Page 12 of Things We Tell Ourselves

Gwen turns as the door behind her opens, and a young man wearing a tan suit enters. He’s tall with sandy blond hair sweeping across his forehead. Camille can’t help wonder his age. He looks barely old enough to buy alcohol, much less be in an office of this caliber.

“Gwen,” he jolts, giving her a double take, “are you sitting in?”

“No,” she replies, stepping to the side. “I saw they were coming in today and popped in to introduce myself.” Her expression is firm, waiting for him to connect the dots. When the look on his face doesn’t change, she adds, “because I’m the one who sent you their information.”

“That’s right,” he nods, waving his briefcase.

“Ladies,” Gwen says, turning to Camille and Evelyn, “this is Derrick Paul,” she waves a hand in Camille’s direction. “Derrick, this is Camille Lee.”

Camille stands as Derrick moves around the conference table to shake her hand. It’s a firm handshake, but she’s surprised by how small his hand is in hers.

“The inventor,” he says, dipping his chin at her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” Camille says, catching sight of Evelyn scrutinizing his face.

“And this is Evelyn Sykes,” Gwen continues. Evelyn plasters a tight grin on her face as Derrick takes her hand.

He gives her a toothy grin. “Pleased to meet you.”

Evelyn grits her teeth. Camille isn’t sure if it’s because they aren’t meeting with the Lichtenstein brothers like they were led to believe or if it’s the guy’s babyface, but she can tell Evelyn is struggling.

She eventually gets out, “Pleasure’s mine.”

“Shall we, ladies?” Derrick declares.

They sit down as Gwen heads for the door.

“Why don’t you join us?” he offers, seeing her about to leave.

She pauses. “You sure?”

“I don’t see why not. Play your cards right, and you’ll be heading your own meetings soon enough,” he says, straightening in his chair.

He misses the expression that crosses Gwen’s face. Camille pulls her lower lip in between her teeth, wondering if he’s been at the company as long as Gwen, who’s probably in her late-thirties. Derrick places his briefcase on the table, clicking it open as Gwen takes the seat across from Evelyn. Camille sets her bag down on the floor between her and Evelyn’s chairs, itching to show off her newest project.

The biggest issue start-up companies have in the medical field when it comes to new tech is that they are often one-hit wonders. If they are lucky enough to be that. Integrity Heights, however, has bigger plans than simply filling a need in the at-home oxygen department. They’ve already started on Camille’s next big idea, targeting the needs of diabetics who require frequent blood sugar monitoring. This meeting will be their first opportunity to prove that Integrity Heights is worth investing in for more than simply the Oxygen Recycler once they’ve made a deal. Gwen and Derrick will be the first to lay eyes on her newest invention as well, outside of her father, Evelyn’s parents, and their friends Jasmin and Gretchen. Granted, it still had a good year of testing before it was ready for market, but they could get it there sooner with the Flexinburg Group’s backing.

“First,” Derrick starts, withdrawing a sleek pen from inside his jacket pocket and placing a packet of papers face down in front of him, “I’d like to thank you both for coming up here to our little piece of paradise. I know those flights can be tedious.” He pauses, expecting a response.

When Camille sees Evelyn pressing her lips together in a hard line, she sighs. “It was fine,” she lies. They were both seated in the middle seats on the middle row, putting them as far away from the windows as you could get. Derrick looks at Evelyn and smirks.

“The silent type, I like that. Let’s get down to business.” He fiddles with his pen. “The Flexinburg Group is one of the leading corporations in the medical field. We have state-of-the-art distribution centers and an expert marketing team.” He flips the packet over, sliding it across the table to them.

Evelyn holds the packet up between them.

“Keep in mind,” he notes, watching them looking over the cover page, “this is a mock of what our sales team is putting together as we speak.”

Camille’s mouth slowly opens as she reads the headline over the photo of a modelesque elderly couple wearing fluffy bathrobes in a spa, beaming at one another.

It’s time to just breathe. From the makers of HydroCare and Essence of Life comes Oxy. The next generation of elite oxygen therapy.

Evelyn pulls the paper closer, examining the image. “When did you have time to have a photoshoot with our product?”

Camille stares at the picture. Sure enough, beside the pampered couple is her machine sitting on the floor next to the wall. Evelyn flips to the next page, which has a similar photo with mountains as a backdrop, the Oxygen Recycler sitting precariously on the rough terrain. The third page is a pie chart of where they plan to market–social media and doctor’s office demonstrations mostly.

“Ah, yes,” Derrick chuckles, “the miracles of photoshop. I guarantee we have the best in the business to sell to—”

“The rich,” Evelyn says before he can finish.

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