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ADAM

I tap the final formula into the Excel spreadsheet on the screen in front of me and take in the sea of red. If these weren’t the figures for my own business, I would be laughing. I have not only cut to the bone; I’ve taken on a load of debt, too. Unsecured, high-interest loans. Stupid. Stupid, Adam. I’m like a frog that’s being slowly boiled in water, each year a little worse, a little more red on this spreadsheet. I haven’t moved anywhere near fast enough, and the bottom line is a disaster. Ten years! Ten years since I started this company and nurtured the ideas I first had in college.

I swing around in my chair and stare out the window at the brick wall of the cheap below-ground space we rent in Brooklyn. We’re intimate friends, this wall and I. Staring at it has solved many an electronics problem. Every crack in it is familiar. How long can I string my business out? Borrowed money and borrowed time.

My phone vibrates, and I turn back to my desk, flipping it over to find the words Janus Phillips across the top of the screen, and a small sigh seeps out, even as my mouth curls up. I press to answer.

“Adam! How’s it going?” he says.

Janus is one of my best friends and runs one of the most successful tech startups in New York. Am I envious? Yeah, a little, but he’s also loyal to a fault. He has everything figured out, and I’m never sure how or what I’m doing that’s so different from him.

“All right. Still soldiering on.”

“Yeah. All I remember is the constant terror that it was all going to implode.”

I laugh. Janus raised a lot of money and played a high-stakes game with his company, which has paid off spectacularly. Mine’s not in the same league at all. Selling small electronic components and kits via a website to people who want to prototype and experiment hasn’t taken off like cloud computing has over the last ten years.

But I couldn’t bring myself to go down that risky road. I’ve seen plenty of startups struggle because of the funds they’ve raised, and the pressure applied by banks and VCs. I like making things and working on them with my own hands, not shifting numbers on a screen. My parents and sister Victoria are all accountants, and their belief in the finance industry and my opposition to it has led to a somewhat strained relationship.

Victoria used to make fun of me having a startup, and I ribbed her in return about being a corporate drone, but as she’s progressed in her company and her salary has increased, the jokes have been replaced by a deafening silence. She’s bought a house and goes on fancy vacations. She’s not exactly mean, my sister, but we’re both competitive and I’m sure she’s secretly pleased she’s doing better than me, given that she’s three years younger. My parents, on the other hand, don’t even try and conceal their frowns and pursed lips whenever the subject of my business comes up, and it’s become more and more difficult to hide how much I’m struggling.

“I’m calling because I got an unusual request,” Janus hums, dragging me back to the phone in my hand. “I mean it’s a bit late now …”

“What is it?”

“Anna Talanova’s agent called my PA, Jenny, and asked if I’d be amenable to going to an awards event with her tonight.”

Before Janus found Jo, he attended a lot of red-carpet events with gorgeous women on his arm, and the resultant publicity gave his business a huge leg-up .

“She’s a tennis player, right? Does she know about Jo?”

“Yes, the tennis player, and yes, she does know about Jo. But she’s really stuck. I’ve helped her out in the past. She’s got some problem with the guy who was supposed to accompany her.”

“What’s this got to do with me?”

“Well, I suggested you go in my place.”

“You did what ?”

“I sent Anna a link to that interview you did with Electronics Today , and she said you looked ‘cute.’ Her words, not mine, buddy.”

I glance down at my old T-shirt and faded jeans and laugh. That would not be the word she’d use if she could see me now. They tidied me up for the photo shoot for that magazine article. No one would ever describe me as “cute.” Sensible, yes. Boring, possibly. OCD, for sure. I’m not interested in anything beyond technology and getting this goddamn company to survive. Oh, and money! I’m always interested in that.

“Isn’t it a bit odd that …”

Janus sighs. “This is what they do.”

“They eye up guys in the paper and ask their agents to call their offices?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s ridiculous. I can’t go to some high-profile thing with a tennis player, Janus! What the hell would we talk about?”

He chuckles. “She’s gorgeous by the way, and probably earns a ton of money.”

That sounds far too close to echoes of the past. “Who are you—my mother? Are you trying to find me a woman?”

“Well, you have to admit you don’t get out much.”

“And we all know why that is. I don’t do women anymore—you know this.”

The long pregnant silence on the line makes sweat break out on my neck.

“Did you ever go out when your business was small and struggling to survive?” I add, deflecting. Damn, I’m giving more away than I want to here—though, of anyone, Janus would understand a company being on the edge. But for ten years, Adam ?

Goddammit, is it possible to surgically remove my mother’s voice from my head?

“She’s good people, and she hasn’t had an easy time of late.”

And that’s a hard no. A needy woman who’s messed up? Absolutely not.

“Please. As a favor to me. I’d like to help her out,” he says.

Oh! Goddamn Janus and his ability to lean on people.

“I’m sending you a link,” he adds into my stony silence.

My phone vibrates, and when I click the link, a beautiful dark-haired woman fills the screen.

“Whoa! That’s her?”

Janus laughs. “Go on, it will get you out of the office, and if you’re anything like me, I’m betting you slept on the couch there for the last three nights.”

Damn, he has a terrible habit of being right. “I’m not dressed for an awards thing, and I’ll fall asleep in my soup.”

Clearly sensing I’m weakening, he says, “If I can find you a suit, will you go?”

“You’re not spending your time finding me a suit.”

“Jenny will organize it.”

Jesus Christ. I glower at the on-screen circuit board I was designing before he called. My plan for the evening was to finish it. “What time?”

“7:30 p.m., but you’ll have to be at her apartment two hours beforehand.”

Fuck that . “Two hours!” I glance at my watch—it’s 2:30 p.m. now. How’s Jenny going to drum up a suit that fast?

“Thanks, man. I really appreciate it. I’ll get Anna’s agent to give you a call.” And he hangs up.

I stare at the phone in my hand.

“Why do I have to be there two hours earlier?” I say to my empty office.

I look at the design on my screen again. Is finishing this going to make the difference between success and failure? No, no it isn’t. But as I’m studying it, my phone vibrates again.

“Hey, Mr. Miller, Barbara Levy, Anna Talanova’s agent. Thanks so much for helping Anna out tonight. Can I call you Adam? And you’ve got to call me Barb.” Her words rattle out in a strong New York accent.

That fast? I want to groan and bury my head in my hands, but all that spills out is: “I’m happy to help, but I’m the dullest man on the planet and I can’t do small talk.”

She chuckles. “Anna has dated several athletes. You can’t be worse than them, trust me.”

What’s wrong with athletes? Do I want to know? Probably, yes. “What did they talk about?”

“Stats. Competitors. How they were three tenths of a second off a gold medal. I think Anna has enough of that in her life already.”

I laugh. They have no idea how boring tech is. “I can talk a good game about voltage differentials across a resistor.”

“Sounds fascinating.”

“What do I need to wear?”

“A suit of some description. Janus said his PA was going to courier a few options over to you.”

Holy shit. I’m struggling to make the rent on this little unit in Brooklyn and people are couriering designer suits around New York. But “Great!” is all that comes out.

“They want you at Anna’s apartment at 5:30 p.m. sharp to get you ready and give you a briefing. Is that okay?”

They? Who are they ? And get me ready ? What are they planning to do to me? Jesus. I still haven’t got my head around that two hours. No way can I afford that kind of time.

“Is two hours really necessary?” I say. Am I sounding like a diva here?

The phone goes muffled on the other end—voices in the background—and I chew my lip. This is probably a pain in the ass for Anna, and they don’t need some guy who runs a small tech startup throwing his weight around.

Barb comes back on the line. “I’m afraid there’s too much media interest in Anna, Adam. The whole thing will be scrutinized, and we don’t want to put you in a position where you’re unprepared for it.”

What can I say? I’m in this now, for Janus, and I’m not the kind of person who’d let someone down. “No problem, I’ll be there at five-thirty.” Boy, am I going to get something good out of him for this!

“We’ll make sure it goes smoothly, Adam. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Thanks, Barb. And I appreciate you inviting me. I’m excited to meet Anna.” I smile at the wall to try and make myself sound genuine.

“She’s excited to meet you, too.” Suurrre . “See you later.” And she hangs up.

I turn my phone over in my hand. I spent most of my college years bailing Janus and Fabian out of one problem or another. This doesn’t feel too different. I pull up the texting app.

Is this going to be a load of hassle?

Janus responds instantly:

Get over yourself. It’ll be an amazing experience, and I’m quite liking my new role as your social secretary.

I chuckle.

Smallest job role in history.

But he’s right. I should be flattered. Janus told me a tale or two when he first started dating famous women, but it didn’t seem like something that would happen in real life. But here we are.

Jenny’s sending you a briefing on Anna.

I laugh. Of course she is. Damn, I’d love to have a PA who helped me out like that. I can hardly afford the admin person we’ve got these days.

Good. I need to know more about this woman who’s getting her agent to phone around eligible bachelors in New York.

Eligible. Ha! I grin at my phone. Well, at least this has stopped me thinking for a night about how my business might be going under in two months if I don’t pull a rabbit out of the hat.