6. PEDRO
6
PEDRO
A s I’m staring at the EBITDA line plummeting on the Excel chart, the doorbell’s shrill ring yanks me out of my financial spiral. I glance at the clock. Six PM already? Perfect, just what I need—another distraction from the financial apocalypse on my screen. Closing my laptop, I drag myself out of my chair, half-expecting another visit from the building manager, who’s been showing up so often lately you'd think he’s planning to crash in my guest room.
But nope, it’s Eliza, Jessica’s assistant, standing there looking like she just got assigned to fetch coffee for the Devil. She’s holding an iPad in front of her like it’s a shield.
“Uh, Mr. Olivera? Jessica wants to talk to you,” she mumbles, clearly wishing she were anywhere else.
“Eliza, up!” Jessica’s voice snaps from the iPad, as commanding as ever despite the digital distortion. Eliza practically jumps out of her sneakers and shoves the tablet at me.
And there she is, Jessica in 4K glory, not a single hair out of place. Damn, she’s intense, even in pixelated form.
“Pedro, I need to grab some stuff from the apartment. Eliza’s on pickup duty,” Jessica says with a sigh, like she’s doing me a favor. “Don’t make it weird, m’kay?”
I lean against the doorframe, trying to channel my best unbothered vibe. “We talked about this. You can’t just send your minions over without giving me a heads-up first.”
Eliza looks like she’s seconds away from calling an Uber to escape.
Jessica rolls her eyes. “It’s not that deep. Just some clothes, my yoga mat, and that Bali statue thing.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a headache forming. “Fine, whatever. Come in. But this is the last time. No more surprise pop-ups.”
Eliza scurries in like she’s on a mission, holding the iPad like it might explode. I lead her to the living room, where the last of Jessica’s stuff is scattered like the debris of our relationship.
As Jessica’s assistant rifles through the rummage, I can't help but think back to how easily she took control of my life. It wasn't just about the Instagram-worthy moments we created or the public perception of us as a power couple. For a long time, I convinced myself I needed her — the validation, the image, the sense of purpose that came from being part of her world.
But now, standing here watching her assistant pack up the remnants of our life, I can't figure out why I let her have so much of me for so long. Maybe I thought I didn’t deserve better. Maybe I didn’t know there was anything better.
At least, not until I saw Aria again. Seeing her at the café was a gut punch—reminding me of what real connection feels like.
Yeah, Aria’s better; infinitely better than Jessica. But I’d been too blind, too scared to see it then. Who could blame her for ghosting me after I bailed on her during the pandemic? That bridge is probably ash now.
As Eliza continues picking up Jessica’s things, the tablet trails us around the room, Jessica’s voice following like a really annoying Alexa monologue.
“Oh, and Pedro, don’t forget about the tech summit. We should still go together, for the optics,” Jessica adds, like she didn’t just slap me with multiple legal injunctions. “Send me a pic of your outfit to coordinate.”
I freeze, the summit looming in my mind like a final boss in a video game. “Hard pass, Jess. I’m not down to cosplay as a couple right now.”
Jessica huffs, rolling her eyes so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t fall over. “Schmoozing with investors isn’t just about the tech, Pedro. It’s the social game. And we both know that’s not exactly your strong suit.”
I lock eyes with Jessica’s digital glare. “I’m not about to fake anything with you. That might work in your world, but it’s not how I roll.”
Jessica looks like she’s about to reach through the screen and strangle me. “This is so us, but I know you’ll come to your senses. You always do.”
I’m done with this conversation. “Alright, I think we’re done here. Next time, just shoot me a text, or I might have to send an injunction to your lawyer.”
Eliza, now burdened with an armful of Jessica’s things, shoots me a look that screams, “Can I please leave now?”
I nod towards the door, and she practically bolts for the exit. But before she can make her escape, Tío Juan appears, drawn to the drama like a moth to a flame.
He spots Jessica on the iPad and grins. “Ah, la reina de la pantalla! Where’s your crown, Yessica?”
Gotta love Tío’s sass.
Jessica looks like she’s just bitten into a lemon. “Oh, Juan. Always pushing my Spanish skills. I’m getting so much better, thanks to you,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Tío Juan leans in, unfazed. “You know, your little Instagram reels could use some of my sabor . Less ‘live, laugh, love,’ more ‘livin’ like Larry,’ you know?”
Jessica’s expression could freeze the sun. “My content is curated, Juan. Not like…whatever it is you post on OldPeopleTube.”
Eliza, still inching towards the door, looks like she’s caught in the middle of a nude tennis match .
Tío Juan just laughs. “ Cuidado, mija . All work and no play makes Jessica a dull influencer.”
Jessica looks like she’s about to explode. “ Gracias por el consejo ,” she grits out in the worst Spanish accent ever. Thank you for the advice. “But I think I’ll stick to my strategy.”
With one last glare, Jessica ends the call, leaving the apartment in blissful silence. Eliza dashes out the door faster than a tourist dodging a Times Square street performer wearing an Elmo suit.
I slump against the wall, my head spinning like an old-school hard drive overloaded with too many tasks. How did my life turn into this weird telenovela-meets-tech-bro fever dream? Dodging digital bullets from my ex while trying to build the next big thing in AI—it’s a lot.
It’s too much.
The tech summit looms like an iceberg, and I’m the Titanic. Just when I think I’ve got my trajectory set, Jessica shows up to throw me off course.
But then I catch sight of the screens glowing on my desk, the plummeting EBITDA flashing in my mind. That’s why I’m doing this—so all the people counting on me don’t end up out on the street.
If I can disrupt industries, I can handle one summit...and one relentless ex-girlfriend.
My mind drifts to my meeting with Aria and her insider knowledge of our next funding round.
Make that two relentless ex-girlfriends ?
Taking a deep breath, I crack my knuckles and dive back into the numbers. Startups don’t build themselves, and I’ve got a world to change, one funding round at a time.
Just as I’m about to dig in, my phone rings with a call from another special person on my radar. One with very deep pockets. Liam Bennet.