This Is How It Happened by Jo Barrett Page B

taller.
    Carlton’s dad, Forest Connors, is a big man. An assuming presence in a room. So I need all the height I can get.
    My ring finger feels bare without the Juliet. I rub the tan line where the ring used to be. Something is missing.
    Carlton strolls into the room looking like a Calvin Klein model in his dark, tailored Italian suit. He grins at me—his famous, winning grin, and takes me by the arm.
    “You ready?” he asks.
    I sigh. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
    He taps his watch, the watch his father gave him, the Patek Phillipe. “It’s do or die time,” he says.
    “Leap Before You Look,” I reply.
     
    Three hours later, I’m at the head of the boardroom, standing in front of Carlton, his father, and a group of six men in serious suits. My new heels are causing blisters on the back of my feet. I’m aching, but I smile through the pain.
    “As you can see, gentlemen, the only possible competitor will be Giganto Foods,” I say in a confident voice. “But they haven’t even begun to enter the organics market for kids. So our company—Organics 4 Kids—will be the first to enter this new niche market.”
    I smile and make careful eye contact with each man around the table. Carlton’s father nods at me, in a clipped, no-nonsense fashion.
    “That concludes our presentation,” I say, motioning toward Carlton. He’s sitting at the end of the boardroom and he smiles, nervously.
    “We’ve worked out all the angles, Dad,” he says, a sheepish grin crossing his face.
    I see a shadow cross Forest Connors’ face when he hears Carlton refer to him as “Dad.” It’s inappropriate for Carlton to say this in such a formal setting and Carlton immediately realizes his mistake. He assumes a professional tone and says, “Madeline and I have prepared an investor prospectus for each of you.”
    Reaching down into my messenger bag, Carlton pulls out seven navy blue folders. He stands and passes them around to each man at the table.
    I take a seat at the end of the table. As Carlton walks by me, he whispers, “Great job,” in a muffled tone.
    Forest Connors flips through the prospectus. The room is suddenly quiet. I hear a clock on the wall ticking. Everyone waits until the Big Man on Campus speaks. He swivels around in his chair and stares at me, his eyebrows raised. “You’re proposing Carlton as CEO and yourself as Chief Operating officer?”
    “Correct,” I say.
    “And you are also proposing a 15 percent ownership stake for each of you in the Class A shares?”
    “That’s right.”
    “The problem as I see it, Madeline, is you don’t have any skin in the game,” Carlton’s father says, crossing his arms over his linebacker-sized chest. “You’re not risking any of your own money.”
    I shift around in my chair. I’m wearing my best dress suit. My interview suit. But I’ve got a run in my panty hose. I see it. Right below my skirt. Heading dangerously close to my knee. I tug the skirt down.
    I glance at Carlton. He’s taken a seat next to me at the table. He takes a sip of coffee from a Styrofoam cup. I can tell he’s nervous. The cup quivers a little in his hand. We anticipated this question, Carlton and I, but Carlton was supposed to answer it. So far, he’s sitting quietly in his seat, staring down at the table. And leaving me high and dry.
    “I’m quitting my job, Mr. Connors,” I say. “That’s a risk.”
    Forest Connors glances at the other men in the room. His other investors. He takes a deep breath. Like a man about to deliver bad news.
    “Yes, and to compensate you, we’re willing to pay you a generous salary and give you any title you choose. But quite frankly, I feel uncomfortable issuing you a seat on the board, or voting power with the company. You’re what we call ‘sweat equity.’ You’ve got to earn your shares in the company by working for them.”
    He shrugs his bullish shoulders. “It’s business 101,” he says.
    “I wrote this business plan,” I stutter,