Page 27 of Sunny Side Up

eleven

I found myself back in Midtown at Fieldstone Capital on Friday afternoon.

Normally, I hated that part of the city, but for SONNY, I was willing to become a regular.

Plus, I have to admit that I had been, uh, “researching” my new business partner online pretty much all week.

I read every article, found every photo.

I would have gone to his office for any reason.

I’d also tried to “research” Dennis. The man was unsearchable.

I knew from trivia night that he wasn’t on Instagram, but still: Didn’t everyone in this day and age have some sort of digital footprint?

When I looked him up on Google: nothing.

Nothing like the articles, photos from black-tie galas, brand launches, or fundraising cocktail parties that I’d found of Ted.

That was to be expected, sure, but Dennis didn’t even have a LinkedIn. Totally off the grid.

This time when Avery and I sat down in the same seats in the same conference room, the snacks had been replaced with at least six different beverage options. The agreement was all printed out and ready for us to sign.

Both of our legal teams had worked around the clock all week, ironing out deal terms to have it ready as soon as possible.

Ted and I were motivated by the same goal: It was the end of February now, which meant bathing suit season would be upon us before we knew it.

If we wanted our swimsuits in stores by Memorial Day, we had to get them into production right away.

Prototypes first: We’d need enough to shoot a lookbook for retail buyers to buy from and to shoot a campaign.

Simultaneously, we’d have to get the actual, sellable suits into production early enough that we could make tweaks, wear-test each style, and ensure quality control, all just in time for the stores to carry SONNY at the end of May.

It was an insanely short timeline that would require an immediate cash infusion, and, by all accounts and industry standards, it was completely unrealistic. But since when are start-ups realistic?

We agreed on a six-month partnership and then reevaluating after that initial investment period.

On conference calls and Zoom meetings that week, I witnessed Ted’s capabilities firsthand: He was someone who knew how to execute a proposal into fruition.

He was going to be an incredible business partner.

I was so surprised that someone as senior as Ted was this involved in the weeds.

Was he always like this? Or was there another reason he was taking on these tasks that clearly should’ve been handled by someone below him?

I looped my scrawly signature on the line.

When the papers were stacked and the meeting agenda items crossed off, Ted cleared his throat. “Celebration dinner? I have a standing reservation at Rao’s.”

“I can’t,” Avery answered, a little too quickly. “Sorry, I have a thing. But you guys should definitely go without me.”

I, on the other hand, had no plans for my single Friday night.

The rankings of New York City’s hottest restaurant seemed to change by the day, but Rao’s was an institution—an iconic Italian restaurant in East Harlem with a mere ten tables, and getting a seat seemed to be reserved for a mysterious few.

I’d known about it forever but had never been.

Even Noor’s connections couldn’t get us in.

We’d tried twice. How he had one, I wasn’t sure. But I was wildly curious.

“I’m in,” I said, grateful I had worn something more fitting for a date night than a legal meeting. (When in Rome?) “You sure, Avery?”

She nodded. “Besides,” she said, raising her eyebrows in appreciation, “you’re dressed for it. I’m not.”

This was one of those rare moments where one actually has to go from day to night—an outfit category I’d been worrying about amassing in great quantities since I was ten years old reading InStyle and Cosmo .

I wore a low-cut, long-sleeved, winter-ivory wrap dress with black thigh-high boots.

Thick hoop earrings, chunky braided bracelet, both made of recycled gold by one of my clients.

I threw on my camel coat and rolled my eyes at Avery. “Okay, Model Off Duty.”

She laughed.

“No emails this weekend,” I said, pointing at her with a faux stern finger. “Celebration and relaxation.” ( Cool boss, cool boss, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do…)

I turned my attention back to Ted. “Should we head straight there?”

He held his hand toward the door, offered a single nod and a slight smile, and said, ever so casually, that his car was waiting outside. His confidence was energizing. I knew I’d made the right choice.

Forty minutes later, we were seated in Rao’s low-lit, old-school dining room with white tablecloths and red-leather seats.

Framed photos of your grandparents’ favorite actors, musicians, and late-night hosts covered the walls.

A candle cast our intimate booth in a warm amber glow.

The smooth voice of Louis Prima and the tightly packed, wine-buzzed crowd around us gave our space the feeling of a cozy fort.

Occasionally, I could feel the brush of his pants against the tight layer of my leather boots when one of us shifted our legs.

We started with a round of the house red wine, and as Ted leaned in to explain that there were no menus, the kitchen led the charge, I caught another hint of his knee-buckling scent: cardamom, sandalwood, vetiver…

“I have a great feeling about this,” Ted said.

“Me too,” I said. “And, truly, thank you for sharing about your sister the other day. It meant a lot, to see the human behind the suit.” I gave him a smile.

“Ha, yes, well. We’re not all robots. Some of us have hearts and brains,” he teased.

His voice then changed, almost imperceptibly, out of business mode.

It was still deep, hearty—he had the kind of voice that carried distances, even if you couldn’t make out what he was saying—but now it was just a touch softer, and the shift in tone from professional to familiar made my heart skip a step.

“I called her right after our meeting, you know, to get her take on the company. I’m protective of her, a classic big brother, even though she’s all grown up now with kids of her own.

But she loved the idea. She said all the plus-size suits out there are so ‘depressingly designed,’ her words, that it actually makes her feel worse when she wears them.

I hate knowing that she feels that way, that she misses vacations with us because of it. ”

“She’s right,” I said. “It’s the worst. Honestly, you should see the suits that prompted this whole idea. I thought I was sure to come across some competitive options during market research, but the only decent online options ended up being terrible quality when I tried them on in person.”

I knew I’d just sold him on an entire swimsuit company, but suddenly, outside of the confines of a boardroom, the realization hit me that I was talking about my half-naked body in skimpy cuts of tight, stretchy fabric.

I looked at his handsome hands on the table, his fingers interlaced as he listened intently, and I wondered if, outside the confines of the boardroom, he might be picturing that as well.

Maybe imagining his hands unlacing, reaching toward the straps of my bikini top, pulling them down slowly.

A flash of heat ran between my thighs. I blinked myself back into business-casual mode.

“The few extended-size swimsuits I found in person were just… offensive, and this is New York City. We’re supposed to have the best of everything here.

What’s scary is that the options were so much worse when I was growing up in Wisconsin. ”

“Now that, I can imagine. I’m from Chicago,” he said with a wink and a fake thick Midwestern accent, which automatically made me smile. It always felt rare to meet a fellow Midwesterner among Manhattan’s finest.

“I’d have sworn you were from here,” I said. “Mr. Savvy New York Businessman with a table at Rao’s.”

“I could’ve said the same for you, Ms. Fashion Industry on Speed Dial.” He gestured to my outfit. “With the dress, the boots…”

His eyes trailed down me. As they made their way back up, he paused at my collarbone, my tangle of delicate chains with a thin lab-diamond tennis necklace strewn over the top, then up to my parted mouth—pause—and finally, on my eyes.

“To two Midwesterners, faking it ’til we make it.” Ted raised his glass in a toast.

“To faking it together,” I said, matching his glass with my own. “Thank you for seeing what I see in this company.”

“When I saw you , when I heard you speak with such passion, it was impossible not to see the vision, the future, of SONNY. That was quite a speech you gave, speaking of.”

I felt my cheeks warm in a stupid blush.

“I believe in all of it to my core. Everyone has insecurities. Maybe not you…” I gave a quick wink, and he shook his head with a laugh.

“But I particularly hate how obsessing over those insecurities holds women back. I love the idea of designing something that can help eliminate at least one worry. Give women back more of their time to focus on something else. On everything else.” I could feel my voice picking up speed.

Ted was listening, his eyes watching me with sincerity, as if my words were what mattered most in the world.

“It makes me mad, how much time women have spent on hating our bodies when we could be putting our energy into so much more. Think about all we could do if we woke up and didn’t spend fifteen minutes in the mirror, analyzing every little perceived flaw.

The days that I wake up and put on an outfit that I love without fighting against myself are always the days that I work harder, I think better, I laugh louder. I want to bring that to bat, too.”