Page 67 of Worth Fighting For

“Yes, is that a problem?” Shang raises his brows as he slides a steaming mug of milky coffee to me.

“No, just surprising is all. Given, you know, your whole family, not to mention your company’s brand.” I wrap my hands around my mug and take a deep inhale of the rich, nutty scent.

“Are you stereotyping me?”

“A little bit, yeah.” I sip my coffee and sigh. “Damn it, I know I’ve said this already, but you make the most amazing coffee. Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Lots, actually. Baseball. Basketball. Calculus.”

“Calculus? Am I going to have to take your Asian card away?” I tease.

“Here we go again with the stereotypes.”

I shake my head, laughing. How is talking to Shang so easy? With a start, I realize that I haven’t once asked myself:What should I say as Work Mulan?There’s something about Shang that disarms me. Something about him reaches out to me and whispers:You don’t have to play a part with me. You can let your guard down.And I don’t want to fight it. I’m so tired of fighting the real me. But this is so dangerous. I can’t afford to go down this road. It could put the entire acquisition at risk.

I watch as he assembles a snack platter of cured meats, cheese, and fruits, then we go to the living room, where we take out our laptops and start going over my analysis of Wutai Gold.

Shang listens attentively as I explain the financial model and valuation that my analyst has come up with. “This is all based on the CIM—the confidential information memo—that was sent our way, plus our projections. This valuation is based on DCF modeling.”

“DCF modeling?”

“Discounted cash flow.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“It’s fine, it’s just a way of valuing something based on projected cash flows. I tend to be pretty conservative, but I think there are some really great things we can do with your company to get the profit margin up.”

“Like what?” Shang says.

“Well, I think we could be a lot more diverse with our target audience.”

Shang smiles. “You mean we shouldn’t just aim the product at white males ages forty-five to sixty-five?”

“Exactly.” I assemble the perfect bite of cracker, jam, cheese, and prosciutto before popping the whole thing in my mouth. “Mmm.”

We go on to brainstorm ideas on how to diversify the target market, and for the first time in a long while, I find that I don’t feel at all frustrated while working, because unlike my usual meetings with patronizing finance bros, I’m not forced to argue or defend my ideas or tell the other person to stop interrupting or talking over me. I’m not forced to explain why I think this would be a good idea or why that would be a more sensible approach, and it hits me then how exhausting simply existing as a woman, and a woman of color at that, has been in the finance industry. But here, with Shang, I don’t have to do any of that. When I share an idea, he simply listens and asks a question here and there for clarification, but he doesn’t challenge me. He doesn’t play devil’s advocate—a thing I abhor with the passion of a thousand suns because the only time people play devil’s advocates is when they have no stake in the matter, whereas I have to deal with endless devil’s advocates every single time I step into a meeting.

When Shang says, “Shall I cook us some dinner?” I’m genuinely surprised to see that it’s grown dark outside.

“What time is it?” I check my phone. It’s almost eight o’clock. “Oh my god, I didn’t know it was so late. Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you working on this. I can leave now, you probably have plans.”

“Yeah, cooking.” He says it so simply, in a way that’s so different from how he is around his cousins. There is no shame in it, no hiding how much he looks forward to doing it every evening. He doesn’t wear his mask around me, either, I realize with a warm glow that spreads throughout my entire body. Shang grins at me. “Are you hungry?”

“Always. But are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“I’m sure.” Shang heads into the kitchen, where he peers into the fridge. “How does chow mein sound?”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Yeah, and I’ll get to see you shovel an ungodly amount of food into your mouth.”

I roll my eyes, smiling. “Can I help?”

“Sure. Wash the vegetables, and I’ll cut them. Hey, how come I didn’t notice you taking giant bites when we were at the ranch?”

“Well, we were with your family then, so…”

“So you decided to act like a civilized human?”

---