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“What was starting your business like for you?”
His eyes flick to me, and there’s no scorn or anything in them. He’s still not very expressive, but I feel like I’m getting better at reading his mood just from the vibes he’s giving off. He seems relaxed and not annoyed. He takes a drink of his water and sits back in his chair.
“I didn’t start as a bodyguard,” he answers, and if I didn’t know better, I would have said it was a joke. “I jumped into the deep end with the technology, I guess.”
“What does that mean?”
“How much do you know about what my company did before the merger?” he asks.
“Um, you worked on moving companies to the cloud,” I answer. “Their stuff, I mean. Data.”
Tristan nods. “Exactly. But ‘the cloud’ as a concept was a nebulous thing for a while. No one really knew what it meant, and a lot of people who had been using paper files and local systems didn’t really trust it. I showed them that they could.”
“He’s simplifying,” Xavier says, propping his elbow up on the table to rest his head in his hand. “He took a technology that people didn’t really understand and basically put his reputation up as collateral. If something had happened and all his clients’ data was deleted or lost, it would have cost Tristan everything. It was a big risk.”
Tristan shrugs shoulder. “It was necessary. It took a long time of working to build trust in both my services and the concept, and it didn’t always work out the way I wanted to.”
“He built his company from the ground up,” Dominic chimes in. “All the articles about it talked about how you ‘came from nothing’ and ended up taking the tech world by storm. I remember reading about how fast it was growing once it took off and how you had your fingers in everything that was happening. You must have been working yourself to the bone.”
“It was worth it,” is all Tristan says to that. There’s… something in his tone. It’s not quite an emotion I can pick up on, but there’s an edge to his words that makes me think he’s not saying it was worth it because of the money.
Still, I know better than to pry.
“I hate that phrase, anyway,” Tristan continues. “‘Came from nothing’. You don’t have to be born into money to have something.”
“No argument there,” Xavier says, and I nod in agreement.
Dominic nod as well, drumming his fingers on the table. “It makes my story seem lame by comparison. I didn’t grow up fighting the odds the way you two did.”
“You don’t have to be all rags to riches to be valid, Dom,” Xavier says. “You struck out on your own with no help from your father or anything. Most people from families as powerful in the business world as yours is would have gone crawling back for a loan or something to make things easier.”
“You made yourself who you are,” Tristan offers. “There’s plenty to be proud of in that.”
“Yeah. Guess so,” Dominic agrees.
I remember Xavier saying that Dominic doesn’t talk to his parents because they were terrible to him, and I guess it makes sense to learn that they had a lot of money but not a lot of love. It seems like that’s a pretty common story with wealthy people,and it just echoes Tristan’s point that growing up poor doesn’t mean you had nothing.
It’s nice, watching the three of them talk business in a way that doesn’t lead to them arguing. They’re relaxed and comfortable, safe in the privacy of our home, and it’s clear to see that they’re starting to come together more. They all have more in common than they first thought, and the more time we all spend like this, the more apparent that becomes.
They’re bonding, and it means something to me to be here to see it. To be trusted with their stories and their private lives.
I don’t have much to offer with regards to the business talk, they all know how my business failed, after all, but I do have something to add to the moment in general.
“Okay,” I say, standing up from the table. “I made dessert if we’re all ready for it.”
Xavier hops up and starts to help me clear the table, and Tristan and Dominic pitch in as well. I leave them to throwing out containers and loading the dishwasher go to the corner of the counter where my prize is waiting under an opaque cake carrier lid.
The men had more work to do when we got home from the office, and I used that time to make something. This will be the first time they try my baking, and I’m weirdly nervous to share it with them. I want them to like it, since this is one of the few things I have to offer.
Once they’re all back in their seats, I come out carrying a cake.
It looks fairly simple, just a bundt cake formed in a pan with a geometric pattern on the bottom that transferred to the top of the cake once it was taken out of the pan. It smells like lemon and thyme syrup, and the top is shiny with a glaze.
One of them has taken the liberty of setting out plates, and I put the cake in the center of the table and start cutting slices.
“Holy shit,” Xavier says, leaning across the table to get a better look. “You made that? When?”
“When you guys were on that call before dinner. I had to do something to pass the time, and I wanted… I don’t know. I wanted to make you something.”