I glance over at the receptionist, who is staring at me, eyes all agog. She’s embarrassed I caught her ogling the situation, and she quickly bows her head over her laptop.
With a shaky exhale of breath, I start to lower myself to the couch, hoping the pounding of my heart won’t cause me to stroke out. Unfortunately, I barely get my butt to the supple leather when the door Mr. Byrne just went through opens back up, and I immediately recognize Marcus Valentine, the man I’m supposed to meet.
I’m relieved Mr. Valentine looks as nice in person as he did on his website. He’s young, probably early thirties, but his hair is completely silver gray. He wears it super short on the sides, long on top, and swept into a hip pompadour with a sharp, defined part on the side. His neat, trim beard is salt and pepper, and his dark eyebrows and dark eyes are framed with thick, black glasses. He’s incredibly handsome in a hipster sort of way.
His super casual clothing catches me a little off guard. Dark skinny jeans and a black V-neck t-shirt with a hoodie and black Pumas—an ode to the laid-back nature of Seattle, even in the business sector.
His smile is warm and engaging as he regards me. “Miss Porter,” he says, holding his hand out as we walk toward one another. We shake, and he says, “I’m pleased to meet you. Why don’t you come this way?”
Our hands break apart and I’m dismayed to feel cool air against my palm, indicating he just got a good feel of the sweat that must have been there. I rub it on my skirt as I follow him on the same path Mr. Byrne took not but a few moments ago.
Through a door down a nondescript hallway because it’s done in the same white tiled floor and walls. We take a left turn, then a right, passing offices along the way. Some with doors opened, others closed. Employees of this organization are all dressed casually like Mr. Valentine, working hard at their desks. I wonder what it is exactly they do to gift grants to first-time entrepreneurs.
“Right in here,” Mr. Valentine says, stopping at an office door and motioning me in to precede him. I do so as he asks from behind me, “Would you like anything to drink?”
“Um… no, thank you,” I reply.
He closes the door, directs me to a chair, and then moves behind his desk to take his own. As he does, I do a quick perusal of his domain to see if I can glean anything helpful. His desk is sleek blond wood in a contemporary design, his guest chairs the same but with chrome accents and leather-covered cushions in taupe. It’s not an overly large space, but he has two sets of black bookshelves that contain a bunch of binders shoved in tightly. There are no personal photos or knickknacks that might give me an inkling as to his character or personality.
Essentially, nothing helpful at all.
Opening a folder, he pulls out a multi-page document stapled at the corner and holds it up. “Your application.”
I smile, not sure what I’m supposed to say.
“It’s certainly not the norm that we get here,” he continues.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, my voice almost a croak. Now I wish I had asked for some water. “Why’s that?”
“Well, most potential business owners and startups who apply have at least a four-year degree behind them.”
My heart sinks and all I can hear in my head, reverberating loud and on repeat, is Fallon’s voice saying, “I told you not to drop out of college.”
Face flushing, confidence starting to fade, all I can say is, “Um…”
“But,” he says, flipping to the second page. “We’re impressed with your experience. Working directly at the business you wish to purchase is a huge plus. And from what we can see, you basically know every aspect of running it. Mr. Cardello’s letter of recommendation was very glowing.”
I had not read Rich’s letter. I had asked him to write it, but they wanted it uploaded directly to their server through a secure link. However, I expected he’d gush because I know he genuinely respects my abilities, cares for me personally, and wants me to keep One Bean running rather than a stranger.
“So,” Mr. Valentine says, dropping the document on his desk. “Your application got you the appointment. Now convince me that you deserve a grant of a hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars.”
I’m ready for this. Fallon practiced with me. Rich helped me put together the financials from the last five years, which shows steady growth and healthy profit margins.
Taking in a breath, I let it out and start talking. I hand him profit-and-loss statements, balance sheets, and a seventeen-page, five-year business plan Fallon helped me put together. Rich reviewed it and helped me polish it, adding in his own invaluable experience. I speak with the confidence of a woman who knows I can continue to run a flourishing and profitable business because that’s what I’ve already been doing for the past few years.