2. I Don’t Always Follow the Rules
2
I DON’T ALWAYS FOLLOW THE RULES
Nick
This is a perfect morning for a swim outdoors under the bright, blue sky, the sun’s rays warming my shoulders.
I freestyle my way down the pool for another glorious lap, shuddering at the thought of the gray skies waiting for me in London tomorrow when I return. I’m going to suck the juice out of every second here in the South Florida sun.
I should probably wear sunscreen. But I don’t always follow the rules.
I finish the final lap, running a hand over my hair as I climb out of the infinity pool at my older brother’s Miami Beach home. I grab a towel, and after I dry off my face, I tip my chin toward my brother. He’s stretched out on a lounge chair under an umbrella, shades on, holding the last of a delicious-smelling espresso beverage. “Man, what kind of service is this if there’s no Café Cubano waiting for me?”
Finn scoffs, the sun glinting off the few silver streaks in his dark hair. That’s new, but I don’t give him a hard time about it. My turn is coming.
“You get a free place to stay, Nick.” He sweeps out a hand, indicating the pool here at his second home. “You get a free pool to use. Now you need free fucking coffee?”
I stand over him and shake my wet hair, flinging droplets like a Saint Bernard. Okay, less than a Saint Bernard would, but still satisfying.
“You asshole!” He sits up, wipes his face, and holds up his cup. “If you got chlorine in my cup…”
“Aww, did I ruin your coffee?” I ask, faking remorse.
After he takes the final drink like a stoic bastard, he sets it down on the table next to him with a loud clink. He lies back on the lounge chair, parking his hands behind his head. “My morning was more peaceful when you were in the pool doing laps.”
“Ah, it must be good to live the unexamined life.” I toss the towel on my chair and sit down at the end of it, lifting my face briefly to the gorgeous orb in the sky.
“Maybe I’ve been examining your phone,” Finn counters.
That reminds me. Enough lounging. Stretching my arm, I grab the silver device from the table next to him. “Doubtful. It’s only got a twenty-five-character password.”
“Tech geek,” he mutters.
“That’s me,” I say dryly. More like finance geek. But I invest in tech so I can’t entirely dispute his accusation. As I tap in the twenty-five characters—memorized, since it’s not that hard to commit twenty-five characters to memory—I ask, “Did anyone call while I was swimming?”
“Am I your secretary?”
“I hope so.”
“Were you expecting your conference hookup to call?”
An image from yesterday flashes past me. Blonde hair. Red lips. A fearless gaze. Temptation personified. And a helluva test.
I shove that image away. “I don’t mess around at conferences. It’s distracting,” I toss back as I type.
“It might loosen you up a little bit,” he suggests, the jackass.
“I am not tightly wound,” I reply.
“Did you or did you not ask if anyone called the second you got out of the water?”
“That’s the normal time to ask,” I say. A lot can happen during a forty-five minute swim. I can’t afford to miss a deal, a chance, an opportunity.
“That’s tightly wound. That’s obsessed with business,” he says, like he’s offering a character assessment in a court of law, when the fucker’s exactly the same way. Hell, he runs in the same business circles I do.
But rather than fire off a takes one to know one reply, I simply shrug, owning my one true love—this company I built from the ground up over the last few years, thanks to my blood, sweat and tears. “Guilty as charged,” I say, sliding open the missed calls and hoping one of them is the one I want. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure hookups text instead of call. But that’s irrelevant, since the call I am expecting is from Vault saying yes to the term sheet we offered yesterday.”
I feel pretty damn good about that offer. It’s the kind that says we want to be your investor, we believe in your tech, and we will all get motherfucking rich off this deal if we play it right. If a term sheet could swagger, this one would.
I check the string of missed calls, and hallelujah. The first one’s local, from the hotshot twenty-five-year-old CEO of the encryption technology firm I met with yesterday.
Quickly, I read the voicemail transcript.
This is Jared Song calling to say we accept your venture firm’s offer .
“Hell yes,” I say, pumping a fist.
Finn sits up again, eyes sparking. He mouths an appreciative “ nice” then offers a high-five.
I smack back as I read the next voicemail transcript. This is Valeria from the Innovation and Technology Leadership Summit. We spoke yesterday when you were part of our VIP one-on-one sessions.
We’ve found we have a bit of a situation. Our closing keynote, Mikka Halla, came down with laryngitis this morning, and we are desperately in need of a dynamic, engaging speaker for our final session late this afternoon. You were so terrific yesterday. Is there any chance we could convince you to fill in last minute? We’re happy to pay a speaker stipend.
I scratch my jaw.
This summit is full of up-and-coming tech stars, newly launched startups, and partners they need to do business with. Honestly, the organizers should have asked me in the first place. But I’ve learned that nothing is handed to you in life. Everything is earned.
And sometimes, you earn it by capitalizing on someone else’s bad luck.
This is a golden chance to put the Alpha Ventures name in front of the industry.
I look up from the phone and tell my brother the good news. “And to think I was going to take off for London this afternoon.”
He holds his arms out wide, showing off the city he loves. “Like it’s a hardship to stay another night in Miami.”
I look around, inhaling the ocean air, the salty breeze, and taking in the decadent sun here at Finn’s gorgeous beachfront home—his second home since he’s mostly in New York. “It’s so terrible to be here.”
“You can stay another night.” He checks the time on his phone. “Marilyn is flying in this afternoon, but…”
I wave off the invitation. Shit’s been rough with his wife. The last thing I want to do is get in the way. I squeeze his knee affectionately. “Focus on your woman. I’ll get a room somewhere.”
“I’m sure she won’t mind if you’re here,” he says, like a hopeful fucker who can’t see the writing on the wall.
Marilyn will mind. She minds pretty much everything. I don’t say that to Finn though. He’s got to figure it out on his own—whether to Hail Mary his marriage or to punt.
“You sure?” he asks.
“No problem,” I reassure him. “I’ll call my assistant and ask him to handle the changes.”
Five minutes later, Kyle tells me he has me booked into a room at the art deco Luxe Hotel on South Beach where the conference is being held. It’s where I swam the other day in the ocean. “I got you into a suite. Just the way you like it,” he says, a hint of Queens still in his voice. “And I’ve got you on a flight tomorrow back to London.”
“Thanks, Kyle. I really appreciate it. Say hi to your pops for me.”
When I hang up, my brother’s looking at me curiously. “Is that Kyle, as in, Dad’s friend Jack’s son? The one who was in rehab?”
“Yup. He’s clean now. The kid needed a job, so I gave him one.”
Finn nods thoughtfully. “Any good?”
I shrug. “He’s not bad.”
That cracks up my brother. “You never think anyone is good enough, Nick,” he says through his laughter.
“That is not true,” I protest, but only half-heartedly, since it mostly is. I wish more people were more motivated. I wish people worked fucking hard. But people don’t. Which just means more opportunity for me.
“Let me amend it,” Finn says. “You never think anyone works as hard as you. Or is as smart as you. Or as ambitious as you.”
Do I think that? I’d kind of be a dick if I did. But no one knows you like family. Maybe Finn’s assessment is a little true. “My kid would be good enough if he’d come work for me,” I say, but I’m resigned to reality. He’s not coming to London to set up shop with his dad.
Finn smiles sympathetically. “That probably won’t happen.”
“Truer words. And on that note, I should get ready for the conference,” I say, then make my way inside, returning Valeria’s call as I pad across the marble floor to the guest room. “I’d be happy to do the speech this afternoon, but a stipend is unnecessary. You can donate my speaker fee to a local homeless shelter.”
“That’s so wonderful, Mr. Adams. We’re immensely grateful.” After that, she gives me the details, mentioning that the conference has attracted a lot of business press and podcasters, and they’ll be wanting to do interviews after.
Even better. “I’m game,” I say then I tap the names of the pertinent ones into my notes app.
After I end the call, I hit the shower. As I wash off the chlorine, an intriguing thought occurs to me. Since I’m here another day, maybe I’ll see the woman in the cherry dress again.
I close my eyes, dipping my head back under the hot stream, letting myself remember her.
I didn’t want to think of her earlier out by the pool.
But now that I’m alone, steam enveloping me, it’s hard not to remember the way she looked standing in the doorway yesterday afternoon.
Blonde hair curled over her shoulders. Her lush lips shined, red and glossy. She was wearing the hell out of that dress that hugged her curves—a dress that made my hands itch to touch her.
A bold, blue daisy tattoo on her left shoulder.
Most of all, I can still picture exactly how she’d turned her gaze toward me. I couldn’t tell the color of her eyes from a distance, but they stayed locked on me. I didn’t look away, just indulged in the view and everything I could tell about her beyond those pinup looks. Looks are great and all, but they aren’t what ultimately draws me to a woman. In those five seconds, she felt fearless and curious all at once.
One glance, one long-held stare, and I’d wanted to break my hookup rules, march over to her, and ask her out that night. Probably would have if I wasn’t a believer in punctuality. But I had a commitment to that VIP session.
Now, I have a commitment to a keynote.
But if I see her again, I just might break my rules.