Page 44 of Texting My Secret CEO
Pete touches my sleeve and nods to an adjacent room. “Quick talk before we head in?”
When I look at Pete, I find myself missing the days he’d talk to me like a friend. Just two young men trying to make their mark on the world. But I was the one who changed that, with my grumpiness, hyperfocus, and attitude.
He closes the door behind him. “How long have we known each other?” he asks.
“Twenty-one years,” I tell him.
He nods. “So—don’t hit me.”
“Go on,” I growl.
“I think last night you were having sex with that streamer. DakkyDuck. I think you left to follow her because she left around the same time. I think something serious is going on. And I’m happy for you.”
My mouth closes slowly. I look at him, see if there’s some angle here. It would make sense, of all the people to make a logical leap like this, that Pete is the one. He’s known me longest. He’s aware of my moods and how I normally behave. And, hell, have I even been careful, really?
“Happy for me?” I ask. “This isn’t a confirmation, Pete.”
He shrugs. “I don’t need one. But I mean it. Thiscanbe a good thing. I’m seeing glimpses of the old Jack. Your passion. You’re actuallysmiling.” He takes a step forward. “As a friend, I’m over the moon. But as your head of media, I need to tell you—kill the old Jack when you walk into that boardroom. There’s no place for feelings there. You need to lock the fuck in, bro,fast. Thesepeople are vultures. They’ll pick you dry if you give them the chance.”
“So, you need Douchebag, CEO Jack, Get the Fuck Out of My Face Jack.”
He smiles grimly. “Yes—yes, please.”
“You’ve got it,” I growl, clapping him on the shoulder. “And thanks.”
He claps me in return. “Don’t mention it.”
As we head for the door, I ask, “Did anyone else notice?”
“Not as far as I’m aware,” he replies. “But you need to be careful.”
“You’re too perceptive,” I mutter.
“You want a head of media with his head in the sand?”
“Fair point.”
We walk into the boardroom together. There are seven members, all absurdly wealthy because they hopped on the bandwagon early and rode my and Pete’s creativity all the way to the top.
Jacquiline McClusker stands, aiming her thin lips at me in a frown. “Would you care to explain why the stock has plummeted?”
Rajesh Singh waves a hand at her with his colorfully painted fingernails. “Easy, sister. Let the man sit down.”
“We’re bleeding money!” Jacquiline snaps, and the board members around her nod, like a little gang obsessed with thebottom line. “All this overtime, all thisuser satisfaction. Where does it leave us?”
I feel Pete glaring at me. Willing me to play the game.
But it’s like I can see Dakota standing on the other side of the glass, those piercing, clever eyes aimed at me. Like she’s daring me to be the man I used to be, the man who cared, who put the gamers before everything else. Including—especially—the bottom line.
I lean forward, planting my fists on the table. “We built this company from nothing,” I say. “Pete and I, two dropouts with big dreams and a garage with no AC. We made some mistakes—and that’s why you’re all here. You swept in when the time was right. You had none of the creativity, none of the vision, none of the follow-through. All you had, and all you have, is cash. That’s it. Most of you were born with it.”
I look around at their appalled faces, disgusted that they have the gall to stare like there’s something wrong withme.
“I’m sensing that you thought you could drag me here and act like you were in charge, like I work for you. But there’s a flaw in your logic.”
“Have youseenthe stock price?” Jacquiline hisses.
“That’s the flaw,” I say. “I leave an event early, not because I’m sick, but because I just couldn’t give a single fuck about it. I leave—and the stock drops. What does that tell you? Does it indicate, for example, that the price of this company rests onyourshoulders? Or does it say, very goddamn clearly, that without me, there is no company?”
