Page 7 of My CEO Neighbor (Neighborhood Hotties #5)

"We run out of money in four months. I have to lay off thirty people who believed in this company, who took pay cuts to work here because they trusted me to make it work.

" Ted's voice cracked slightly. "I have to call my parents and explain that their son, the one who was supposed to be the successful entrepreneur, failed spectacularly and publicly. "

The pain in his voice made Monica's chest ache. "Your parents put pressure on you about the business?"

"My parents put pressure on me about everything.

My father built a construction company from nothing, turned it into a multimillion-dollar operation before he was forty.

My older brother's a surgeon. My sister's a federal judge.

" Ted laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"And then there's me, the family screwup who couldn't even finish his MBA. "

"You didn't finish your MBA?"

"Dropped out junior year to start CloudSync. Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Monica tried to imagine the kind of family dynamic that would make Ted feel like a screwup despite running his own company. "Do they know how hard you're working?"

"They know I'm not married, don't have kids, and my company hasn't gone public yet. According to my father's metrics, that makes me zero for three on adult achievements."

The admission hit Monica harder than it should have. She understood the pressure of family expectations, the weight of feeling like you were disappointing people who were supposed to love you unconditionally.

"Those are your father's metrics, not yours."

"What are my metrics? What am I supposed to measure success by?"

The question hung in the darkness between them, vulnerable and raw. Monica wished she could see Ted's face, read his expression, but maybe the darkness made this easier for both of them.

"What made you start the company?" she asked.

"I wanted to solve a problem that actually mattered.

Data integration sounds boring, but it's not to me.

It's about helping businesses work more efficiently, communicate better, waste less time on manual processes.

" Ted's voice gained energy as he talked, and Monica found herself drawn to the passion there, the way he came alive when he talked about things he cared about.

"The current solutions are clunky and expensive, designed by engineers who've never actually worked in the environments they're trying to serve. I thought we could do better."

"And have you? Done better?"

"Our software is better. Our user experience is better. Our customer satisfaction scores are better." Ted paused. "But none of that matters if we can't scale, and we can't scale without funding."

"Why does it have to be this specific funding? Are there other investors?"

"Dexter Capital isn't just money. They're validation. They're the difference between being a promising startup and being a serious player. If Gavin Dexter invests in us, other investors will follow. If he doesn't..." Ted trailed off.

"If he doesn't, you find another way."

"There might not be another way."

Monica felt a strange urge to comfort him, to reach across the darkness and touch his hand or his shoulder or any part of him that would convey that he wasn't alone in this small, dark space.

The urge was so strong it scared her—when was the last time she'd wanted to comfort a man?

When was the last time she'd wanted to touch anyone?

Instead, she shifted position, accidentally bumping his knee with hers. The contact sent heat shooting up her leg, and she realized how starved for touch she'd been.

"Sorry," she murmured, but she didn't move away.

Neither did he.

"Can I ask you something?" Ted's voice was closer now, like he'd leaned forward. "Why did you really leave marketing? I mean, beyond the panic attacks. What was the final straw?"

Monica was quiet for a long moment, remembering.

"I was working on a campaign for a weight loss supplement that didn't work.

The clinical trials were inconclusive, the ingredients were basically expensive caffeine, but my job was to find ways to market it to women who hated their bodies enough to spend sixty dollars on false hope. "

"That's rough."

"I wrote headlines about 'transforming your life' and 'becoming the woman you're meant to be' for a product that would maybe help someone lose water weight for two weeks. And I was good at it. I was so good at convincing people to want things that wouldn't actually help them."

"So you quit."

"So I had a panic attack in the middle of a client presentation and locked myself in the bathroom for forty-five minutes." Monica's laugh was shaky. "Not my most professional moment."

"What did you do after that?"

"Took a yoga class. It was supposed to be stress relief, but for the first time in months, I felt quiet.

Like my brain could actually rest." Monica shifted, her knee still touching Ted's, and she was hyperaware of that point of contact.

"It sounds stupid, but I realized I'd forgotten what it felt like to be present in my own body. "

"It doesn't sound stupid."

"It doesn't?"

"No. It sounds..." Ted paused, and Monica heard him take a slow breath, the kind she'd been teaching him. "It sounds like you found a solution that worked for you."

Not being able to see Ted's face made his voice more intimate, made every word feel deliberate and important.

"Can I ask you a question now?" she said.

"Okay."

"When was the last time you felt quiet? Like your brain could rest?"

Ted was silent for so long that Monica wondered if he was going to answer at all.

"I don't think I ever have," he said finally. "Even as a kid, I was always thinking about the next thing, the next goal, the next way to prove I was worth something."

"To whom?"

"Everyone. My parents, my teachers, my peers. Myself, I guess."

Monica felt a recognition that went deeper than professional sympathy. She understood the exhaustion of constantly performing, constantly trying to prove your worth through achievement.

"Ted."

"Yeah?"

"You know you're already worthy, right? Not because of what you've accomplished or how much money you make or whether your company goes public. Just because you exist."

Another long silence. Then: "That's a nice thought."

"It's not a thought. It's true."

"How can you be so sure?"

Monica reached out in the darkness, found Ted's hand resting on his knee, and covered it with hers. She felt him go very still at the contact, felt the warmth of his skin beneath her palm.

"Because I can see you," she said. "Even in the dark, I can see you."

His fingers closed around hers. The gesture was simple, but it sent heat racing up Monica's arm and settled somewhere low in her stomach. His hand was larger than hers, strong and warm, and she wondered what those fingers would feel like tracing her skin, mapping her body with careful attention.

When was the last time someone had held her hand with such gentle intensity? When was the last time she'd felt this kind of electric awareness from such simple contact?

They sat like that for a moment, hands linked in the darkness, both of them breathing carefully like they were afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing had formed between them.

Then Ted cleared his throat and pulled his hand away, leaving Monica's palm cold and empty.

"I'm always thinking," he said.

"I noticed."

"It's probably my most annoying quality."

"It's not even in the top five."

Ted laughed, a real laugh this time, and Monica felt warmth bloom in her chest. She'd made him laugh. More than that, she'd made him relax, made him breathe properly, made him admit things he probably didn't say out loud very often.

"What are the top five?" Ted asked.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Hit me."

Monica grinned in the darkness. "Your conference calls at six in the morning. The way you rev your car engine before you drive away, like you're announcing your departure to the entire neighborhood. Your pathological relationship with your phone. And..."

"And?"

"The way you look at people like you're calculating their quarterly earnings potential."

"I do not do that."

"You did it to me in the hallway last week."

"That's because I was wondering how much yoga instructors make and whether you could actually afford to live in this building." The admission slipped out before Ted could stop it.

"You were thinking about my finances?"

"I was thinking about..." Ted stopped. "Never mind."

"No, finish that sentence."

"I was thinking about how you always look so calm and put-together, and I couldn't figure out if that was natural or if you were just better at hiding your stress than the rest of us."

Monica felt heat creep up her neck. "And what conclusion did you reach?"

"I'm still working on it."

The air between them felt charged, electric, like the space right before lightning struck.

Monica was suddenly, acutely aware of every point where their bodies were almost touching—her knee still brushed against his, their shoulders were close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, and if she leaned forward just a few inches. ..

"We should probably change the topic."

"Why?"

"Because we're trapped in a small space and I'm already having trouble thinking clearly, and if we keep having this conversation, I'm going to do something that probably isn't appropriate given our current circumstances."

Monica felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with the elevator's temperature. "What kind of something?"

"The kind that would make tomorrow morning very awkward."

"Tomorrow morning is already going to be awkward. We might as well make it worthwhile."