The emcee quickly recovered the moment and proceeded to introduce the panelists and the moderator, the esteemed Blake Landon. I cringed at the sound of his name and the applause that followed, but I needed to pull myself together. Shooting daggers at Blake would not get me through this panel. He would be guiding the conversation, and I had just very publicly cursed him out.
I straightened in my seat and steeled myself with a few deep breaths, willing myself to relax and focus. The panel started with introductions, which went well since I had practiced mine no less than fifty times on the flight here. From there, Blake asked a handful of prepared questions, directing them to the appropriate panelists. Nothing was far, if at all, out of my depth and my anxiety soon faded. I even mustered the courage to chime in where others left off on their questions, though I was careful to avoid eye contact with Blake. He could throw off my momentum with a well-timed smirk. His face had proven seriously distracting in the professional setting.
After a short round of questions from the audience, we wrapped up. I let out a sigh of relief, grateful that I had survived. That wasn’t so bad, I thought and scolded myself for freaking out at what had turned out to be a totally manageable public speaking engagement. Crisis averted.
“Not bad at all,” Blake said.
Too paranoid about the microphones, I shot him a glare. I pulled together my things and stood up, suddenly anxious to leave and regain some distance from Blake.
He quickly rose with me. “Hey, don’t run off just yet.” He stopped one of the other panelists on his way off the stage.
“Hey, Alex,” he said, getting the man’s attention.
He turned back and caught me by the elbow. I resisted, and then realized he was introducing me to Alex Hutchinson, CEO of one the largest e-commerce websites in the U.S.
“Erica, Alex. Alex, we’ve been working with Erica at Angelcom, and I thought it’d be good for you to connect. There might be some mutual interest with her focus on women’s apparel.”
“Nice to meet you, Erica. I’m looking forward to checking out the site.”
Alex had at least fifteen years on me and looked more like one of the suits I pitched to back in Boston, but he gave me his full attention.
“Thank you, I’d love to get your input.”
“Sure, when did you launch?”
“About a year ago.”
“Excellent, I’ll check it out. Here’s my card, and my cell is on the back. Let’s stay in touch, and let me know if I can help with anything, all right?”
“I definitely will. Thank you so much.”
As Alex headed off, two others approached us, both men around our age. One headed up a popular virtual game development shop, and another had founded a burgeoning music network for discovering new artists not long before Clozpin launched, which made me feel a little bit better about being there.
We made small talk, and Blake gracefully guided the conversation back to me at all the appropriate times. Giddy excitement washed over me. I’d have been too petrified to seek any of these people out on my own. The reception overall was very positive, and I felt validated that I could hold my own, that we had built something worth using.
Eventually the crowd and the rest of the panelists dispersed, leaving me alone with Blake again.
“Wow,” I said, still reeling from it all.
“Was that so bad?”
“No, it was awesome actually. I wasn’t expecting any of this.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.”
He was right. The anticipation of knowing the caliber of people I would be presenting with and subsequently meeting would have been unbearable. My panic this morning had been mercifully short-lived, and aside from the microphone incident, all had gone exceptionally well. Even so, I wasn’t about to give him any satisfaction by admitting that.
“This was great, but I don’t need your charity, Blake.” The meddling needed to stop.
“You think this was charity?”
“Well, it’s either that or an overelaborate ploy to get me into bed.”
“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t.”
He threaded his fingers with mine. His other arm slipped under my blazer and pulled me up to him. I lifted to him, reveling in the warmth of his body against mine and the relief that always seemed to follow. His embrace was gentle but firm, giving me a taste of the strength of his body.
“Not going to happen.” The protest sounded as weak as my resolve. My free hand found a place on his chest, contoured over the curve of his pectoral. His heart beat strong and steady under my palm, mimicking my own as my body melted into him. The things we could do...
“I disagree.”