Page 89 of The Reluctant Billionaire
As our driver drops us off and we walk along the scarlet runway to the steps, I spot the Chancellor of the Exchequer,Stella McCartney, the sexy tycoon Anton Wolff, and even Sheryl Sandberg.
Holy crap.
‘Sheryl Sandberg’s here andyou’rethe keynote speaker?’ I mutter in the direction of my hot date. ‘No offence,’ I add.
He laughs. ‘None taken. It’s ridiculous, I agree. She’s speaking later, but they’ve asked me to open up the speeches on behalf of London-based tech companies. I’m the warm-up act.’
‘No you’re not,’ I say. ‘It makes sense, putting you on first. Also, you’re hotter.’
For someone who likes to make out that he’s some poor little imposter in this field, my date is every inch the suave billionaire entrepreneur this evening. He seems relaxed, jovial, and he looks a million fucking dollars. When I asked him in the car if he’d like to run through his speech with me, he shrugged the offer off.
‘Nah. I don’t usually overthink these things. I’ll just see how it goes,’ he said.
Okay then. That’s impressive.
‘I’d much rather spend the journey imagining finger-fucking that pussy of yours under the table later,’ he added huskily in my ear. ‘I cannot fucking wait to get inside you tonight.’
I quickly crossed my legs at that comment, to minimise the chances of turning up here with a wet spot on the back of my crèpe de Chine.
It’s totally out of character for me, but for once I’m happy to be in someone else’s shadow. I just want to sit back and bask in the reflected glory of my hot, clever boyfriend’s speech.
And maybe enjoy his attentions when it’s done and dusted.
We’re sitting beneath the vaulted ceilings of The Natural History Museum’s stupendous Hintze Hall. As darkness falls, the white and pink uplighting around the space grows more dramatic. Hundreds of tea lights in glass votives flicker on the iconic Beauty-and-the-Beast-style staircase at the far end of the space.
We’ve drunk excellent champagne, nibbled on the prettiest canapés, and, of course, mingled. When Aide isn’t being a grumpy bastard, he’s effortlessly charming. No one talking to him would ever, ever be able to tell he wasn’t a social animal. That he’d rather be in his quiet garden in a pair of football shorts, nursing a cold beer.
What’s unsurprising is how popular he is. How many people make a beeline for him—both men and women. How many bro-hugs and back-slaps and hearty handshakes (from the men) and lecherous kisses (from the women) he gets.
What’s a little more surprising, but maybe shouldn’t be, because he’s a sweetheart, is how intent he is on showing me off. Introducing me. Tonight’s his night, but he ensures I’m involved in every situation. That my glass is always filled. That he never leaves my side.
I adore the property sector, but tonight I’m envious, because the energy in this vast room is palpable. Obviously, the numbers at stake in the tech industry are dizzying, but it’s an industry I have surprisingly little exposure to, despite my dad’s background. I can instantly feel the power, the money, the excitement, the ambition here.
Everyone is smart.
Hungry.
Scarily young, considering what they’ve achieved (Exhibit A: Aidan Duffy).
Everyone makes ‘thinking big’ sound like a four-year-old’s imaginary play.
Sure, there are lots of nerds here, but there are also lots of folks from the commercial side, and I can smell their ambition a mile off. These people have Big Hairy Audacious Goals—BHAGs—and they are not afraid to put them out there into the universe.
I fuckingloveit. It’s intoxicating. And I’m lightheaded with pride that my man plays such a central part in driving such a critical part of the economy.
Not just driving. Nurturing. Because surely, having role models like Aide, who are driven by their heart and soul, is everything when it comes to attracting the next generation of engineers? Data scientists?
My parents are here, obviously. Dad looks quietly, politely pained—he’s a lot like Aide, but a lot worse at hiding it—while Mamma’s wearing a couture dress from Dolce and Gabbana’s last Alta Moda collection and loving every minute of this shindig. They are loving Aide and me being together, and I can’t deny it’s a kick to have them see us here like we’re a proper couple.
Which we are.
Obviously.
My man’s speech is electric. Fuck, he’s amazing. He’s amazing because he doesn’t give a shit about any of the optics but he gives far too many shits about the real stuff, and that authenticity, that fervour, just radiates out of him. Also because he’s scarily smart and fluent and articulate and passionate. He makes it sound like he’s just coming up with his beautiful, thought-provoking speech in the moment. All that, and his movie star looks, mean every person in this room is in his thrall.
He talks about the friend he lost and why he started Totum. He doesn’t over-egg it; he tells the story and connects it to the wonder of technology.
Technology is hope and possibility and limitlessness. It is working with the very best of humanity and leveraging that. It is here not to replace us, but to offer us transparency. Liberty. Dignity. He talks about the awe he felt as a young teen when he discovered that the most elevated concepts in the world—love and wellbeing and community—could be transcribed in ones and zeroes. Could be captured. Quantified. Made real.