Page 28 of Made
“Yeah. Is it a stupid idea? It probably is. I have no training. I never even went to college. You can tell me, Ellie, I trust you. Am I being dumb?”
“God no,” I assure him, dropping the food and holding his hands in mine. In an actually purely platonic way. He looks so nervous. All four of his big brothers are highly educated and hugely successful. They are the very definition of alpha male overachievers. How must it feel to be Maddox?
Personally, I think he’s incredibly mature. He knows himself in a way most people never do. But compared to the others, it’s possible even he could feel like a failure.
“Maddox, you’d be amazing. Your cooking is to die for, honestly. The best I’ve ever tasted, and I’ve tasted alot.”
I edge slightly into self-deprecating there, and he shoots me a warning look. He doesn’t like me dissing myself, even when I’m obviously joking. “Seriously, Maddox, I think it’s a great idea. But why do you need a business plan? Couldn’t you just, um, you know…”
“Buy it outright and see what happens?”
I nod. No use shying away from it. That is what I mean. He’s in a financial position most people could only dream about. I know he lives a humble life, the odd splurge on a precious Yankees cap aside, but he has money. He wouldn’t need a loan, or to convince an investor to take a chance on him.
“Because I don’t want to play at this, Ellie. I want it to be real. I want it to work. I have no desire to be a master of the universe like my brothers, and I wouldn’t be doing it for the money, I’d be following my passion. But I also want it to succeed. I want it to be valid, to have a chance. So I think the best way to do that would be to go it alone, like any other start-up. I’m putting together the business plan, and I have some investors in mind, and…” He blows out a breath, steadying himself. “But now that I’m saying it out loud, I’m not sure. It’s a lot.”
“It is a lot. But you’re more than capable. Besides, you wouldn’t be doing it alone.”
“I told you, I don’t want to ask my brothers for help.”
“I don’t mean your brothers, silly,” I tell him. “I mean me. I can help. With the business plan, with putting together proposals, presentations. You also need to get a phone.”
“What? Why?”
“Because modern business relies on them, Maddox. You can’t communicate with everybody by carrier pigeon forever.”
He grimaces, but reluctantly agrees. “You’ll really help?”
“Of course I will. That’s what friends are for, right?”
He holds my hand in his and drops a gentle kiss on my palm. It’s the barest of touches, but my heart absolutely skyrockets. He keeps hold of my fingers, and I subconsciously follow the scar he has across his knuckles. “Thank you, Ellie. That’s really generous of you.”
“I’m happy to help,” I tell him.And have any excuse to spend time in your company.Wisely, I keep that latter part to myself.“How did you get this?” I ask, running my fingertips over the scar.
He looks uncomfortable and pulls his hand away. “Football accident,” he says, quietly. He stares at the pita bread intently before picking some up and eating it.
I don’t react, but I’m fairly sure that Maddox just lied to me for the first time ever. It makes me feel unsettled. We’ve been so honest with each other during this second chance at friendship.
Still. He’s entitled to his secrets. We all carry scars. Some are physical. Some are hidden inside us. And they’re probably the most dangerous of them all.
Chapter 13
Maddox
“Look, there you go. Your very first contact,” Ellie proclaims as she hands me my new phone and points proudly to the screen.
Her name is right there, black on white. Except instead of just plain Ellie, it says Ellie the Magnificent and Awesome. Which is what I get for letting her type it in, I guess. I can’t take my eyes off of it, feeling like my life is about to change, and not necessarily in a good way.
It’s taken her a while to wear me down on this, but eventually I realized she was right. If I’m serious about starting my own business, I need a phone. I also need Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook apparently, but that feels like way too much right now. Baby steps.
“This is amazing. I feel like I actually exist now,” Ellie says, obviously thrilled at having dragged me into the twenty-first century kicking and screaming. “Go on, call me.”
“Why? You’re standing right next to me.”
She pouts like a sullen teenager, and it’s almost unbearably cute. “Please?” she pleads.
Jesus. How could I resist that? I press the contact, and her phone rings. She hits answer, and for some reason starts speaking in a drawling English accent like she’s in some kind of Agatha Christie drama. “Good aaaaafternoon, this is Eleanor Madison. To whom am I speaking?”
“It’s me, asshole.”
