2. PEDRO
2
PEDRO
A s I step into my living-room-slash-dining-room-slash-home-gym in my modest two-bedroom condo in the Theater District, the last thing I need to see greets me: a camera.
Tío Juan is mid-setup, positioning his phone on a tripod to record another episode for his online persona, Juan Uncut. The irony of the name is a well-known punchline among his followers, considering his previous career as an adult film star. Dressed in skin-tight leggings that defy both gravity and modesty, every time he bends over to adjust the phone angle, his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows offers a view that flirts with indecent exposure.
“I see why you have so many followers,” I remark, gesturing toward Tío Juan’s spandex-man-flex. “Your audience is getting the full 3D experience today, huh?”
“What can I say? It’s all about giving the people what they want,” he replies with a shrug, completely unfazed. “Speaking of which, it’s Juan Uncut time!” he declares, hitting the record button with a mischievous grin. “Welcome to Juan Uncut, all you modern guys, gals, and gays, where editing is for amateurs, and every take is a masterpiece!” he proclaims, his voice full of roguish charm.
I can’t help but laugh at his exuberance. As usual, I make a quick retreat into the kitchen, well out of the camera’s view. The last thing I need is to be caught on film with Juan Uncut, considering my current professional image.
Tío Juan continues, flashing a grin at the camera. “Juan Uncut is raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically real—just like life and the wild honey from my ranch in Utah! Link in the description. Fifty percent of profits go straight to my bank account.” He then pulls a second phone from his fanny pack and taps the screen to start his workout playlist. As usual, it opens with “Sitting - Josh Mac Version” by TJ Mack, a track from his favorite YouTuber, Brian Jordan Alvarez.
He reaches for a pair of two-pound weights, adjusting his workout gear, which resembles something straight out of an ’80s Jane Fonda video. “Back in my day, a 'workout' meant something else, and the only pre-workout was a little blue pill!” he exclaims, beginning a round of bicep curls. “And let me tell you, no camera phones back then. We had cameramen in plastic ponchos, dodging more than just sweat. ”
His commentary veers dangerously close to my dating life. “Speaking of dodging, my nephew here is currently evading more bullets than Neo, thanks to that last influencer girlfriend of his—more filters than a Brita pitcher!”
I shoot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. The last thing I need is for my romantic escapades to become part of Juan Uncut’s weekly drama. Tío Juan, unfazed, continues his rambling workout with gusto. After seven minutes of what could generously be called exercise, he signs off with his usual flourish. “And that’s it for today, folks! Remember, keep it real and uncut—just like your old friend Juan. And don’t forget, life’s too fun for filters. This is Juan, signing off. BJA, collab!”
The plea for a Brian Jordan Alvarez collaboration has become a fixture of his sign-offs. he’s vowed to keep it up until the YouTube star takes notice.
As soon as the camera stops rolling, Juan throws a towel over his shoulder and drops onto a barstool. “How’re you holding up since you split with the girl boss?”
I raise an eyebrow, mindful of the camera presence. “You’re not still recording, right? I can’t have my personal life on your channel. I’ve got investors to answer to.”
Juan waves away my concern. “Relax, mijo ! ‘Juan Uncut’ may be raw, but it’s not about airing family secrets. Especially not ours, business partner!” He flashes me an exaggerated wink .
I sigh, feeling the weight of my life’s current circus act—like juggling flaming torches while riding a unicycle on a tightrope over a pit of lizard people wearing whatever tech billionaires wear when they’re not pretending to be human. Taking seed money from a relative whose fortune was built in adult entertainment was always a gamble, and we agreed he’d invest through a shell company to keep things clean. But now, with him staying in my home, it’s like I’m one wrong move away from someone finding my incognito browser history.
Leaning back against the marble counter, I groan, “Man, where do I even start with Jessica? Her life is one big Insta-sham.”
Tío Juan chuckles, wiping his dry forehead with a towel. “Ah, Jessica and her perfect life. Have you seen her videos? More cuts than Sweeney Todd’s victims.”
I laugh. “She’s battling reality and losing.”
He nods, leaning closer. “And the content! One day she’s a yoga coach, the next she’s a vegan chef. I’m just waiting for the day she declares herself a quantum physicist.”
“She already did,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Quantum healing with essential oils and crystals. Get with it, Tío.”
Juan bursts out laughing. “Speaking of getting with it, I need your help printing an email.”
I smile, feeling the tension of the past few weeks ease away slightly. “I think I can manage that without calling in the Geek Squad.”
Juan pats me on the back. “You’re better off without her. You need someone real and uncut—like your Tío Juan! Whatever happened with you and Aria?”
I can’t help but flinch, surprised that he’s still bringing up Aria after all this time. “Tío, it’s been four years,” I say, trying to laugh it off, though the question still hits closer to home than I’d like to admit. “It didn’t work out. Timing was all wrong, and you know how life gets in the way,” I say, falling short of admitting that I’ve thought about her. “It just wasn’t meant to be,” I say, swerving away from admitting that I’ve thought about her. “Anyway, I just need to focus on getting through the next few weeks. The summit is taking up all my time right now.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, anxiety gnaws at me. I hadn’t meant to mention the summit. Venture Summit is next month’s investor retreat at a ski resort in Aspen, where I hope to quietly finalize the sale of Aira Labs to a tech giant. Even though the company’s doing well, I’ve realized that I’m not cut out to run this beast. This acquisition has been my endgame for almost a year, ever since I realized how miserable I was with Jessica. She was supposed to charm the investors, but now, with her out of the picture, I need to keep my uncle from getting too curious about my next steps.
Juan’s eyebrows wiggle as he asks, “So, you need a date for this year’s summit?”
Panic flickers in my chest. “Actually, I’ve already got a date…with Omar. You remember Omar from the time we visited your ranch?” The lie slips out smoothly, polished from years of pitching to investors.
Juan nods, his face lighting up. “Oh, yeah. Omar, the hacker. Good choice. You could use someone like him to help you dodge the lady-bullets. Maybe I’ll use that time alone to work on my Tinder game.”
Juan arrived two weeks ago for Adult Con, where he was a featured guest on a fan panel. He was supposed to stay with me for a week, but when Jessica and I broke up, he extended his stay to “support” me. I figured he’d be gone before the summit, but now it seems like he has no intention of leaving anytime soon.
I shake my head at the thought of Juan swiping through Tinder profiles. “You sure Valentino’s okay with you being away from the ranch for so long?”
Juan gives me a look like I’ve asked the world’s dumbest question. “Valentino can run that place with his eyes closed, hands tied, and both legs on vacation. I’m here for you, mijo . I’m not leaving until the summit is over.”
Juan starts making himself a post-workout smoothie, moving around the kitchen like he’s lived here for years. After almost three weeks of his extended stay, he’s clearly made himself at home. As he reaches for a jar of ancient Peruvian maca powder, my phone buzzes. Expecting the usual forgettable notifications, I glance at the screen—only to spot a text from Martin, our in-house counsel at Aira Labs .
The subject reads: Separation Agreement. My heart hammers.
The email itself is worse:
Pedro,
I received a non-disclosure agreement (NDA) and a Cease and Desist (C it’s a proving ground for my solo capabilities in the tech world .
Now, I’m left strategizing not just the summit pitch but how to let Tío Juan know he won’t be my plus-one. This isn’t just about navigating the shark-infested waters of Silicon Valley anymore. I’m being forced to confront the summit head-on, solo.
Unless, maybe…I can find another Jessica?