The Underwriting (24 page)

“They can, but normal people buy from the institutional guys the day after the institutional guys buy from Hook. That's when the stock is listed on the NASDAQ exchange.”

“Why would the institutional guys sell, right after they've bought them?”

“Because they expect the price to go up, in which case they make a profit,” she said. “Of course if too many of them do that, there will be a huge supply when it gets listed and people will think that means it's not worth very much and then the price will drop, which is why we're spending all this time trying to get a ‘good book' of institutional investors who won't flip it all immediately.”

“So what you're saying is big funds and really rich people get the stock at a cheaper price than normal people?” he asked, stuck on the point.

“Yeah,” Neha said. “We're trying to sell 1.8 billion dollars' worth of shares—it would be totally inefficient to bother with anyone who isn't in for at least a couple million.”

Juan squinted at her. That didn't seem fair, but she didn't seem to mind, so he figured it was a dumb question. Instead he asked, “But Hook gets whatever the institutional guys buy—from the pricing call, right? So what does it matter if the price drops?”

“
You
don't get that price,” Neha said, “the company does, but unless you get an exception to sell before the lockup, you personally don't care about the price until at least six months from now. All the same, though, it looks really bad for the company if the price drops.”

“What do you think Hook's price will be in six months?”

Neha shrugged. “You know better than me.”

“Why?”

“You know what's going on in the company. If it keeps doing well, the price should go up. If something happens and you don't ever become profitable, then I guess you're Zynga.”

“What happened to Zynga?”

“They went from like fifteen dollars a share to two,” she said. “But that's not as bad as companies during the bubble that went completely bust. All these guys who thought they had a hundred million dollars and then had nothing.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Juan said. “But I think it's different now, don't you?” Juan hadn't forgotten the dot-com bubble, he'd just gained some perspective. The guys who had lost millions and stopped paying his mom twelve years ago were betting on companies who didn't have real users. Hook had five hundred million of them—it wasn't the same.

“L.Cecil analysts don't think we're in a bubble,” Neha said. “For Hook to collapse, something really bad would have to come out—like something criminal.”

“You two need a ride?” Tara interrupted them.

“Sure,” Neha answered for them, adding in a friendly tone, “did you get everything you need?”

“Yes,” Tara said, smiling at the girl. “Thank you.”

Juan looked at them suspiciously: didn't Neha hate Tara?

—

T
HE
THREESOME
got to the hotel and Juan sat in the back of the room and pushed the anxiety out of his mind—no one was going to find out what he knew about Kelly being on the app, and it wasn't criminal anyway.

When the meeting started, there were thirty-five people in the room, all men except for Tara and Neha and the girl checking people in. They were all wearing suits, had slick haircuts and sat in neatly arranged chairs in the stuffy banquet hall. The scene couldn't have been less like Hook.

He tried to pay attention, but Nick spoke in jargon that didn't seem to mean anything, so instead he researched rental spaces in East Palo Alto on his laptop. Maybe he would just buy a building. And a new house for his mom.

The Q&A finished without Nick ever pulling his earlobe, and Juan followed the crowd out into the bar area, which L.Cecil had rented for an after-meeting reception.

“Juan,” a voice called.

Juan turned and saw the venture capitalist Phil Dalton lumbering down the hall. “Juan, can I speak with you, please?” he said, catching up to him.

“Sure,” he told the man, following him to an empty conference room.

Phil shut the door, his face serious. “Is there a non-anonymous database?”

“What?” Juan asked carefully.

“Is there a database where individuals' histories on the app can be identified?” Phil's voice was hushed.

“Well, we collect everything separ—”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes,” Juan said quietly. He could feel his heart start to pound. Why did Phil look so upset? Had he found out about Kelly?

“Show it to me.”

Juan hesitated. Dalton Henley owned the majority of the company: he couldn't say no.

“Is everything okay?” Juan tried to keep his voice calm as he opened his laptop and pulled up the combined database he'd discovered.

Phil didn't answer the question. He pulled the laptop toward him. “You can just type in anyone's name and find their whole history?”

“I don't—” Juan started to lie.

Phil stared at him, waiting.

“Yes. I don't know where it came from, though, I swear.”

Phil typed a name into the database, and Juan braced himself for the fallout as he watched the man's face go white.

“We have to get rid of this,” Phil said. He looked on the verge of panic.

“You don't think we should tell?” Juan asked.

“Tell who?” Phil glared at him.

“The police?” Juan asked, not sure what he wanted Phil's answer to be.

“What are you talking about?” Phil looked at him like he was crazy. “I have to talk to Josh.” He slammed the laptop and left the room.

Juan looked at the closed computer and felt his heart sink. He opened the laptop to shut it down properly, but stopped when he saw the name the venture capitalist had entered in the database: it wasn't Kelly Jacobson, it was . . .
Phil Dalton.
Juan's jaw dropped as he scrolled through the married man's extensive history of Hook meet-ups across the globe.

AMANDA

W
EDNESDAY
, A
PRIL
16; S
AN
F
RANCISCO
, C
ALIFORNIA

“Finally he's gone,” Andy Schaeffer, the frat-tastic paralegal who sat opposite Amanda's cubicle, sighed. He'd been working around the clock for a senior partner who had just left for a meeting, giving Andy a solid two hours without any nagging. “I'm still hungover from Saturday. But Chris Papadopoulos is just perky, perky, perky.” Andy lifted his shoulders to imitate the enthusiastic Greek partner.

“What'd you do Saturday?” she asked. She'd spent her Saturday on a Marina bar crawl with Julie. She still wasn't sure what the occasion had been, but they'd donned two hundred dollars' worth of American Apparel gear and been drunk with other in-costume San Franciscans by ten a.m. It had made Amanda long for Lavo, and a nice sparkler in a magnum of champagne.

Between the beer crawl and her terrible date with Ben Loftis, Amanda's enthusiasm for San Francisco was starting to wane. It felt like going back to college, but without the cool kids.

“We hosted our Annual Schaeffer–Collins Beer Olympics,” Andy said proudly. “We had twenty-two teams this year. Biggest turnout ever. It was epic.”

“I take it you won?”

“Obviously. Even did a—wait for it—sixty-five-second keg stand.”

Did he really just brag about a keg stand, at twenty-five years old?
she thought, then coached herself to have more patience.

“Nice work.” She smiled.

“Thanks.” He leaned back in his chair and scratched his stomach. “Would be so much better if I could just revel in the glory instead of dealing with stupid Hook.”

“You're working on the Hook deal?” She sat up in her chair. “Like the IPO?”

“Obviously.”

“My roommates both work there,” she said.

“Lucky bastards. They're going to make so much dough.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Like how much?”

“The early guys? Like the ones who joined in 2010 and 2011? Their options'll be worth like fifty mil, at least.”

“What?” Amanda's jaw dropped. Were Juan and Julie making that much? Why were they living in a three-bedroom stealing booze from their company when they had that kind of money?

“Welcome to Silicon Valley.” Andy lifted a brow. “I'm telling you, we picked the wrong profession.”

“No kidding,” Amanda said. Maybe she shouldn't go to law school after all, and should join a start-up instead.

“But yeah, deal's totally brutal. The CFO's a tool and their general counsel quit six months ago and the bankers are fucking idiots and Josh Hart is determined to get the whole thing done by May. It's a shit show.”

“Who's the bank?”

“L.Cecil. But not San Francisco L.Cecil. Some team in New York, so I've gotta be up on their hours. It sucks balls.”

Amanda felt her breath catch. A New York team from L.Cecil? Was it possible?

“Who are the bankers?” she asked quietly.

“What?”

“I knew a few people at L.Cecil in New York,” she said. “Just wondering who you're working with.”

“I mostly work with this girl Neha who's got a stupid stick up her ass,” he said. “But the head of the team's this stud Todd Kent.”

“What?”

“Yeah, some, like, big-shot banker. I bet he gets so much tail.”

Amanda's face went white.

It was a sign.

It had to be.

Coincidences like that did not just happen.

“Are they here?” she asked, trying to control herself. “I mean, are the bankers in the building?”

“Why would they be here?” Andy made a face. “They're at the St. Regis for the meeting with the sales team. There's a cocktail hour after, too,” he said, “which is why I'm going to curl up under my desk and go to sleep.”

Amanda looked up the St. Regis on Google Maps. She checked her watch and, before she could overthink it, was on her way.

She got to the St. Regis just before five o'clock and went to the bathroom to fix her hair and her face, willing her heartbeat to calm. She'd been lying to herself: Todd
was
worth the effort. Much as she wanted something real, she wasn't ready to settle down if it meant settling for a guy like Ben Loftis or Andy Schaeffer or the other overgrown children who represented the men she'd encountered in San Francisco. The timing hadn't been right before, but now . . . this was the universe giving her another chance.

The elevator opened on the hotel bar: it was a closed cocktail party. She couldn't just pretend to be there.
Think fast
, she told herself. She dug in her bag and found a notepad, ripping out the marked pages and heading into the room to find Chris Papadopoulos.

She spotted Todd immediately, standing at the bar, talking to another guy and a pretty-but-not-that-pretty girl. Amanda's heart rose into her throat. He was even hotter than she remembered. It wasn't just his tall frame and his perfectly proportioned body, it was the way he stood, casually, with his hand in his pocket, the way his pants were tight enough around his butt to hang just so, the way he held his glass firmly with the same fingers he'd used to hold the back of her neck when he kissed her.

She felt her cheeks burn and watched him move. Where was he going? There! Toward Chris Papadopoulos! Her feet sprang into action without waiting for her brain.

“Chris,” she said, tapping the lawyer's sleeve, not looking at Todd.

“Amanda?” He turned. She watched Todd behind Chris's shoulder. He hadn't noticed her yet. “The new paralegal, right?” Chris asked. “What are you doing here?”

She handed him the notepad. “Andy asked me to give this to you,” she said. “He was working on some corrections and I needed to run an errand nearby, so—”

Chris opened the notepad onto its blank pages. “There's nothing here,” he said.

“I'm not sure,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “He just asked me if I could bring it.”

“Strange,” the senior partner said. “Well, thanks. So long.”

Shit
. What now?

Just do it
, she told herself. Now or never.

“Todd?” She walked up and touched his arm, remembering to bat her lashes.

Todd turned and squinted his eyes to place her.

“I thought that was you,” she said, faking a laugh. “Amanda, Amanda Pfeffer,” she said.

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded. “Sorry, I—”

“Context, I know,” she agreed. “So crazy to see you! What are you doing out here?”

“I'm working on the deal,” he said, as if everyone here should know that.

“Oh, nice,” she said. “I just dropped something off with Chris. I moved out here, actually,” she continued. “Crowley Brown needed more people in San Francisco so I thought, why not, you know?”

“Sure.” His smile was forced. “I'm sorry,” he said, “I just need to get back to—” He tilted his head, indicating the conversation she'd interrupted.

“Yeah, of course,” she said. “Well, give me a call if you're sticking around. I'm still learning the city, but it would be fun to catch up.”

“Sure, will do.” He smiled, turning his shoulders back.

She turned to leave, finally letting her breath go, but then turned back to make sure he still had her number.

“I—” she started as she reapproached, but paused when she heard him talking.

“Who was that?” the guy Todd was talking to asked.

“No fucking clue.”

Amanda felt her face drain. Her legs moved her unconsciously to the hall, directing one foot in front of the other, until the elevator doors closed and she stopped and allowed the vacuum of disappointment to appear in her brain, then let it suck her down, down, down into its empty darkness.

TARA