Chapter Eight
Iwas back up north for the retreat and, as expected, not terribly happy about it. And there was no place like Silicon Valley for inane, meaningless corporate meetings, networking, and over-budgetedgalas full of bored businessmen who’d rather be at home gaming.
Or maybe that was just me.
I was now at the end of day one of our 3-day CEO weekend retreat. I already knew this program wasn’t for me. But for the sake of sliding Jordan in to finish this, I intended to stay until I could set up that transition and discuss next steps.
Fortunately, I had a friend or two in the program along with me, so the weekend wasn’t a complete loss. And now, in typical corporate conspicuous consumerism fashion, our group was being treated to one of the most exclusive Japanese restaurants in the Bay Area. It had been reserved just for us with a lavish display of food and décor to greet us, complete with vodka ice sculptures, sake fountains, and caviar spreads.
The day’s meetings had left me bored and cranky. I really wanted to get outside.
Maybe after this, I’d go for a long run under the night sky.
Besides, I missed my wife. We barely saw each other as it was with our normal work schedules. We’d finally had the open, honest discussion about the baby question, and she generously accepted my viewpoint. But my constantly questing mind couldn’t help but dwell on the implications of that discussion—and our differing viewpoints.
There was no small fear that this issue would grow and solidify and turn into an eventual wedge between us. Because, as if I didn’t have eighty-thousand other things to worry about, I had to add this to the list as well. It was a constant, nagging judgment that sat at the back of my conscience and poked me with a jagged pitchfork every so often.
I tucked aside that thought and scanned the restaurant and the various businessmen milling about. At least I’d get some top-quality sushi out of this bullshit before I dipped out.
My friend, Dominic Fischer showed up shortly after I did, and we wandered around neon-lit colorful tropical fish tanks toward a table.
He had a whole entire life here—big house, electric car, full wardrobe so he could travel without bags—in a place he only resided during a fraction of the year.
Such was the bachelor life of an incredibly successful CEO. I should have gone into the automated car business, clearly, because his company, Tranxit, wasn’t even public yet, and he’d been valued in the billions.
“Ready for some amazing sushi?” he asked.
I laughed. “I’m ready. But it better knock my socks off.”
“Your socks haven’t already been knocked off?” He shot me a look. I opened my mouth and closed it again awkwardly before he burst out laughing and slapped my arm. “C’mon, I know you, Adam. You’ve been bored off your ass all day. Let’s enjoy our dinner, some sake. The night is still young, maybe we can get into trouble afterward.”
I held up my left hand and pointed to my wedding ring. “The only trouble I like to get into these days is at home.”
He laughed. “I didn’t mean that kind of trouble. I was thinking of some head-to-head FPS action in the gaming room at my house.”
Ah, you could take the genius out of the game room, but you couldn’t take the gamer kid out of the genius.
All along the edge of the dining room, there were stations and an elaborate—and beautiful—buffet. One of the tables had a woman lying on top of the huge serving table while men filed past, chopsticks poised.
I tilted my head, taking in the display. “Is that woman...?”
“Naked? Yes.” Dom laughed at my expression. “It’s actually a form of art in Japan. Nyotaimori, it’s called. Been around for hundreds of years.”
I threw another acerbic eye at the line of men as they filed past. “Somehow, I don’t think those guys are the art-lover type. And the last I checked, this group is far from a band of samurai warriors.”
He laughed. “No, probably not. Are you hungry?”
Filing into line, I averted my eyes from the naked woman on display, knowing just how much my wife would be ranting in my ear if she were standing here. And honestly, there were some female CEOs present. Why hadn’t the organizers thought to have a naked male sushi model as a counterpart? Did they think we dudes were too fragile to handle being near a naked guy? That presumed that we were all heterosexual, anyway.
I at least hoped they paid the model well. She lay perfectly still, staring straight in front of her. She was covered with strategically placed frond leaves and tiny flowers to cover her modesty and provide hygienic plating for the sushi, so at least there was that. And I wasn’t above noticing that she was stunningly beautiful. Nevertheless, I chose the sushi set out on regular platters rather than on her body.
It was so distracting that it took me a minute to notice that Dom wasn’t following me. When I turned to see what was holding him up, I caught him frozen and staring, pale-faced, at the sushi model. His bearing was stiff, and he looked visibly disturbed. Wasn’t he the one just explaining to me that this Nyo-whatever was an acceptable art form?
“Dom? You okay?”
He blinked, tearing his eyes away from where they were fixed—on her face, and not the barely-covered rest of her. He turned to me like he’d just brought himself out of a daze. “Huh?” He looked like he’d just seen a ghost.
Back at our table, I arched a brow at him. “Is everything okay? You seemed kind of spooked back there.”
He shrugged exaggeratedly as if to emphasize the point that he was totally nonchalant about whatever had just happened.“The model looks like someone I used to know.” He shrugged again.
I glanced at his plate. He apparently had lost his appetite. And he was strangely quiet the rest of the meal, even after we were joined by a couple of chatty New Yorkers who started pumping him about his business model. I sat back and ate my sushi and watched him dodge their often pointed questions. He really seemed out of sorts and the guys detected it too, leaving soon afterward.
“Are you still up for that shoot-’em-up?” I asked him as I stood up and buttoned my jacket.
“Sure. Hold up a minute, will you? I’m just gonna give my compliments to the chef.”
I frowned. He’d hardly eaten anything. The model had since been wheeled back into the kitchen and hopefully was now dressed in something warm, since it was cold as fuck in here. Dom pulled out several large bills from his wallet and moved to the cashier. Maybe he’d forgotten this was a corporate function, already paid for in the exorbitant price of the CEO retreat?
But instead of handing the cashier money, Dom took the envelope she provided. I stood some distance away, giving him the privacy he obviously desired as he pulled out a pen and quickly scrawled something on the envelope before stuffing several bills inside. He then walked over to hand the envelope to the chef.
I highly doubted that the model was just someone who looked like someone he once knew, but was, quite possibly, the someone herself. Especially since he’d just tipped her five hundred dollars cash.
There was definitely some hidden drama here. Something that left him deeply disturbed. It made me wonder what would go through my mind if it was someone I knew—or presumably, cared for—in the middle of that lurid display. A memory flashed in my mind. That time I’d first seen those photos Emilia had posted of herself for the online auction. They hadn’t included her face but had showed off her partially clothed body. The moment I’d clicked to see them displayed on that computer screen like the menu for a meat-market, I’d felt physically sick.
I wondered if that’s how Dom felt and if that large tip was his way of helping someone that he used to know, to make it feel better.
He’d gotten off a lot lighter than I had with my $750k auction bill.
Nowadays, I sometimes joked with Emilia about the auction. And so did she, but that wasn’t with any true emotions or memories attached. But it was all too easy to spark the memories of that tumultuous time when she wasn’t mine. When I wasn’t in a position to protect her.
Now, I just wanted to give her the world. Making her happy made me happy. So why was I so stuck on this baby thing?
A few days later, I was able to sit down with Jordan and give him the highlights from the inane CEO retreat. He took notes and asked follow-up questions with intense interest. He was particularly persistent when asking about Dominic Fischer, grilling me for details. “Okay so, when do I meet him?”
I sighed. “I’ll see what I can arrange. But since you’ll be stepping in for me, it shouldn’t be hard.”
His brows twitched up. Yeah, it was time to have the formal talk with Jordan—and change his life forever.
“So, I think it’s time, given that you’ll be entering this CEO training program, that we fast track you for actually becoming CEO of Draco Multimedia.”
He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “A drastic move to keep from having to go back to Palo Alto again.”
Unsurprisingly, Jordan already had a lot of knowledge on the process himself. Nobody could accuse him of not being enthusiastic. Just looking at the sheer amount of research he’d done told me that I’d be leaving the company in good hands.
And that was a relief. It was still my company after all, and I still cared.
And though I was still feeling the profound discomfort of the unknown ahead of me, I also felt some relief.
A chapter in my life was coming to an end which meant, naturally, somewhere, hopefully soon, a new beginning.
Regardless, I promised myself I’d be ready for it when it found me.