eighteen months.
And it has so much potential, Olivia.” He finally stops pacing and stands in front of me.
“We’re talking about climate-resilient food production and fresh produce that can be grown locally—anywhere in the world. ”
I clear my throat. “I mean…that sounds incredible, but I’m really not clear on why you need my help with this.”
“Right. I was giving you an idea of what the stakes are first.”
“Got it.”
He turns and goes back to the armchair to sit down, and I silently thank the universe for the opportunity to check out his butt again.
“Merrick is interested in this start-up, but he doesn’t need the CTO job.
He’s very happy living in the Cotswolds with his family and tending to his traditional English garden.
There are other VCs who’ve been courting him.
I’ve already made him a generous offer, but he doesn’t care about money.
He cares about the ethics of the company, that the technology won’t be weaponized against traditional farmers, and he needs to be able to trust that someone will keep his vision alive.
” John sighs. “I’m that guy. I want this to be my legacy as much as he does, but he’s evaluating me. As a person. And so far, I’m failing.”
That was literally the most vulnerable thing I have ever heard Johnny Brandt say. I want to give him a life-affirming hug. I kind of want to crawl to him on my hands and knees, unzip his pants with my teeth, and give him a confidence-boosting blow job. But I’m not going to do that.
“I’m sure you’re not failing, John” is what I say instead of straddling him and cradling his head between my boobs. “So…you need me to vouch for you? As a person?”
He exhales a little laugh. “I need you to make me seem like a whole person, not just an investor who only values profit margins, yes. But also…I recently found out that George Merrick has a young granddaughter who’s very important to him. And guess what’s really important to her right now.”
Ah. Now I get it. “Ballet.”
“Ballet. I was on a Zoom call with him several days ago, and this sweet little girl came into his study asking him to watch her do a pirouette. He ended our meeting early and mentioned that she had auditioned for a local production of The Nutcracker last year and didn’t get in.
This year she’s determined, but she’s not exactly…
graceful. I thought maybe while I’m meeting with the professor at his home in the Cotswolds, you could maybe give his granddaughter a tutorial.
Unpaid, of course, so you don’t need a work visa. ”
I am so in, but I maintain my poker face. “I’m listening. The problem is I’ve never been interested in having a boyfriend. What makes you think I’d make a good fake girlfriend?”
“I think you’re good at whatever you set your mind to, Olivia,” he says. As if he’s picturing me crawling across the floor on my hands and knees to unzip his pants with my teeth.
My mouth has gone totally dry. This is unacceptable. Clearing my throat, I say, “You’re right about that. How do you plan to make it worth my while?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I can pay your monthly bills to cover the time you’ll have to take off from work while we’re traveling.”
Wow. He’s lowballing me. Interesting. “Would I have to actually spend time with you?”
“Yes. A lot of time. With a smile on your face. But only when we’re in public. I enjoy making you scowl in private.”
I’m frowning at him now.
“Yes, like that.” He squints and holds up his hands like he’s framing a shot. “That’s perfect.”
Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I say, “Covering my bills ain’t gonna cut it.”
“Understood. Since it will require you taking time off from your restaurant job while we’re out of town, I’d be happy to compensate you for missed tips and wages. You make what—twenty dollars an hour?”
“I make around five thousand a month in tips alone when I get brunch and weekend dinner shifts. And yes, twenty an hour. Six-to-eight-hour shifts, five shifts a week. But I’m also doing some modeling.”
“Right. I thought you weren’t going to do that anymore.”
“I have a regular gig that I like.”
“Really? For whom?”
“For a local lingerie boutique.”
He raises one spectacular eyebrow and jerks his head back.
“Don’t judge me. The pictures are for Instagram, so they’re very pretty and tasteful. Plus, I’ve been doing odd jobs here and there, so it’s hard to estimate…”
He appears to be enjoying this, now that it’s becoming a negotiation.
He rolls up his sleeves, very pointedly, watching me stare at his forearms. “Okay. Obviously your time and company are priceless, and despite what you may think, I am aware that you consider my personality to be somewhat rough around the edges.”
“Pffft! Understatement.”
“I would also like to help you pay off your student loan.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I want to provide you with the funds to pay it off. Fully.”
My jaw drops.
“I could give you cash, if that’s what you’d prefer. But I recommend putting the excess money in a high-yield savings account. Also, you will be provided with travel, luxury room and board, any and all incidentals, per diem, and a substantial wardrobe.”
I lean forward. “Go on…”
“And…” He shifts around in the chair. There’s something he’s been keeping up his sleeve, and here it comes.
He clears his throat, unable to curb his grin.
That smug, cocky grin. “And as a major donor to the Bay Area Ballet, I would be happy to speak to the appropriate people to ensure that you will be featured next season.”
Whuck?
“You’re a donor? Since when?”
“My company is. Since last year.”
No wonder I didn’t see his name on the donor list. “Wait. Last year? You mean since I started there?”
“It did coincide with your employment there, sure. I’ve dined with Louisa and been to a cocktail party at her house.”
Louisa Boehmer is the artistic director of the Bay Area Ballet. She’s a retired principal dancer and a phenomenal choreographer. I worship her, even though she is not immune to the politics of art and commerce. No one is, apparently.
Apparently, not even me…
“I’m friendly with several board members. Well. Not friendly, but you know what I mean.” He looks at me very seriously. “You should be the Sugar Plum Fairy in The Nutcracker this year. You’d be perfect. It’s a great part for you, is it not? I intend to tell them so when I hand them the next check.”
“Uh, you are correct about that, sir. It is a fantastic part for me,” I say. “I thought you didn’t approve of my career choice.”
“Things have changed.”
“How so?”
“I’ve changed. My perspective on things has changed,” he says. “I wish to support your endeavors in any way that I can.”
“Well. My endeavors would be grateful for your support in many ways…”
“Good. I’ve made a lot of money, Olivia. And I know everyone says they want to make the world a better place, but I do especially intend to make the world a better place for the people I care about, and that includes you.”
Am I going to become the character in the dance movie who gets a hot sugar daddy and learns to overcome her stubbornness while learning she’s the one who’s been limiting herself all along? Could I? Shit.
I cover my heart with my hand, even though I find myself saying, “Thank you, Johnny. I appreciate it, I do. But I don’t know if I can—”
“You’re used to working hard for your income. I understand.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to be featured—of course I do. I just… I don’t feel comfortable relying on someone else to just give me money. I pride myself on being a resourceful moneymaker too, you know. I need my own source of income.”
He nods, as if he expected this. “I understand. How about this? Monty also told me about your YouTube situation.”
“He did?”
“Well, he told me the gist of it based on what your mom told him, and I filled in the blanks. You were making almost two thousand a month, finally getting ahead with your student-loan payments and savings. Then an ad for a certain brand of dancewear came up before one of your videos—with under one hundred thousand followers, you can’t control which ads come up—and brand conflict was cited because the company has a deal with another brand.
One of your competitors at the company was jealous… blah, blah, blah. It’s bullshit.”
“Right?! Thank you!”
“However, it’s not the worst thing in the world.
Honestly, in a world where so much trauma occurs, it’s barely an inconvenience.
But it is bullshit, and it would be better for you if it hadn’t happened, and I’m sorry it happened.
We all have to deal with these kinds of things in business.
It’s just a matter of reframing and pivoting.
You are the CEO of your life. You have other options. ”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “Great. Thanks.”
“Why are you rolling your eyes at me?”
“Force of habit.”
“Well. I am here to provide you with options. I would be happy to put in a call to Louisa to request that she allow you to reinstate your YouTube channel so that you can resume your vlogging and continue to monetize your videos. Would you be satisfied with that arrangement? That way you will still have your own source of income this summer.”
Well.
Shit.
“Yes. Yes, I would be satisfied with that.”
“Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome.”
“Wait. Have you even been to a performance? Did you come see me dance without telling me?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. “So, you agree to the terms, as discussed?”
“The terms? Is there a contract?”
He opens up his leather briefcase, gets up to hand me a printed-out contract, and then returns to the armchair to watch me look at it. I suddenly feel uncomfortable with the formality of these terms.
I stand up and walk over to the kitchen counter to lean against it while I scan the printed pages. But also to make him anxious while he waits for me to sign. And also so he can get a look at my butt.
We are now at the top part of the rickety old roller coaster ride where the car is about to drop.