Page 80 of Caught A Vibe

These quarantimes are messing with my head. It’s a strange dichotomy of being together literally all the time and yet having no time to talk. Bottling everything up clearly hasn’t been working. But I don’t know that airing our grievances with nowhere to go will work any better.

Normally, I’d suggest we take some space, but there is no space to be had. He’s as stuck as I am. My routine is shot to hell. My company is falling apart. My stress is at an all time high on all fronts, and there is no end in sight.

I can’t keep going like this, but I also have no idea how to fix it. Because fucking Covid.

I settle in for my day of video calls and emails, trying to bridge the funding gap so everyone can get the orgasms they deserve and I don’t lose my shirt. Once in a day is quite enough. I paste a happy smile on my face and imbue my voice with an energy I don’t feel as I start the first meeting with my team.

“Good morning! Let’s jump right in. I’ve drafted some questions to use when we interview the preorder reviewers. They are in your inbox—”

“But I thought Emmie and I were handling that,” Nicola protests.

“I had thoughts last night so I just figured I’d get started on it. I’m going to spend the rest of today reaching out to VC firms again. Maybe something will have shaken loose. Any change on the factory front?”

My team goes suspiciously quiet. No one is looking at their screen. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and bile rises in my throat. Stress is a vise tightening around my temples. How much more of this can I take? The hits just keep coming.

“Oh God, don’t tell me there’s a bigger problem with the raw materials!” I brace for the worst.

“No, no change there, but you might not want to call the VC folks today,” Jen says cautiously.

“What? Why? I’m sure if I just keep calling, someone is going to give.” My team never pushes back against my ideas, and I don’t like that it’s happening now.

“Ask Dash,” she urges.

“What does Dash have to do with it?”

“Have you read his most recent article?” Nicola asks.

“The one about pairing your paninis and wine to match your pandemic anxiety? Yeah, it was pretty funny.”

Nic isn’t laughing. A link to an article appears in the chat. “No, this one.”

It is dated this morning. The conversation we had last night plays out on the page. He shares his informal research and the deeper dive into funding disclosures. He makes the case that venture capital firms are playing it safe, funding companies with proven track records over smaller, untried firms. Then he quotes me. Calling venture capital firms cowards. At least he’s left out the “fucking.”Dear God.

Words escape me as I stare at my name in print, condemning the very people I need to woo. How could he? What in the hell was he thinking? Why would he just throw me under the bus like that? And for what? A clickbait article that isn’t even front page? I can see… No. No, I can’t see how he could think this is okay at all. Not ever.

I keep scrolling to the comments section, and it’s worse. The bees return, an entire hive of angry static filling my head.

NotUrFeminist24: No wonder she can’t get funding. No one wants to put men out of business, not in the market or the bedroom.

MamaJoLo_TN: Those devices are immoral and profane. They ruin marriages and break down good Christian families. No one should give her a dime.

NotABot_8675309: I’d give her some funding to come over here and suck my d—

I push away from the table without reading the rest of the comments. I don’t need to. I know what they’ll say. Half will call me a whore with disdain and judgment, the other half misogynistic interest. None will take my business seriously. Everyone will say I deserved it when my business crumbles because I didn’t kiss the right asses. With my back to the camera, I brace my hands against the sink and try to regain my composure. I’m suddenly frustrated that Dash got everything put away. Smashing a glass right now would be very satisfying, if counterproductive. As it is, I can only try—and fail—to get my anger under control.

“Are you okay?” Emmie asks softly.

“I…I need to go. Can you…?”

Nic fills in the blanks without me. This is why it’s great to work with friends.

“I’ll finish running the meeting and send you an update.”

“Yeah.”

I slap my laptop shut, rage flowing like lava through my veins, burning up any sense of caution or restraint. I stalk into the bedroom where Dash is coming out of the bathroom in a towel, still wet from the shower. I notice and dismiss that fact in the same breath. I have to let these words out of my head or they will burn me alive.

“What the actual fuck, Dash?”

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