Chapter Seventeen
LACEY
I bounce between the tiger team and the video team, checking in with contractors to make sure they understand what they’re building, monitoring QA progress, adjusting requirements, doing acceptance testing.
“Damn, girl,” Trevor tells me after I bring Ella over to him and suggest she might be able to solve his engineering problem with a UI change.
“What?” I ask, hoping he’s not going to say anything about how I’ve been in overdrive since the pre-dinner break. Because I have.
“You make me think that maybe I’m not very good at my job,” he says.
“You’re very good, and you’re closer to done than I am.”
And I mean it; the podcasting piece is looking great and is very close to being ready for end-to-end testing.
Sure, an on-demand audio platform is a just a bit simpler than a multi-functional video platform, but I’m a team player.
Trevor’s not as bad as I’ve spent the past two years thinking he was.
When I go back to the circular table to check on the video team, one of the contractors is typing with his eyes closed and Ingrid is just staring into the far corner. I think she might be asleep.
“I think it’s time to call it,” Dave declares. We’re fifteen minutes away from our 2 a.m. checkpoint, and the team has officially run out of gas. We pack up our stuff to go get some rest.
“Breakfast is at eight a.m.,” Jonnie calls as we leave. I wonder when, or if, she sleeps.
Jude’s office light is still on as we walk past. Dave pauses at the door.
“Hey chief,” he says. “We’re done for the night. Made some really good progress today.”
Jude thanks him, tells him to sleep well.
I hang back when Dave walks off.
“See you soon,” I say and then I disappear, leaving a confused Jude behind. He doesn’t know that, earlier, I slipped a copy of my key under his door upstairs.
He knocks quietly on mine a half-hour later.
“That took too long,” I tell him.
We don’t get enough sleep, but some things are better than sleep. Or they seem like they are, until the morning comes and you want to die.
Jude hits snooze on his internal alarm, and when my actual one goes off it feels like an act of aggression.
Jude’s arms are wrapped around me, and he’s sleepily kissing my shoulder and neck.
We’re staying warm together inside piles of white sheets, a duvet, and too many pillows; he cranked the air conditioner up last night, maybe a little too far. It was hot in here.
Light filters in at the edge of the closed curtains, revealing a room that looks like most other reasonably nice hotel rooms: desk, bureau, chairs, television.
It’s not the hotel my studio is trying to be but right now, today, it feels like the nicest room I’ve ever been in. One I don’t want to leave.
“Do you think they’d notice if we skipped?” I ask.
“They might.”
“Do you have a lot of work left to do on your board decks?”
He yawns and rolls onto his back, and I turn over and rest my head on his chest.
“I’m not kidding, I got so much done yesterday after you left my office.”
“I did, too,” I tell him.
“Interesting,” he says. “Really interesting. Do you want to apply first principles thinking to this?”
“No. I’m too tired for business.”
“Just hear me out. We both assumed that being together would make things complicated. But if we question all of our assumptions…”
I sigh, and finish his sentence. “Then maybe us not being together is what makes it complicated.”
“Yeah,” he says, stroking my hair. “I like it.”
I rest my chin on his chest and smile up at him. “Next on the agenda: will you fit in my suitcase and, if not, how are we smuggling you out of here?”
I’m not saying Jude’s theory is entirely correct, but once I’m sufficiently caffeinated and back with the team, Day 2 is off to a fantastic start.
The engineers have a clear but very busy path to the finish line, so I’m able to focus on launch planning and messaging.
And as I’ve learned, it’s very important to get buy-in across the organization. Especially executive leadership.
“Me again,” I tell Jude, knocking on his doorframe yet another time. “Do you have a minute to give me feedback on positioning?”
He looks up from his laptop, slightly scandalized.
“Product positioning, for the launch,” I explain, carrying my laptop to his desk. When I’m closer, I add, quietly, “Don’t be such a perv.”
“You’re the one who tried to feel me up when you were in here twenty minutes ago,” he says, looking pleased. “I should report you for sexual harassment.”
“You’ll have to hire an HR person first. And remember, it’s only harassment if they’re senior to you.”
I smile sweetly and worry crosses his face.
“Not funny,” he says.
“I’ll sign a release form or whatever,” I tell him. “It’s not going to be a problem. But I promise I’m here for a legitimate reason this time. Can you pull up the Tooity website?”
I show him how Tooity has, yet again, made their homepage nearly identical to ours. Meaning it would be smart to refresh ours ahead of the launch.
He groans. “I’m not disagreeing,” he says. “I just wonder if we have the time or resources to do a redesign well.”
“Not a redesign. A re-skin. I can check with Ella and see if she has any ideas.”
“Ideas aren’t the problem. Time is the problem,” Jude declares.
We both look up as a happy sigh comes from the doorway, where Edmund is positively beaming.
“Are there tears in my eyes?” he asks the khaki pants and polo shirt with him. “A founder more concerned about time than ideas? I told you, Mike, it’s been a transformation.”
There’s a bustle of handshaking as we’re introduced to Mike, whoever he is; no last name is given.
“Tell us about what you’re getting up to in here,” Edmund requests, rapping his knuckles on Jude’s desk. I immediately flash to my legs wrapped around Jude’s shoulders on this same surface, and judging from the strange wheezing sound coming from him, so does he.
“Our main competitor has a habit of stealing our messaging,” I explain as Jude clears his throat. “So we’re discussing how much we want to adjust ours for launch.”
“You’re correctly asking for everything,” Edmund tells me. “And this guy’s reining you in like a CEO ought to.”
“The classic push and pull,” Mike chimes in.
“Indeed,” I say, unable to resist smirking at Jude.
I excuse myself, promising Jude we’ll go for big impact, small effort.
“She’s quite a gal,” I hear Edmund say as I leave. Yep. That’s me.
The tiger team is blocked by the video team, who is tired of me milling around behind them asking if there’s anything I can do. When Edmund comes in the room and asks if I have a minute, I can actually hear the relief from the engineers. As in, one of them mutters, “Thank god.”
“There’s a seating area in the lobby,” Edmund tells me as we walk. “It should be a quiet enough place for us to chat before I go.”
It’s an enormous hotel, and at least a five minute walk to the lobby.
That’s a lot of time for awkward silence or discussion of the weather.
I go with what I know, and ask if he has plans to see Guns N’ Roses soon.
He doesn’t, but he has a new puppy wreaking havoc in his home, which is good for the remainder of the walk; Gus sounds like kind of a nightmare.
But it’s almost enough to relax me for whatever conversation we’re about to have; he wouldn’t fire me after telling me about his puppy. Would he?
“I’ve been letting Jude know how impressed I am with what the team’s done,” he says, settling into a leather club chair, gesturing to the one adjacent to his. I take a seat.
“They’re doing some phenomenal work,” I agree.
“I also know from Jude and from Glenn that this strategy is largely your brainchild,” he tells me. When I start to deflect from taking credit, he shakes his head. “Ms. Lang, I know you didn’t have every idea and you didn’t code it. Tell me, do you accept responsibility when things go poorly?”
I nod.
“Then please do the same when they go well.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
“I’m sure you know I’m involved with many companies in addition to Lettercat. I worked with Glenn at his previous venture,” he tells me. “When I see talented people, I like to make the most of them. It’s not purely rooted in kindness, of course, but ultimately it’s win-win.”
I keep nodding. Saying words would introduce the possibility of messing up.
“I’m currently working with a startup that needs product leadership. Woman founders, a solid business model, but they need someone to help them get to product-market fit. I’d love to introduce you.”
He’s not looking at me; he’s watching me. I surreptitiously wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt.
“Well, of course I’m very happy at Lettercat,” I say carefully, in case this is a loyalty test.
“Sure you are. But you need to take a look at the org chart, Lacey. To be a real operator, you should be as strategic about your career as you are about your roadmap. Where’s your opportunity here?”
Edmund is unquestionably imposing and intimidating. Edmund is also unquestionably correct.
When I get back, Jude’s door is locked and the hackathon has been abandoned. Jonnie’s in there filling an enormous garbage bag and tidying up. I don’t know if it’s insulting to think of her as the mom of the company, but if she is, we’re all ungrateful children.
“Don’t you dare,” she says as I go to pick up a crushed LaCroix can. A halfhearted gesture, really, considering how much she’s already done.
“Recess!” She points to the door.
I find the team out back. Irina is alone, cross-legged on a bench, but the rest of the team is gathered on the lawn.
As I get closer I see that most of them are cheering on a handful of others, who are playing a pickup game of soccer using the tiny pink ball.
Dave is winded midfield, bent over with his hands on his knees.
Trevor is sprinting, about to catch up with Jude.
Ingrid runs close behind, barefoot and yelling that she’s open.
Jude sends the ball to precisely where she’s arriving and she kicks it hard, putting it right between a fountain and a potted tree. Judging from the celebration that results, those are the goal posts.
“You guys have an unfair advantage!” a QA engineer on the losing side yells, offending Trevor by pointing at Jude. Who makes it worse by shrugging theatrically.
“Any other sport, bro. Any other sport and I’d be kicking your ass,” Trevor tells him.
Jude laughs and puts him in a headlock as they walk, kissing him on the top of the head.
“He seems like he’s doing better,” an approving voice says beside me.
I turn and find Ella there. “You mean Jude?” I ask, like I wasn’t just noticing how the hair around his temples is damp with sweat, the same way it was a few minutes after I pulled him into my room last night.
Ella’s eyeing me with suspicion. “Yes, Lacey. My brother. The one I spent most of the ride here fretting about.”
She did do that. And I think we both know why.
“Edmund seemed really pleased with our work,” I tell her. “I’m sure that’s a relief.”
“Whatever it was, it makes me happy to see him happy,” she says. I refuse to react to the look she’s giving me.
All I can think is, me too. And that’s why I’m not going to tell him about my conversation with Edmund quite yet. I’ll be open and honest once we’re back home.
“Here’s the deal,” Jude says to the team after dinner and an abbreviated mindfulness session. “You all saw Edmund here today. He knows we’re close, he likes what we’re doing. The only thing left to do is to crank it out. So let’s do it, yeah? Video team, tell us how we can help.”
To stay on schedule, we have until five tomorrow to get to code complete. That gives us four days for test and fix, including the weekend. Then a soft launch on Monday, and nobody turns into a pumpkin.
Unless we burn out or find too many bugs or something simply can’t get dragged across the finish line. It happens, but like so many other things, it’s not helpful to think about.
Instead every person who can write code is trying to get the video platform done.
Yes, this can sometimes cause more trouble than good, and Keith—whatever he’s doing wherever he is—would love to talk about why.
But he’s not here, and the people who are have been paired together—one regular team member with one special guest programmer—and they’re grouped around the room, talking and typing.
Trevor, Ella, and I are sharing a sofa that Trevor found in a vacant meeting room and dragged here.
We’re on call, essentially. Waiting to be useful.
Ella’s nodding off, Trevor’s on YouTube.
I’m imagining all of this happening on another project in the future, only without me.
Or a similar room, where I’m surrounded by all new coworkers. What is it that I love about Lettercat?
I love my team. They make me laugh, they inspire me with their commitment and their drive. But this isn’t the same team I had when I started; people have moved on, and we’ve added new members without losing the spirit of the team. It’s possible this type of team exists elsewhere.
And I do love the product. I love The Colony and all the interesting and amazing work our customers do.
I like that I get to make something that helps them be more successful, but also lets them connect with people.
Their stories are being shared, and I’m a small part of that.
There are thousands of products that fit that description.
I loved it here when I thought the CEO was a jerk who didn’t listen, who blocked all my ideas and hired his stupid friends. I know startups like that, I’ve worked at them before.
Jude can’t be the reason I love Lettercat.
Can he be the reason I leave it?