Hardwired (The Hardwired Series 1)(4)

“Unmistakably.”

“You’ll do fine. Just remember, most of us were in your shoes at some point.”

I smiled and nodded, knowing the chances of Max Pope, heir to shipping magnate Michael Pope, pitching to anyone other than his father for a measly two million dollars were slim to none. Regardless, he was the reason I was here this morning, and I was thankful. Quinlan had known just the favor to pull.

“Help yourself. The pastries are amazing.” He gestured to the plentiful breakfast buffet along the wall.

The knot in my stomach disagreed. I needed to get a handle on my nerves. I couldn’t even stomach coffee this morning. “Thank you, I’m fine though.”

As the other investors trickled in, Max introduced me, and I did my best to make small talk, silently cursing Alli, my best friend, absentee business partner, and marketing go-to. She could make entertaining small talk with a can of soup, where I had little else on my mind beyond the facts and figures I was prepared to present, which wasn’t ideal for idle conversation with people I’d never met.

When people began to settle at the conference table, I positioned myself on the opposite side, organizing and scanning over my paperwork for the twentieth time. I located the clock on the wall across from me. I had less than twenty minutes to convince this small group of strangers that I was worth investing in.

The rumble of voices quieted, but when I looked to Max for the cue to start, he gestured to the empty center chair across from me. “We’re waiting for Landon.”

Landon?

The door flung open, and I forgot how to breathe. Holy shit.

In walked my mystery man—six feet of masculine glory—looking nothing like his suited colleagues. His black V-neck highlighted his sculpted shoulders and chest, and his worn out jeans fit his physique like a dream. My skin grew tight at the thought of having those arms around me again, accidentally or otherwise.

Armed with a jumbo iced coffee, he dropped into the seat in front of me, seemingly unaware of his lateness or lack of formality, and flashed me a knowing smile. He was an entirely different person from the dapper professional I’d so luckily fallen into the other night. He suffered from a gorgeous case of bedhead, his dark brown hair spiking every which way, begging for my fingers. I bit my lip in an effort to hide my raw appreciation for the man’s body.

“This is Blake Landon,” Max said. “Blake, Erica Hathaway. She’s here to present on her fashion social network, Clozpin.”

He stilled for a moment. “Clever name. You brought her in?”

“Yes, we have a mutual friend at Harvard.”

Blake nodded, locking me in a penetrating stare that had me instantly flushed. He licked his lips. Was he thinking what I was thinking? I crossed my legs, acutely aware of the sensations he inspired between them. Get it together, Erica. The ball of nervous energy that had resided in my stomach mere seconds ago had exploded into a blinding sexual energy that had me pulsing from my fingertips to my nethers.

I blew out a slow breath and smoothed the lapels on my black suit coat, silently scolding myself for swooning at an incredibly inconvenient time. I stuttered into the presentation. I explained the premise of the site and moved into a brief outline of our year of bare bones marketing and the resulting exponential growth, trying desperately to stay focused. Every time Blake and I made eye contact, my brain started short-circuiting.

Eventually he interrupted me. “Who developed the site?”

“My co-founder, Sid Kumar.”

“And where is he?”

“Unfortunately, my co-founders were unable to attend today, though they very much wanted to.”

“So you’re the only one on your team dedicated to the project right now?”

He arched a brow and leaned back casually into the seat, giving me a better view of his torso. I forced myself not to stare.

“No, I—” I struggled to formulate an honest answer. “We’ve just graduated, so our level of involvement in the coming months depends heavily on the project’s financial stability.”

“In other words, their dedication is dependent on funding.”

“Somewhat.”

“Is yours?”

“No,” I said sharply, immediately defensive at the implication. I had dedicated my life to this project for months, thinking of nothing else.

“Continue.” He waved me on.

I took a deep breath and glanced at my notes to get back on track. “At this juncture, we are seeking an injection of capital for marketing to enhance growth and revenue.”

“What’s your conversion rate?”

“From visitors to registered users, about twenty percent—”

“Okay, but what about paid users?” he interrupted.

“About five percent of our users upgrade to pro accounts.”

“How do you plan to improve that?”

I tapped my fingers impatiently on the table, trying to keep my scattered thoughts on track. Every question he posed sounded like a challenge or an insult, effectively squashing every confidence-inspiring pep talk I had given myself leading up to this meeting. Teetering on the edge of panic, I looked to Max for a sign of hope. He seemed mildly amused by what I imagined was par for the course for Blake. The others stared blankly between their notepads and me, showing no indication of their interest either way.