What We Got Wrong

Chapter 1

Quinn

Now

“You okay, dude?” Mel asked, eyebrows raised in Quinn’s direction.

“All good, probably just need something to drink,” Quinn replied, not meeting her eye.

“Well, let’s go get checked in and then we can get you some of whatever fancy-pants water they have in this joint.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Quinn said back to her friend as she watched her approach the lovely woman at the lobby counter.

“We’re checking in. Here for the conference,” Mel said, grinning at the woman—Alicia, according to the pin on her chest—with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Mel Hayes and Quinn Miles. Separate rooms.”

She said the last bit with a wink, and though the woman maintained her complete professionalism, Quinn noticed that her ears turned pink. “Happy to help.”

Quinn was comfortable with her own level of attractiveness.

She was taller than average, at around 5’9”, and, at thirty-one years old, her body was holding up quite well.

Maybe not quite the peak that she had when she was a college athlete, sure, but still toned.

A few years back, she’d finally bitten the bullet and chopped off her long hair, leaning into her butch appearance.

Now, her light brown hair was cropped tight at the back and, as she loved to describe it, “swoopy” on top.

She made sure she visited her barber every four to five weeks to keep it clean, and it helped her feel handsome.

Then, there was Mel, usually standing right next to her.

Her friend, just about a year her senior, looked like a literal rock star, all tattoos and swagger, black hair in an undercut currently masquerading as a blunt bob, styled to cover the shaved section beneath, an olive undertone to her skin that provided her an effortless tan, year-round.

Quinn could understand why women were drawn to her, and it was usually fun to sit on the sidelines and watch her flirt.

That said…

When they finished checking in, Mel handed Quinn a glass bottle of sparkling water, apparently acquired from the woman behind the counter, and they stepped away to get their bearings.

Once Quinn had the chance to sip her drink, she said, “You can’t hit on women when they’re at work, Mel.

Not when you’re representing the company. ”

“I know, I know,” Mel said, genuinely contrite for all of ten seconds before showing Quinn the phone number scrawled at the bottom of her receipt.

Quinn rolled her eyes before checking the paperwork. “It looks like we’re both on the fifteenth floor. What time is the thing tonight?”

“6:00 PM, the Speakers and Sponsors event,” Mel answered, without needing to check the agenda on her phone.

She had her wild moments, but she was excellent when it came to logistics for work.

“We should probably be there around 5:45 PM to check in for the actual conference. So, we have about…two hours. ”

Quinn followed Mel toward the elevators. She wasn’t sure any amount of time would be enough to make her ready for this, but they’d chosen to attend, and Quinn genuinely thought that it was good they were here. It was her idea, after all.

When Quinn and Mel met in grad school, they clicked instantly.

Their strange blend of team sports and youthful energy, from Quinn, and angsty artsy hipster, from Mel, though she would hate that description, shouldn’t have worked, but somehow, it did, and the queer connection smoothed their pathway to friendship.

When they worked together on a project for their Entrepreneurship class their final semester, pitching a people management and training consulting company that drew from their varied backgrounds, the feedback from their professor led them to believe that they may just have an idea that was worth something.

From there, their company, the Prism Group, was born.

The business had its ups and downs, but thanks to some luck—gaining attention after a video clip from a knock-off TED event that they’d spoken at went viral—they were doing pretty well, all things considered

When Mel had first suggested they do that event, Quinn wasn’t interested, but her friend made a solid case.

They could display their speaking skills, do something mildly motivational, and, considering many of the attendees for those types of events are business leaders, maybe directly drum up some business.

Their presentation recreated a conversation they’d had early on, before they’d really even gotten started, with Mel pontificating to Quinn that “perfect is the enemy of good,” and that “it doesn’t matter if we do it badly, we just have to start,” effectively convincing Quinn to go all in on Prism.

When they shared the clip, they didn’t expect the video to be shared tens of thousands of times.

They certainly didn’t think it would cross over to different social media platforms from LinkedIn, where they’d started building their brand.

But it had worked for them in ways they couldn’t have anticipated .

And here they were, at the annual management conference for J&P Industries, one of the largest logistics companies in the world, to facilitate a workshop about goal setting and performance management. In a lot of ways, this was a business dream come true.

Of course, all that Quinn wasn’t saying weighed on her.

“This is you,” Mel said, stopping at Room 1515. “Do you need anything? You still don’t look great.”

“I think I’m just nervous,” Quinn answered, which was a hell of an understatement. “I’m going to work out before we need to meet up, try to get out some of this energy?”

“Sounds good,” Mel replied. “I’m going to nap and then clean up. Come pick me up in my room at 5:40? I’m in 1520.”

“Sounds great,” Quinn agreed. “And buddy…this is about to get real.”

Mel’s usual smirk melted into a genuine grin. “We’re going to crush it.”

As her friend walked down the hall, Quinn held her keycard to the reader on her door, opening it to walk into the luxury room she’d call home for the next five days.

Her immediate impression was that this was the nicest hotel room that she’d ever set foot in.

It even smelled expensive. Quinn wasn’t sure what that meant, organic cleaning products, maybe, but it was the thought she kept coming back to as she walked through the room, pulling the blanket off of the king size bed, testing the desk chair, and flicking the lights in the bathroom on and off, before opening the curtains that covered the floor to ceiling windows.

Quinn knew that Chicago was beautiful. It was one of her most common weekend trip destinations, given that it was easy to fly or drive from her home in Michigan.

That said, the skyscraper next door was blocking most of her view, which was probably for the best, because Quinn didn’t have time to enjoy the view .

She took a few minutes to unpack. She’d brought several suits, including her favorite dark gray one and a burgundy option, because someone told her once that the color made her hazel eyes pop.

She’d also made sure to bring her navy suit, which photographed best and was therefore the plan for their workshop session on Thursday.

Plus, she had a couple different washes of jeans, four pairs of shoes, and at least seven button-up shirts, all in addition to her sleep and workout clothes.

She’d never packed like this before, but Quinn was determined to make a good impression this week. For reasons that she wasn’t ready to admit.

Before her nerves took over, she laid a towel on the floor and pulled up her favorite YouTube account, finding a forty-five minute ab workout that she’d done before.

She’d make use of the hotel gym and certainly spend time doing laps in the pool, maybe even that night, but this was the quickest way to throw herself into exercise, trying to put her worries aside.

When she finished the workout, Quinn took a shower and got ready.

She threw on her boxer briefs and bra—one that helped flatten her chest a bit, helping to give the silhouette she preferred—before turning her attention to her skin and hair care routines.

After she was fully moisturized, she softened the pomade between her fingertips before pulling the cream through her hair to give it the messy effect she loved.

They were told this kickoff event, the Speakers and Sponsors dinner, was business casual plus, so, though she was planning on wearing a suit, she didn’t set out a tie.

Instead, Quinn pulled on her royal purple shirt, buttoning it most of the way but leaving the top two undone, and slid into her gray suit.

Gray and purple argyle socks on, she shoved her feet into her brown oxfords and stood in front of the mirror.

Quinn ran her hands down the front of her suit, buttoning the top and middle buttons of the jacket, trying to use the motion to calm herself down.

The workout had helped a little, but she was back in her head, feeling a bit off kilter.

There wasn’t anything else for her to do, though, so she grabbed her wallet and headed out.

At exactly 5:40, Quinn knocked on Mel’s door.

When Mel opened the door, Quinn let out a wolf whistle.

Her friend was androgynously handsome, as always, but taken to the next level in a slim fit black suit, the snug pants tucked into Doc Martin boots, her black hair even shinier and straighter than before.

“You clean up pretty nicely yourself,” Mel said, throwing her faux leather messenger bag over her shoulders. “Do you have your business cards?”

“I have a couple in my wallet,” Quinn assured her. This was a common conversation with them, and Quinn always carried a few with her, though she assumed there would be plenty of time this week to ensure that all of the meeting attendees got their contact information.