Insecure (30 page)

It wasn't envy or resentment that he was starting when she'd failed either, but it might've been, and she could've talked herself out of that mean-spiritedness because she loved that man.

It was so much worse.

If Mace won his funding, if Ipseity gestated, it meant the pressure on them as a couple would be immense. It was unrealistic not to fear that. After Brent, she'd spent her life in anticipation of it. Staying aloof because being involved was too complicated. She knew the cost of dreams, she'd paid them. Mace was still learning the full penalty rates.

But in spite of vague premonitions of doom, she'd hope for success, she'd revel in it with Mace and she'd find a way to do more than coach and cheer. She'd use her fear and knowledge to make sure they didn't fail, to make sure they were smarter, stronger, more able to press back on a world that could squeeze them lifeless, because that idea of permanence, it'd come to her at the oddest moment and seemed so awkward and embarrassing, but it was stuck in her head and wouldn't shake free.

Not the sugarplum fairy white dress and tiered froufrou cake stuff of a wedding fantasy, that wasn't her thing, but the idea of the kind of security and belonging, of deep trust and partnership, of being supported and cherished, that came with loving one incredible person who loved you just as hard back. That was a dream she had no intention of giving up and every means of fighting for.

It made her nervous in a way she didn't remember having been for a long time, sick to the stomach and a little light-headed. She itched to ring Jay, text him, take a back channel approach to check in on Mace, but even Jay wouldn't play that game, she was forced to wait. She made a tuna pasta, enough for both boys, and then wandered around, vaguely tidying up, waiting for Mace's key to go in the door and the next phase of their lives together to start.

Mace stood at the head of the boardroom table. His collar was too tight. He hated this tie. The new suit was charcoal with a light pinstripe and made him feel like an insurance salesman. He had no insurance, if this failed they were out of luck, and he was no salesman, but that's the job that was expected of him now.

He should've come in his jeans, at least then he'd be comfortable when his ambition got blasted to pieces and his future caved in around him, but he'd listened to Dillon who'd insisted he dress like everyone else in the room, and that it was bad luck to wear the suit he'd bought for Buster's funeral and had worn to each of their failed pitch meetings.

He cleared his throat and eyed the glass of water in front of him. It was small and he was monstrously big and out of place, in this room full of PhDs and MBAs, but if it were at all possible, he'd prefer to drown in it than do what he was about to do.

He looked at Dillon who'd spoken for forty minutes without drawing breath. He was pale and kept licking his lips. Jay was standing at the back of the room wearing a suit that was worth more than a car. In a minute he'd finish the call he was on and then everything would come down to whether or not Mace could convince the investment committee they should green light first round funding for Ipseity.

He'd done this basic pitch five times now and five times they'd failed, each time on the merits of the software. In the twenty-four hours since Anderson Abbott invited them to take the spot another start-up had suddenly withdrawn from, Dillon and Cinta had helped him recraft his presentation and practise it till he was able to speak confidently without notes. He should be able to give this presentation in his sleep, or under extreme provocation.

But looking down the barrel of the table at Anderson and nine other men just like him with their business haircuts, expensive watches and shoes that cost more than a month's rent, he couldn't remember a single word of what he was supposed to say. And this delay was making him want to lose his shit, and break something like he'd done his last day at Wentworth, like Cinta had done the night she'd heard about Malcolm being forcibly stepped down.

And if he lost control, it really was all over. They had nowhere else to go.

He loosened the tie, pulling it out from his collar a little. They could struggle on using what was now left of Buster's money after they'd redeveloped the prototype, maybe get a bank loan. Cinta was prepared to lean on Tom if she had to for them, but without the finance, investment support and the influence a VC could bring they were as good as dead in the water before they could dog paddle.

Dillon gave him a terse grin. He made a remark Mace didn't catch because his brain was having a white-out, reduced to the functions that kept him breathing and standing. And then Jay stepped up to the table.

“When you're ready, Mace.”

No more time to get ready.
Fuck
. He opened his collar button. It made no difference, he still felt choked. He pulled at the tie and undid it, whipped it off his neck, undid another button for good measure. Dillon's mouth dropped open. He knew they were in trouble. Mace could see him frantically thinking of a way to jump in and save things.

“I'm getting comfortable, because what Ipseity is about is disruption.” He took off his suit coat and flung in on the back of an empty chair. He glanced at Dillon who was holding his breath, his fingers to his lips. He undid his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves.

“That's better. I'm an engineer, a programmer, a designer. I'm not like you guys, I don't wear a suit comfortably, but that's okay, you guys need guys like me because while you might be able to see the future, I can built it.”

Dillon's out breath was so loud, there was soft laughter. Mace said, “Yeah, that wasn't a line we rehearsed. In fact I can't remember anything we rehearsed and Dillon knows it. But what I know is what I've designed and how it can change the world and I don't need a prepared presentation to tell you about it.”

He saw Jay smile. He tapped the laptop and the screen behind him changed, he tapped it again till he got to the slide he wanted. He explained Ipseity to the eleven members of the Summers-Denby investment committee in the same way he might explain it to Buster, as though it was a novel with a setting, characters, a timeline, some tricky moments and a happy ending.

He got enthusiastic and spoke too fast. At times he forgot not to get too technical and had to backtrack when he clocked blank expressions from his audience. He moved around the area at the top of the table, unable to stand still. He was probably making them seasick. But he kept talking. He answered probing technical questions and shot down stupid ones—stupid to him anyway. That caused a rumble of disquiet—nothing he could do about it. He was arrogant about Ipseity. It was his life's work and if he failed today at least he'd only have himself to blame.

When he'd said all he could think to say, he picked up that glass of water and eyed it. He'd done everything he could do not to drown and drag Dillon down with him. The water was cool in his mouth; he had to hope the reception wasn't. When he lowered the glass he realised he still had everyone's attention and didn't know what to do with it.

“Ah, that's it. That's all I have to say.” He glanced at Dillon who at some stage had ditched his tie as well. He looked like he'd swallowed his tongue.

“Mace.” Benedict Chong, the committee chairman addressed him. “If we should choose to fund you, what role would you play in the company?”

He looked at Dillon again. They'd had this dream from the time they were fifteen. They were going to be joint CEOs, but Mace knew he was no leader, and Dillon would do a better job of it. He also knew saying they'd share the title had lost them points in at least one pitch. He could be happy as chief engineer, he'd be a founder and that'd be enough. They'd argued this out, but not agreed on it.

“Ah, I could be ha—”

“Joint CEOs,” said Dillon. He stood and joined Mace at the head of the table. “I'll focus on sales and marketing and Mace will drive technology and innovation. We work together as equals or it doesn't happen.”

He gave Dillon a disgruntled look that got laughs.

Dillon clapped him on the shoulder. “Dude.” He looked down the length of the table to Chong. “You know my credentials. You know Mace's. We have complementary skills and we've been working together for,” he laughed, “since before either of us got kissed.” That got a bigger laugh.

Mace said, “Really,” and meant, you really said that, but it came across as if he was querying Dillon hadn't had any action before then. That got another laugh, slow to build but sustained, and he recognised what he felt was warmth, not the hot and sweaty kind, but the kind associated with acceptance. They'd done all right. Now it was up to Benedict Chong and the rest of the board to make a recommendation to Jay.

Chong thanked them for presenting at short notice and dismissed them quickly after that. The committee would make its decision in a week. They passed another group, in the anteroom, and Dillon stopped to wish them luck. Mace stepped into the hallway, the adrenaline he'd needed still fizzing inside him. He needed to run it off or hit the bag. He needed Cinta, but he heard his name called.

“You did well,” Jay stepped into the hall. “I feel like I should apologise to you and Dillon.” Jay worked his tie out from his collar and Dillon joined them. “I was impressed with what you had when I first heard you talk about it. But you didn't meet our investment risk profile: you still don't. You've done good work since then.” Jay undid his top two buttons. “I like what you've got even better now.”

“What does that mean?” said Dillon. They both knew having Jay come to them like this meant something. He owned the company. The committee worked for him.

“Means I will think carefully about what the committee recommends.”

Mace frowned. That was such a non-answer it made no sense for Jay to come after them to give it. Dillon opened his mouth but closed it again.

Jay stepped past them to go back into the boardroom. He opened the door. “Means you guys will need to give notice at your day jobs,” and closed it behind him.

They stood in the empty corridor with their laptop bags and stared at each other.

“Holy fuck,” said Dillon. “Was he joking? Dude, you've seen him in action more times than me, was he having us on?”

Mace shook his head. He no longer thought of Jay as the baker. “I've got no idea, but that sounded like a yes to me.”

“Fucking sounded like a yes to me too. Holy. Freaking. Fuck.”

Mace laughed. What else was there to do? If it was a joke it was cosmic. If it really was a yes...? He grabbed Dillon and kissed him on the forehead, both of them laughing, holding on to each other. “We need to know for sure.”

He needed Cinta. He needed her take on what Jay meant and to lay waste to himself in her arms. Jacked up like this he might be able to forget to be so self-conscious with her, and love her like he had before she'd bent something in him out of shape by cowering at his feet.

“We need to get drunk,” said Dillon.

He'd rather go home. She was waiting. This was a win for both of them.

“Dude. This is our first legitimate joint decision someone is going to pay us to make.”

He laughed and gave Dillon a shove. “We don't know that.”

“‘You guys will need to give notice at your day jobs'.” Dillon did a passable imitation of Jay. “I know, we need it officially and in writing and all that crap, but man, you just kissed me and I have a hard-on for a beer, you can't leave me like this.”

Mace made a move as if to kiss Dillon again. He was smiling so hard it hurt his face.

Dillon cuffed his head. “Go get her and let's get trashed, because as your joint CEO, I say tomorrow we quit.”

Mace blasted through the front door with all the force of cyclone, Dillon whisked along in his wake. Both of them brimful of buzz. No words, just Mace's arms so tight around her Jacinta felt her bones creak, and his lips so demanding, so missed, her pulse danced in all of the parts of her body he commanded with his briefest touch.

“Don't mind me. You got any beer?”

Mace broke the kiss. He cast a look over his shoulder to Dillon. “No idea.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her though to the bedroom, Dillon calling, “Got any food? I'm starving,” after them.

He was on her like he was fire and she was the aerial water bomb to put him out. She got the words, “Pasta,” and, “Fridge,” out between kisses and then gave up and let Mace devour her, being his celebration.

He got her shirt open, with a button casualty, his lips to the throb in her throat. And it was easy, so spectacularly easy to go with him in the moment. And it was wondrous too that in his excitement he'd forgotten to be hesitant and careful. He'd won, he'd won, and now it was her job to see they both did.

He traced her lips with his tongue. “Didn't remember a single fucking word.” His hands were shaking and his eyes were bright, bright stars.

She laughed. “Should've made you practice while I did devious things to you.”

“You do devious things to me just breathing.” He pressed her hand to his arousal and they both exhaled roughly.

She stroked him lightly. “What happened?”

He stopped her hand with a groan. His lips skipped, kissed down her sternum, where he put his teeth to the edge of her bra. “I had a one night stand with this girl and she's everything to me.”

Her head dropped back into his other hand. Winning so agreed with him. “Tell me.”

He held her close. “Jay said we should quit our day jobs.” He didn't smile. The excitement was in his body, but he knew the gravity of it too.

She held a breath. Her own eyes felt huge in her face.

It began.

She kissed him, using her lips, her hands to show him her happiness, to pledge her support. On the edge of taking it too far, he broke away, breathing hard. “Your lunch?”