Chapter 1
First Appearances Can Be Deceiving
She was at the bar. Owen immediately knew it was her. He hadnât gotten the greatest look at her face on the treadmill at the gym, but he could tell from the hair and the shirt. Natural blonde and she was wearing another Sparksys shirt. Was she a sales rep? Owen wasnât as familiar with the company as he should have been. Having your own business really puts a damper on learning about other companies, especially ones where nobody is exactly sure what they do.
He knew Sparksys made an important part of microprocessors for smartphones and that somehow theyâd managed to make that sexy. It wasnât deliberate advertising on their part, but they were known and featured in many magazines for the ridiculous perks their employees received. Owen wasnât sure, but he had read something about their offering something called the 7 Câs, where every year for seven years theyâd pay for a week or two-week or something visit to a different continent. Thatâs insane. How much does that cost? Waitâthatâs just the kind of company thatâd buy bicycles for its employees.
âHey.â
Owen looked down. The woman had approached him. She was definitely a sales rep. Women donât approach you in Vegas unless theyâre offering up some sort of service. Maybe it was callous, but the first thought that flashed through Owenâs mind was: couldnât they pick a sales rep with bigger boobs? Oh wellâheâd listen to her pitch, pretend to sound interested, and then possibly pick up the name of somebody he could contact about ordering bicycles. Maybe this was a win-win. Or a win for him at least. Not like she had a chance of selling him anythingâReBicycle didnât need smartphones for its employees. It barely needed employees.
âHey, Iâm Owen. What is Sparksys doing at the World Series of Poker?â A good lead-in question, Owen thought.
âHow do you know I work for Sparksys?â
Shit. That quickly backfired. Owen didnât want to say he saw at her at the gym. That might come off creepy. At the same time, if sheâs in sales, she probably wonât care. She wants people to look at her.
âThe gym. You were wearing a Sparksys shirt there, too.â
âOh, was I?â
âYeah. I mean I think it was you. Unless you have a doppelganger hanging around this hotel.â
âYou were at the gym?â
âGetting a little cardio in.â Owen patted his stomach, âIâm playing in the World Series tomorrow and didnât want to overdo it, but at the same time, you can feel the stress in this place. Got to burn it off somehow.â
âI agree. But it seems like most people here fall into the âeat your stressâ category.â She gave him a big smile.
Owen responded with a nervous chuckle. It was a decent line. She was game. Laid-back approach for a salesperson, too. Owen liked and disliked that. He had dealt with enough people coming into ReBicycle trying to sell him dumb things he didnât need that he was constantly on guard. He knew she was going to ask him if he was aware of Sparksysâs latest offerings and that she currently had one of their microprocessors in her contact lenses because they were so small or something like that.
She nodded toward the insignia on his polo shirt. âSo whatâs ReBicycle?â
She was going for the sale. Owen could tell.
âReBicycle? Itâs my company.â
Owen had thought of plenty of good ideas for companies. His MBA and his Deloitte consulting job had put opportunities in front of him on a regular basis. Heâd frequently think of startup ideas that might be worth something, but the more he slept on the ideas, the more doubt he developed about them. Heâd never had that doubt with ReBicycle. It was solid. He could see it perfectly. He could hardly think about anything else. He knew people would love the value he was creating. He could provide for his family on his own terms. He could provide for a lot of families.
âI figured as much. So what is it? Should I have heard of it?â A nice unhurried question. She was good.
âWell, do you ride road bikes? Or do CAT races? We advertise all over the place. Weâre an online-based company that takes slightly used bike parts and we build custom-made bikes and then we sell them for a fraction of the cost of what the big bike companies do. Itâs all about delivering like a really amazing product. And at an affordable price point, which is a big problem in the cycling world.â
She was quiet. Probably gearing up for the big pitch.
âGreat, so how is it going?â
Ha! Howâs it going? Well, should he tell her that heâs unable to make the payments on either his first or second mortgage? Maxed out on two credit cards? On the brink of laying off six people who put their faith in him, who put the well-being of their families in his hands?
Dammit! The bikes are ridiculously good and ridiculously cheap. How is it not growing? Shit, how is it not surviving? The bikes are literally half the price of the ones people can buy in a store. Half the price! Weâre talking 500 to 600 bucks. Thatâs not chump changeâthatâs a cruise.
His initial plan was flawless. Identify a problem. Check. Bicycles are expensive and good bicycles are really freaking expensive. Identify a solution. Check. Build bikes by hand from slightly used parts that are available and cheap. Identify a market. Check. People who are cost-conscious but know quality. Identify a way to reach those people. Check. Advertise on all the largest cycling forums, send free samples to the big magazines, set up booths at large trade shows. Generate word of mouth.
Check, check, check, check. ReBicycle had done all of those things. And yet ReBicycle had also sold only eight bikes in the past week. Eight bikes was what Owen had envisioned moving on a slow Monday morning. Not an entire day. Not an entire week. What the hell was going on? Sometimes when reading cycling forums where people bragged about their new bikes, heâd daydream about ringing the doorbell of that personâs house and then physically shaking them and showing them just how much money theyâd wasted. Heâd written some nasty comments on those forums recently. Someone had called him a troll. He didnât tell Lisa, his wife, about that. He didnât tell her much anymore.
Their strained communication over the past few days was nothing new, and Owen knew he was responsible. Whenever he looked at Lisa now, he no longer saw the twinkle in her eye that used to always make him smile. He only saw the reflection of a man who was putting his family in financial peril to chase a dream. He just couldnât overcome the enormous sense of guilt. He wondered whether their marriage would be able to survive all of this.
âUh, howâs it going? Really well. Weâve been fortunate enough to get some really incredible publicity, and traffic to our site is increasing virtually every month.â Owen gestured an increasing growth curve with his arm.
âYou must be pretty successful. I mean the market must be pretty big if youâre coming out for the World Series of Poker. Is it international or just domestic?â
What a fraud. Owen couldnât afford a ticket to the World Series of Poker. He could barely afford the drinks at this bar. He was only here because last week, his best friend, Pitchford, entered a last-chance $300 buy-in tournament at Island Resorts, the local Columbus casino, where you could see from one end to the other and no drinks were free. Owen hated the place. It was a 200-person tournament and the top three finishers got a place at the World Series of Poker instead of cash. Pitchford had told Owen he was entering it, which was nuts because Pitchford was in the middle of getting ready to leave on a consulting project in Japan for six months. Pitchford had also told Owen that if he won, he was going to give Owen his spot at the WSOP. He placed second and kept his promise.
Owen didnât want to go. He couldnât go. It wasnât right to go. He told Pitchford as much. Pitchford told him he was an idiot if he turned down the deal of a lifetime. A free trip to Las Vegas and a free entry into the World Series of Poker, usually a $10,000 fee. Pitchford told Owen that they could split the winnings. Whatever Owen won, he could keep half. Itâd be like they were playing on the same team.
Lisa was also surprisingly supportive . . . cautiously supportive. She said she thought the trip would help Owen clear his head, maybe figure out the best thing to do with the business. Who knew? Owen could actually win some serious money. It was an opportunity they really couldnât afford to pass up.
âWell, right now, weâre just domestic. And the market is there . . . but uh . . . weâve had some difficulties tapping into . . . uh . . . well, we are still pretty new and we havenât made the dent on the market I was hoping for. But weâre getting there. Like I said, the web site traffic is up 50 percent this month alone, and the press has been great. Itâs just a matter of time. And what do you do for Sparksys?â Best to just change topics.
âNot much of anything anymore. Iâm here to play in the tournament.â
âYou?â
âYeah. Me. Whatâs the matter? Never met a girl who could play poker?â
âSo are you like a pro and youâre sponsored or something?â
A genuine laugh from her, though Owen didnât mean it to be funny.
âIâm not a pro. Iâm not sponsored. I am sober, though. Iâm going to grab a drink. You need one?â
âSure. Iâd love to pick your brain on how Sparksys chooses its vendors.â
A look of disgust flashed across her face. Disgust equaled wrinkles. Maybe she was older than her early thirties. Thirty-seven tops. Owen prided himself on being able to tell demographics. Why was she disgusted that he asked about Sparksys and potentially doing business with them? Definitely not a saleswoman. The chest, age, and demeanor ruled that out. What was she?
âWhatâs your name?â
âSam.â