“Everything okay?” he asked, spooning ice cubes into a mason jar. “You look upset.”
“I’m okay,” I said. “Just nervous. I’m not sure this is going so well.”
“What are you talking about?” He handed me a glass, then pointed over my shoulder. “Everyone’s having a blast.”
I turned around to survey the space, and found a sea of smiling faces. People were talking and laughing and interacting. No one had their nose shoved in their phone. They were experiencing the night for what it was, in the moment. No hashtags or filters or swipes. Just pure human connection.
“You’re right,” I said, but when I turned back to him, he was already busy fixing someone else’s drink.
I wandered away, edging the perimeter of the crowd, watching people connect for a long while. It gave me a little thrill to think that people could be coupling up tonight—could potentially fall in love—because of something I’d created. Even if FirstBrand didn’t fund inPerson, at least I’d accomplished this much.
“Mel.” Whit had me by the arm. She was wearing her no-nonsense, get-shit-done, businesswoman face. “I think it’s time for you to say a little something.”
“What?”
“Give a little speech.”
“I don’t have a speech prepared.” Sweat beaded under my arms. “Why didn’t you tell me to prepare a speech?”
“You don’t have to say anything big. Just, ‘Welcome, thanks for coming, blah blah blah.’” She cocked her head and lowered her voice. “It would look good to the investors.”
My gaze slid to Tisha and company standing in the corner, still wearing their game faces. “Anything to please the investors, I guess.”
Before I could change my mind, Whit said, “Great, I’ll introduce you,” and she was already pushing her way to the center of the roof.
“Excuse me, everybody! May I have your attention, please?” A circle widened around her and the crowd grew silent. “Thank you all for participating in the first ever inPerson mixer!” Hooting and clapping broke out, then quickly quieted down.
“We’re so pleased you decided to come. I hope you’re having a good time, drinking some good drinks, and hopefully, finding some good matches. I know I’ve already found a match of my own.” She winked at some guy, who made a kissy-face back at her. Man, Whitney worked fast.
“But none of us would be here tonight if it weren’t for the brilliant brains behind inPerson. So, without further ado, allow me to introduce you to the woman who is bringing Fluttr to its knees and changing the dating landscape as we know it—Melanie Strickland.”
Applause started again. On wobbly legs, I walked over to Whit, who greeted me with a hug and whispered in my ear, “You got this.” The clapping faded, and I cleared my throat, scanning the faces in the crowd. Everyone looked at me with eager eyes, as if I was someone with something important to say.
Well, maybe I was.
“Thank you, Whitney, and thanks to all of you. When I first came up with the idea for inPerson, I was at a very low point in my life. I’d lost my job. I’d lost a great guy. I’d lost hope. But what pulled me out of it was the power of human connection. And as I look around this roof right now, that’s what I’m seeing. Connections. Real, true...”
I trailed off when the men in blue uniforms emerged from the roof access door. One of them bellowed, “Is there a Melanie Strickland here?”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Scandalized murmurs arose from the crowd. I glanced over at Tisha, who was grimacing with her colleagues. There went any chance of securing funding tonight.
“I’m Melanie Strickland.” The crowd parted as I made my way toward the two police officers, standing at the door with their hands on their batons. “What seems to be the problem?”
“We’ve received several noise complaints about your little shindig up here.” He scrutinized the gathering, scrunching up his nose like he smelled something foul. “Do you have permission to be on this rooftop, Ms. Strickland?”
“I...uh...”
“No, we don’t.” Vanessa was suddenly at my side.
“And who are you?”
“Vanessa Pratt. I’m the event coordinator for inPerson. This is all my fault. I told Melanie we were allowed to host the mixer up here.”
“You knowingly trespassed?”
“I wouldn’t call it trespassing,” she said. “No one ever actually told us we couldn’t be on this roof. The landlord has never provided us with any specific directions either way.”
“How did you gain access to the roof, then?”
“I jimmied the lock.”
“You what?”
“It’s not like it’s hard. All it takes is a butter knife and a bobby pin and boom! You’re in.”
The cops both winced, horrified by Vanessa’s disclosure. At first, I didn’t understand why she’d taken it so far as to incriminate herself. Then I realized: she was protecting Ray. If she’d said the door was propped open or not properly locked, he’d have gotten in trouble. This way, the fault was all hers.
The things we do for love.
One of the cops released an irritated sigh, while the other whipped out his notebook and started writing. “Okay, look, it’s getting late and we’ve got more important things to do than deal with whatever it is you’ve got going on up here. We’ll release you with a summons for a noise complaint, but we’ll be contacting your landlord to follow up on this tomorrow.”
“And,” the other one added, “this party is over. Get everyone outta here now.”
Vanessa took the ticket with a muffled, “Whatever,” and the cops started escorting guests to the door. Whitney, Lia, Dani, and Yvelise quickly attended to the safe full of cell phones, exchanging claim checks for gadgets as people headed out. Despite the abrupt and troubling end to the evening, people were still laughing and smiling. A few people looked smitten.
This would make a great story for a first date.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t in a smiling mood myself. Not with the way the investors were frowning. As they filed out the door, I shook each of their hands. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry it turned out like this.”
They looked at each other, then Tisha asked, “Was this party held illicitly?”
I nodded, ashamed, afraid to look them in the eye.
“Well,” Catherine said, “I can’t say I approve of that.”