The Maverick

By Jennifer Valenti

Jane Valiante had put so much of her life on hold to care for her father and little brother back in Florida since her mom died, that she'd all but forgotten she once had ambitions of her own. She had nearly resigned to a life of ordinary when the hottest tech company in the world offers to fly her to New York for the job of her dreams.

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Broken Arrow Books
• Release date: Dec 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781735371320

Jennifer Valenti

Jennifer Valenti is a Maverick. A rule breaker. An all-together risk taker - often evidenced by her many battle scars, most of which she wears as a badge of honor in tribute to staying true to herself. She was born in New Hampshire, but didn't grow up there. In fact, she didn't grow up any one place in particular, having moved nine times by the time she was fifteen. But, if you put a gun to her head (and you'd have to), she'd say she grew up in Florida, hailed from Boston, but mostly was a New Yorker. Moving around meant learning to adapt quickly, which has certainly come in handy when you've spent the better part of the last two decades as a single mother raising two amazing young men (and a dog with separation anxiety). For every failure, she enjoyed equal success with careers in film and television, technology, and consulting, the latter two of which against much of her will. Turning her life now to writing women's fiction, she hopes sharing these stories with the world will inspire others to embrace their own uniqueness, and more importantly, inspire them to find their own Maverick within. If you came here looking for permission to break the rules, consider this your blanket approval.

Book preview

Chapter One: The Interview

I read somewhere that blacking out from drinking is caused by the effect alcohol has on the hippocampus, which is the part of the brain that’s responsible for memory. You’re not actually forgetting anything, but rather your brain becomes incapable of storing and recording new memories. This probably explains why I can’t remember much of my undergrad years, but it also would appear to explain why I don’t remember much about how I ended up back in my hotel room with my boss the night of the holiday party. What led me to this? Had I appeared to have wanted this? Or was I just trying to seem like one of the team to increase my odds at getting the job? And if blackouts are so commonly caused by alcohol, then why am I still having them even when I’m sober? I always seem to have more questions than answers every time I try to piece that night together. No matter what questions I ask, or how I try to make any kind of sense of it, I always start at the same place: the interview.

It was 3:00 a.m. on a cold December night in Manhattan. I arrived earlier that evening on a nonstop from Jacksonville, hoping the later flight and three glasses of cheap wine from the in-flight selection (red or white) would help knock me out. Instead, I found myself scrolling as I usually do when I can’t sleep. I switched back and forth through my various social apps, existing with the content, but not really consuming any of it. I scrolled through Twitter until I got to the same starting point at least five times, and then I moved on to Instagram, waiting for someone I follow in a different time zone to update their stories, and on and on I rotated through another five apps. This is the sad existence of a type A introvert with a mild case of OCD. A boy I dated in college used to call me glow face referring to the blue light from my phone, which would dimly illuminate my bloodshot eyes, keeping us both awake in my unending search for something or someone to help me sleep (clearly it wasn’t him). This bedtime routine, which was only ever deployed when I had something big happening the next day, is now an all-too-familiar ritual. And, believe me, I have tried everything to alter this course. Sleep apps, meditation apps, music, ocean sounds, getting airplane drunk (wine). At this point, I think it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.

To be fair, I had every reason this time to be freaking out. I was arguably getting the chance of a lifetime—an interview for my dream job. On paper, it had everything I was looking for: an up-and-coming tech start-up that was on the edge of creating a breakthrough diagnostic tool for detecting breast cancer in patients before they even hit stage 1. I had been following them since they announced their venture—even before my mom was diagnosed. I may have even stalked their open source commits on GitHub when they were first developing just to read their code (it was my own personal eye porn). I wondered if I would even get potential equity. And not consequentially, I would get to live in New York City, which was a dream of mine since I was a kid. But, most important of all, I’d get to work on something truly important that could change lives. It may have even changed ours if my mom’s diagnosis would have been a few years later.

I had been working as a data scientist at an insurance company in Jacksonville, Florida, which consisted of creating Python scripts to run on the same data set every day, all day, on patient oncology claims. Each month, I paid my student loans, and I calculated how many scripts I would have to run in order to turn college into a positive ROI (let’s just say I hope the tech world also comes through on that immortality gamma ray technology within the next seventy years for me to have a shot). So, when the recruiter from Imaigene called me to find out if I was interested, I barely let her get the words out before I shrieked that I was definitely interested!

I checked to see that my alarm was still set for 5:00 a.m. Still set. And, still currently 3:00 a.m. I let out a big sigh, pulled the hotel covers over my face, and started the bargain with my brain to allow me the privilege of two hours of sleep. I exclaimed out loud, as if a warning to my brain, I’m going to count to a hundred, and then you. are. going. to. sleep. I’m not sure how I ended up successfully bullying my brain into submission, but the next thing I knew, my alarm had started its familiar musical arousal—a crescendo from faint to obnoxious. Counting worked! Although I can’t remember how far I actually counted. Regardless, it may have only been two hours, but I would take what I could get. I slapped my tired hand on the back of my phone ending the musical concerto and jumped out of bed. It was go time.

As soon as I jumped out of bed, my first stop was to the window. Throwing back the blackout curtains, I’d hoped to reveal a spectacular view. Instead, I was greeted by the petrol refinery lights of Jersey City twinkling just across the Hudson River. It was still dark out, hiding the real beauty of the city behind the dim winter sky. Slightly disappointed, I padded to my next stop: the bathroom. Other than the views, one of the things I love the most about New York City is the water. Being from Florida, we typically avoid drinking any local water sources unless it’s triple (quadruple) filtered, and we definitely avoid the natural water sources. If you see pictures of lots of people in the water, those are tourists. Floridians know better, even though Florida Man memes would seem to tell you otherwise. In New York, though, you can drink right from the tap. The best part is that not only is it delicious, it also comes out ice cold during the winter. We never quite get past lukewarm in Florida, thanks to it being hotter than the sun most months. There’s something so refreshing about drinking a tall glass of cold water in the morning (provided it does not come from Florida). I treated myself to two crisp glasses and even turned the water a bit cooler than I usually like it in the shower just to feel the cold against my face.

Even though I only got two hours of sleep, the combination of the colder-than-usual-shower and the cold New York air seemed to wake me right up. I was feeling downright refreshed. I grabbed a coffee in the hotel lobby and waited inside for my Uber. Even in the vestibule of the hotel you could feel the crispness of the cold, and although I was layered up like a Chipotle burrito, I was still shivering. Living in Florida also thins out your blood.

My Uber arrived right on time. The driver’s name was Jay Something-I-couldn’t-pronounce, driving a black Lincoln Navigator. That’s another cool thing about New York—the Uber drivers here also drive for private car services, so oftentimes your regular Uber ends up being a luxury vehicle. In Florida, you’re lucky if the Uber shows up with air conditioning. I’m not really selling Florida, am I?

Jane? the driver asked as I opened the back door.

"C’est moi, I cheerfully answered. Jay, I presume?" The driver acknowledged he was in fact Jay (SICP), and we were on our way.

I was pretty chuffed when Katie, the Imaigene recruiter, asked my preference of location for hotel accommodations. Even though it was a bit of a ride, I opted to stay farther downtown than the office where I was interviewing to get a hotel with a view of the Hudson River and the Statue of Liberty. On the few times I could afford to travel here, I always stayed in hostels, so getting my choice of a fancy hotel with a view was already a dream come true. The only view I could count on in the hostel was usually a passed-out German guy snoring in the bunk next to me. So, in typical Jane fashion, when I checked in and was given a choice of a king bed or two queens, my first and only question was which has the better view? Two queens it is, slightly disappointing industrial complex view of Jersey City, free of charge.

During the ride uptown, I studied my résumé and practiced my questions. I wanted to make sure I had thoughtful questions to ask my interviewer. The days leading up to the interview I had googled every interview tip I could to make sure I was fully ready to wow them. If you are ever in need of six to seven thousand YouTube videos on nailing an interview, I am entirely sure I could help you defend a thesis on it at this point.

One of the tips from the abyss of research materials I pored through mentioned the infamous Google interviews where candidates are asked totally unrelated questions during the process, such as how many steps did you take from the front door to the office when you entered? These questions are designed to indicate your thought process and attention to detail. I must have been really deep in thought going over these gotchas because I didn’t hear Jay when he announced we had arrived.

Miss? Miss Jane?

Oh. Yes? Oh, we’re here! I gleefully acknowledged.

I gathered my things and bid Jay goodbye. As I gently closed the door and turned to walk away, I realized that he had called me Miss Jane. Maybe my last name was something he couldn’t pronounce also? I thought. My phone dinged to remind me to rate my experience. I hit five stars. This was definitely going to be a five-star kind of day.

The office of Imaigene is in the heart of Union Square in New York City. If you have never been to New York, Union Square is sometimes considered the start of Downtown Manhattan and the bridge to Midtown starting with Chelsea. It’s a bustling, artsy apex that boasts a number of restaurants and shops and green space and is most known for its outdoor market—called the Greenmarket—which is open several days a week year-round. Local residents and travelers can buy produce and other food goods directly from local farmers, which makes a great local sustainability project. It’s one of my favorite neighborhoods in the city. The building Imaigene is in has one of the only exterior elevators, which was added during a renovation in the nineties, and faces the park. The recruiter instructed me to sign in at the security desk, and I would be escorted to the twenty-second floor. Once I got into the elevator, I was delighted to see that today being a Friday was one of days the Greenmarket was on and was treated to the loveliest eye candy, filled with rows and rows of tents stuffed with colorful food goods, as I ascended the prewar building. When the elevator stopped, I suddenly realized I forgot to count my steps on the way in. I was so enchanted with the elevator view, I had completely missed the details of the walk in. I felt defeated already. I started trying to retrace my steps from the front door to the security desk. Twenty? Twenty-five? The elevator dinged, indicating we had arrived. The security guard turned to me and welcomed me to the office.

Here we are, Miss. I’ll just badge you through, and the receptionist will take it from here.

I nodded thankfully, and although the ride up was pleasant and scenic, I couldn’t help but feel my shoulders tense up as I stepped out of the elevator and caught sight of the big glass double doors with Imaigene etched across each of them in perfect symmetry. I suddenly felt flushed and full of butterflies. The security guard swiped his badge over the keypad on the wall, and with barely a whisper, the tall, sleek glass doors opened. I felt like I was boarding the mother ship. I stepped through the doorway and turned to thank the guard. He was already on his way back down by the time I turned around. I suddenly felt very alone. The office reception area was all white and glass except for their iconic cerulean-blue wall, which laid behind their legendary white leather sofa. The wall and sofa were homages to the companies the Imaigene founders, Anand and Peter, had before, which they considered their lucky charms. These symbolic totems had been photographed for years throughout their various companies and offices around the world, featured prominently in articles detailing their success. I was in awe seeing them in person. I gathered my courage, gulped hard, and walked up to the receptionist desk to let her know I was here.

Hi I’m—

Without interrupting whatever she was typing or even looking up from her computer, she quipped, Yes Ms. Valley-en-tay. Please have a seat. Mr. Wright will be ready in a moment.

"Oh, it’s pronounced Valiant. The e on the end is silent. Still nothing. Fun fact, actually my last name used to be pronounced Valiant-ay when my great-grandparents came to the US from Italy. They changed the pronunciation in an effort to assimilate to America." I suddenly regretted every second of the last twenty. I shared too much. Again. To my surprise, the receptionist paused to look up, and her eyes finally met mine. I stood a little taller, hopeful we could be friends.

OK, she said apathetically. Please have a seat, and I’ll call you when he’s ready.

OK, so maybe not friends exactly, but at least she looked up! You would think working for a company whose business name is like five different play on words that she would have been able to say my name correctly.

I sat on the big white leather couch in front of the big blue wall feeling like a tiny dwarf among giants, secretly wishing I could spontaneously combust my way out of this awkwardness. What was I doing here? I’m not qualified to work for this company, am I? What do I have to offer them? I was just finalizing my escape plan when I heard my name called.

Miss Valiante?

It was a man’s voice. I looked up. It was Peter Wright, the chief technology officer and one of the founders of Imaigene (and my personal tech celebrity idol). He came to get me himself!

Yes. Mr. Wright! It’s so great to meet you. I stood and shook his hand. I tried not to sound too starstruck, but I’m pretty sure I failed since at some point I realized I was still shaking his hand far longer than seemed appropriate. And he pronounced my name right!

Nice to meet you as well, Miss Valiante, he said with a soft chuckle. Please follow me. We’ll be in this conference room over here.

Mr. Wright led me to a conference room just behind the receptionist desk. On the outside were the words The Bored Room etched on a name plaque. At first, I thought it was a typo, but then I got the joke. We entered the room, and it was a typical boardroom setup. A long, narrow desk lined with basic black office chairs down each side. One end of the room held a wall of whiteboards and a refreshment station stocked with multiple coffee urns, and at the other end, there was a wall of flat screens. The long wall, opposite the entry, had massive floor-to-ceiling windows, which overlooked Chelsea and up through Midtown where hundreds of iconic New York City buildings peppered the landscape. The view was spectacular. I suddenly felt both incredibly lucky to be there and absolutely petrified.

Mr. Wright took a seat near the head of the table and motioned for me to take the seat opposite him. I carefully sat in my chair and concentrated hard on not passing out.

So, first, I like to break the ice with a few off-topic questions, he began. Let’s start with something simple. I’d like for you to solve Fermat’s Last Theorem. He opened his phone and set a timer for thirty seconds. You will have thirty seconds to solve it. You can use that whiteboard over there. He pointed to one of the whiteboards at the end of the room. Are you ready? he asked, with his finger on the start button, like he was getting ready to launch a warhead.

In an instant, my stomach did so many flips it could have made the Olympic gymnastics team on the first try. Was he really asking me to solve one of the math world’s most difficult problems? And in thirty seconds no less?! My mind started racing, and beads of sweat started to form on my brow. I suddenly felt nauseous and lightheaded and could feel the room start to darken, indicating I might be losing consciousness soon. Without a thought to the consequences, I blurted out, I took twenty-five steps from the front door to the security desk!

Silence. Deafening, ear-piercing silence.

And then, like a rocket cutting through the tense air came the loudest, deepest, and most jarring laugh I had ever heard. I wasn’t quite sure what was happening, and since at some point I had stopped breathing entirely, I knew it wasn’t coming from me. It was Mr. Wright. He was literally howling.

It seemed like an eternity for that laugh to finally stop. Mr. Wright looked at me and shook his head.

I think I have pulled that prank on at least five hundred candidates in my career, and that was by far the best answer I have heard to date.

I was midway through sizing up how hard I would have to throw the cheap office chair I was sitting on through the wall of remarkable windows to escape this humiliation by death when my mind finally registered the joke. What a relief, I thought. I started to laugh too. Not one of those ha ha, what a fun game this is laughs, but the kind of nervous laugh you force after someone threatens your life with a gun and then says, just kidding, it’s a prop.

I see someone has been brushing up on their interview questions from Google. We’re flattered you think that highly of us, he said through continued amusement. Miss Valiante, you may be just what we’re looking for.

I exhaled the breath I had been holding in for at least thirty seconds and relaxed my shoulders. I hadn’t prepared for the joke at my expense, but I have to admit it definitely helped cut the tension. There was clearly more to Mr. Wright than I had read on the internet.

The rest of the interview was not only painless, but impressively engaging. I sat with Mr. Call me Peter Wright for what seemed like ages. We talked about my experience at the insurance company and the data analysis work I did on oncology patients’ claims, which appeared the most interesting to him (that made one of us). Then we talked about what brought me back to Florida from Caltech before I could finish my master’s in data science. I confided that my mom had been diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer, and my dad had suffered a stroke the year before that. I came home to help my mom take care of my dad and my younger brother, Tyson, while she was getting treatment. My mom died two years ago, and I still had so much guilt that I never went back to school. I ended up taking the insurance job in Jacksonville so I could be close to them. I don’t know what came over me to share everything I did, but for some reason, I found myself spilling it all out in The Bored Room, which, coincidentally, wasn’t at all boring.

After I wrapped up with Peter, he asked me to stick around to meet the rest of the team. I met with four other team members in various roles. It was a round-robin-style interview, with each team member and I allotted twenty to thirty minutes to connect and swap questions and answers on work style, culture fit, and vision. It was a whirlwind, and since a lot of the time I was waiting in the room for the next person to become available, and unsure of who would walk through next, I kept my energy levels up with the endless supply of Bored Room coffee (which, by the way, was delicious). I was wrapping up the last interview for the day with the head data scientist and one of the other founders, Anand Srinivasan. To my surprise, we were heading into five o’clock when Peter appeared in the doorway. Mr. Srinivasan took it as a sign that our time was up.

Well, it was great to meet you, Miss Valiante, Anand acknowledged, shaking my hand as he got up to leave. Looking forward to seeing you again, I hope. As Anand left, Peter came back in to wrap things up with me.

I’ve gotten outstanding feedback already, Jane. Everyone is very impressed. I was speechless. The truth is, everyone I met seemed so glamorous and smart. I was the one who felt so out of place and underwhelming.

Thank you. Honestly, this has been an incredible experience. I can’t thank you enough for this opportunity. I beamed.

Peter led me out of The Bored Room and back to the reception area, making small talk as we walked out. I was glad to have the opportunity to work up the nerve to ask him about next steps. To my surprise, he was already ahead of me.

What are your plans for tonight? Are you going home or staying another night in the city? Peter asked.

Well, the recruiter wasn’t sure how long the interview would last, so she booked me to stay another night. I fly out early tomorrow morning.

Well, how would you like to join us tonight for our holiday party? We rented out a room at a restaurant nearby. It’s nothing formal so don’t worry about attire or anything. Just a bunch of us blowing off some steam after a great year. He smiled. It would be a great chance to meet the rest of the team, and for them to meet you, and see whether this is a fit.

I was floored. What an honor it was to be accepted and offered this opportunity. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Absolutely! I said, without hesitation.

Great. He motioned to the welcoming and warm receptionist from earlier in the day. Erin will give you all the details. Looking forward to seeing you there, Miss Valiante.

Erin smiled at me, presumably a show of collegiality for Peter’s benefit (which somehow was more off-putting than her earlier aloofness). I waved goodbye to Peter and took down the information for the party from Smiling Erin. The restaurant was farther uptown, but the party didn’t start until 8:00 p.m., so I had time to go back to my hotel and freshen up. The whole way down the elevator I stood there in disbelief. I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening. In the midst of all the promise and excitement, I didn’t want to get too ahead of myself. What if this still resulted in no job offer? Nothing was certain. In many ways, the party was just a continuation of the job interview. I shook off my insecurity and convinced myself to just enjoy the moment. No matter the process, I was over the moon with excitement and grateful for what was shaping up to be one of the best days of my life. When I got off the elevator to return my visitor’s badge, I decided to test my step count from the security desk to the front door. It was eleven steps. I wasn’t even close.

I burst through the door of my hotel room like a missile, racing for the bathroom. I hadn’t gone the whole time I was at Imaigene, and I was ready to explode. Trying to remove the twenty-five layers I wasn’t used to wearing was like wrestling out of a straitjacket that was connected to another straitjacket. I finally got to the toilet in quite literally the nick of time. As I was feeling the sweet relief of eliminating sixteen cups of Bored Room coffee, I heard my phone ding multiple times. It had spilled out onto the floor during my cage match with my peacoat, and I could see the face lighting up with one text after another. The unmistakable green hearts I had added to Carmen’s contact info years ago were a dead giveaway for who was blowing up my phone.

Carmen and I went to undergrad at Florida State University—FSU—together and shared a dorm our sophomore year of college. Her parents brought her from Mexico to the States when she was three, and she grew up helping her family in the migrant strawberry fields just outside of Tampa. I remember listening to her tell stories about 3:00 a.m. raids by immigration officials and having to hide under floorboards to escape deportation. She ultimately was able to apply for and receive a Dreamer’s deferral, which allowed her to stay here and go to college. She said she finally felt like a true American when she got accepted to the DACA— Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals—program, until the day she got her first student loan bill, which was the typical gut punch one gets at twenty-one.

How am I ever going to pay this off? she said.

"NOW you’re really a true American!" I said with a salute. After graduation, she was accepted to Columbia Law School here in New York and had been living here and working as a public defender ever since. In my post-interview excitement, I