I’ve got my earphones in, listening to DJ Marshmello and admiring my work when a tap on my arm makes me jump.
I immediately minimize my windows, spinning to face Josh, the only person other than Jack or Zane I know by name. Everyone else is too busy to do more than smile or wave, but Josh usually stops in once a night to say hi. And to offer his help, like I need it. I think he might have a baby crush on me, so I’ve done my best not to encourage it. Friendly, not flirty.
“You scared me!”
He pulls over a chair and straddles it backwards, grinning. “Sorry,” he says with a sheepish grin. “I tend to disappear into my work too. How’s it going?”
“Pretty well, which means I probably won’t be seeing you after this week. Sad face emoji,” I say.
He chuckles. “Well, congrats and I’m sorry. I know I’ll miss having you around.” He tips his chin toward the conference room. “And I’m not the only one. You know, I’m not sure I ever saw the boss smile before you showed up. I’m not entirely sure that you haven’t replaced him with a twin.”
This makes me laugh. Hard. “Zane actually does have a twin.” Josh’s eyebrows shoot up. “A twin sister.”
“Oh. Right. So, no twin switches?”
“No parent traps either.”
Jack emerges from the conference room, shutting the door behind him. He gives me a little wave, and the same knowing look he’s been giving me since he and Charla caught me with Zane in the closet.
“Hey, how do you feel about Jack?” I ask Josh.
Josh makes a face. “He’s not my favorite person.”
“You like him less than Zane?”
“I never said I didn’t like Zane. He’s just intense. Jack is just so smooth. Like, he can talk his way into—or out of—anything. I don’t like him, and I don’t trust him. Anyway, better head back to the grind.”
Josh heads back to his station, and I try to quell the queasy feeling I have. Finding out that someone has been sabotaging the company is going to blindside Zane. Even more so if it’s Jack.
I try to remember how winsome Jack was with the investors, how serious he had been about securing the financing. I don’t know how things are structured here, but I wonder if there’s some other way he could access that money, even if the app fails. Or before it launches. Otherwise, I just can’t see it. No matter how right Josh is about him being too smooth.
It’s nearing eleven o’clock, and there’s nothing more I can do tonight. Except watch and wait. An alarm will go off on my phone the moment someone steps into my trap. I’m both excited and nervous about finally figuring it out.
I hover outside the conference room for a moment, hearing voices, then shoot Zane a text telling him I’m leaving. I’m almost to the door when Zane calls my name. I turn to see him jogging toward me. His suit jacket is missing and so is his tie. The top few buttons of his white shirt are unbuttoned, and his smile is wide.
“Let me walk you out,” he says.
I’ve got pepper spray and a taser in my bag, but I’m not going to argue with the man. “You’re in a good mood,” I say as he pushes open the front door, holding it for me.
“We just had a very productive meeting. And I’ve actually got a favor to ask you.”
He could probably ask me for a kidney, and I’d say yes.
“We’ve got another dinner tomorrow night. Different investors. Jack and I were wondering if you could come. Maybe spout a little of that tech mumbo jumbo and impress them like you did this weekend.”
We reach the driver’s side door of my car and I lean back against it, facing Zane. “Did you really just call it mumbo jumbo? I’m slightly offended on behalf of tech geeks everywhere.”
“I did. That’s about the extent of my knowledge of what you do. It’s very impressive. I just don’t know the words.”
I pretend to think about it. “How about this—you give me three words that relate to what I do, and I’ll go.”
“Three words?”
Zane rubs a hand over his chin. It looks like he forgot to shave this morning, and the rasping sound his hand makes as it grazes over the coarse skin sends a little shiver through me.
“Three little words,” I say.
“Code,” he says confidently, counting on his fingers. “PHP.”
“That’s two. Good boy. One more and I’m yours.”
His eyes narrow on me, and his nostrils flare slightly. I didn’t mean for that to sound so flirty, but I don’t mind his response. It’s still a wonder that I’m the one who can get a reaction out of him.
Zane takes a step toward me. The dark look in his eyes makes me want to retreat, but the car is at my back. I tilt my head up to hold his gaze as he steps even closer.
When he puts one hand on the car next to my head, I forget to breathe.
He leans closer, closer, then closer still. My eyelids flutter, wanting to close, but I can’t take my eyes off this man. We’re cheek to cheek, millimeters away. I want to rub against him like a cat, feeling his stubble burn my cheek.
I feel his breath on my ear just before he whispers, “Algorithm.”
The word has never sounded sexy before. I didn’t know that it could. But Zane drags it out, so that the four syllables are more like ten, the word rolling off his tongue like it’s in a language only meant to be spoken by him, to me.
It’s all I can do not to grab him by his shirt collar and drag his lips to mine. Instead, I wait, counting my heartbeats, eager to see what Zane will do next. It’s not like I couldn’t kiss him if I wanted to. But I don’t mind this game we’re playing. The back and forth. The unknown and excitement of it. If I’d had to imagine, I would have pictured Zane delivering me some kind of NDA to sign or maybe a dating contract.
To my disappointment, he gives me a quick kiss, then steps away before things get interesting. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, looking pleased with himself.
“You win,” I tell him, doing my best to seem unfazed, my voice level.
I’m a cucumber. An icebox. A woman in complete control.
“I’ll go to your fancy dinner,” I tell him. “I’ll impress your investors and save the day. Again. But I’m counting this as over-overtime.”
Zane only grins. “Send me the bill.”
Chapter Eighteen
Zane
Tuesday morning, I catch myself humming in the shower. I nick my jaw shaving because I’m smiling. When I walk into work, a few people stop to stare. I realize that I’m whistling a cheerful tune.
Is it really so unusual for me to be happy?
Yes. Yes, it is.
I have always been more on the serious side, but after Mom died, there was only Dad with his regimented thinking and business-minded influence. Zoey and I both missed out on the softness, the human side that Mom offered, more than we even realized at the time.
There’s one person responsible for this. For shaking me out of my slumber, making me realize that I’ve been living my life half asleep. The woman who reminds me more and more of Mom. Not in the looks or style department, because Mom definitely matched Dad in that way—classic, conservative, and neat. But Abby is like Mom in her humor, her honesty, and her relish for life.
This is all new, and I have no idea what I’m doing. Normally that would scare me. I’m the guy who uses the GPS on his car and his phone, just in case. I used to print out directions as well and only stopped because my printer broke.
With Abby, it’s like I’ve hit one of those unknown areas on the map, where the blue dot showing your location hovers over a blank green space instead of showing you the road you’re on. This would make me panic in any other situation, but I feel only a growing certainty about her. About us.
Especially after seeing her in my house the other night. The pictures on the wall and the throw pillows weren’t what was missing in the spartan space. It was Abby. She’s what was missing.
My last official girlfriend was in, like, tenth grade. I don’t know the rules of serious relati
onships as an adult. I also don’t know how I’ll have time for it, making me again question the sanity of the life I’ve built for myself. Not for the first time in the past year, I wonder if I really want to keep running on this hamster wheel.
No. I don’t.
The answer is so clear that it’s shocking. I don’t want to keep this up. I don’t want to stay with Eck0, this thing that I helped build. I’m proud of it, but I don’t want this life. I find myself pulling up the contract Jack and I set up, looking at the clause we set up in case either of us wanted to walk away. I could do it.
The idea, which I’d casually tossed around, has solidly planted itself in my brain. It feels like hope. A relief.
I just need to get through this launch with Jack. The man in question corners me in my office, a sly smile on his face as he leans against the closed door.
“I see I’m not the only one who got lucky this weekend. Is Keep Austin Weird as freaky in the sheets as out of them?”
And just like that, my cheerful mood is gone, replaced by a mounting rage that has me standing, palms flat on the desk, ready to pounce across it. But if anything, it only confirms my resolve. I will leave. As soon as I can.
Jack holds up both hands and quickly changes tactics. “Hey, now. Sorry! Just trying to make conversation. I like Abby. She’s a good girl.”
Right. That’s why he continually refers to Abby as Keep Austin Weird, the city’s slogan that I’m pretty sure Austin stole from Portland. And why he thinks it would be okay to talk to me about how she was in bed. I’d never been one to spill details, not that there were many to spill.
I feel sick looking at Jack. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to launch this app and walk away. Walk away from my partner, whom I can hardly stand to be around. I want to leave this startup life that keeps me here until midnight most nights. The job that makes a typical life unlikely, a real relationship impossible. I’ve been saying for months that it will calm down at launch, but that isn’t really true. We’ll have to manage the launch tightly, staying on top of every detail for months. We might even be busier after. More work. More Jack.
“I like Abby,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “I respect her. And if you respected her, you wouldn’t call her that or degrade her that way. I don’t want to hear it again.”
Jack looks like he wants to argue, but instead, closes his mouth and gives me a curt nod. I sink back in my seat, loosening my tie a little. Jack sits down in the chair across from my desk, smoothing the front of his collared shirt.
“So, the dinner tonight. Is Abby coming?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Jack rubs a hand over his jaw. “Look—I’m sorry for what I said. I really didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Abby is great. She really came through with the investors this weekend. You think she can do the same tonight?”
Despite his apology, every word Jack says about Abby makes me want to connect my fist with his mouth. Somehow, I manage to keep myself in my seat, hands clenched in my lap.
“I don’t see why she wouldn’t. She’s brilliant. And knows way more about the tech side than you or I do.”
He stands, smiling again, though it’s tighter and more forced than it was when he walked in. He managed to ruin both our moods. Well done, buddy.
“One more thing,” Jack says, turning back to face me as he opens the door. “In light of the awkwardness just now, I hesitate to say anything.”
“Spit it out.” And then get out.
Jack shuffles a little, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just that the guys tonight are … older. Not just in age. They’re old school. Old money. Old Texas.”
“Okayyyy. I’ve read the files on them too. And?”
He meets my gaze for a moment, as though he expects whatever he’s hinting at to make itself clear to me.
Blowing out a breath, Jack finally says, “It’s just that Abby doesn’t exactly have the sort of look that will reassure investors.”
It’s like he’s dumped cold water on my head. I’m frozen in my seat, stunned by something so obvious that I might have thought of it myself a few weeks ago.
“I don’t think …” I trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence. Because I don’t know what to think.
In a way, Jack’s right. I know the kind of guys we’re meeting with tonight. Guys like my dad. Narrow minds. Rigid thoughts. They’ll take one look at Abby’s pink-tipped hair or whatever funky outfit she chooses, and it will be uphill battle for them to hear anything else. Of course, that wasn’t an issue this weekend. She had the investors totally wrapped around her finger.
“No.” I shake my head, convincing myself even as I speak. “Abby is brilliant. All she needs to do is talk. You heard her—it’s convincing. What she wears or the color of her hair won’t matter.”
Jack nods as I’m speaking, then waves a hand. “Right. No, you’re right. Sorry for bringing it up.”
And with a final smile, he’s gone. But his words eat at me the rest of the day.
Abby doesn’t need to change who she is, and how she looks doesn’t impact her expertise in her field. But I know guys like the VCs we’re meeting tonight. I remember the first time Dad met Abby, and how he raised one brow, dismissively, giving her a not-so-subtle once-over in her ripped fishnets, boots, and purple hair she had at the time. He’s had years to adjust, and now loves Abby.
But the VCs tonight … we don’t have the luxury of time to show them how awesome Abby is, how great our app is. We have one dinner. Two hours at most. A bad impression from the start could tank the whole conversation. Worry needles its way underneath my skin, attaching itself to my thoughts like a virus.
I pace my office, playing with the end of my tie. Is it really such a big deal to ask Abby to dress a little differently or tuck her hair into a bun? It’s one dinner. It’s just hair. It’s not because I don’t like it.
This is just business.
She’ll understand.
No, this is stupid. Don’t ask her to compromise.
It’s only clothes and hair. And it doesn’t mean that I don’t like them.
For the rest of the afternoon, I debate. Back and forth, back and forth. I feel like the business part of my life is ganging up on the personal part of my life, tangling them up into a knot I’m going to have to cut free somehow.
What it really comes down to is that I don’t want any reason, no matter how small or superficial, to stop these VCs from investing. Walking away from Eck0 would be much easier with this money secured, with our launch going off without a hitch, fully funded.
Then I’ll have more time to spend with Abby. I won’t be yoked with Jack. So, really, this all comes down to asking her to do something small now that will be huge for both of us down the road. It’s a small thing that will make our future better.
Feeling resolved, I slide my phone out of my pocket to send Abby a message. She’s planning to meet us at the restaurant rather than coming to the office. It takes me four attempts to word the text correctly.
Zane: Abby, for the dinner tonight, would it be possible for you to be a bit more on the conservative side? Maybe tuck your hair up and borrow a suit? Zoey could probably help with this. We just need to make the right impression with the VCs. Thanks, Z.
I wait, the phone in my palm, until I see the dots indicating that she’s typing. They come, and they go. Come and go.
“Come on, Abs,” I mutter, not sure why I feel so nervous about this.
It’s not a big deal, I remind myself. Setting the phone down on my desk, I wipe my palms on my thighs.
A moment later a text pops up.
Abby: NP.
I’m not into text lingo, so I have to google her response. I refuse to be embarrassed that I find the answer in an article entitled, “Secret Text Codes All Parents Must Know to Understand Their Teens.” I now know more than I ever wanted to about how teens are using emojis and I want to scrub my eyes and delete most of the fruit or food emojis from my phone. But I do
find the answer.
No problem. The boulder on my chest lifts, and I toss my tie over one shoulder before I reply with some lingo of my own, pulled from the same article.
Zane: TY. VBG.
Abby: Wow. I really opened a door, didn’t I?
Zane: YWSYLS.
Abby: I don’t know what that means.
Zane: You win some, you lose some.
Abby: Okay, Tiger. Step away from the computer. You had to google this, didn’t you? And you’ve still got the browser open?
I shut my laptop, grinning and feeling so much lighter about, well … everything. The dinner, my day, and the future.
Zane: I do not know of what you speak. I shall see you at the dinner this evening. Sincerely, Zane Abramson the First
Abby replies with a laughing face emoji. I’ve never really enjoyed texting before. It always felt like the cheapest form of communication. But with Abby, texting is fun. Flirty. Addictive.
Despite my busy afternoon, putting out fires and setting things up before the dinner, I find myself repeatedly glancing down at my phone, smiling as I think of Abby.
Chapter Nineteen
Abby
It’s no big deal. It’s just hair. A change of clothes.
Zane doesn’t know. This isn’t like before.
These are the kinds of lines I’m still repeating to myself when I get back to the house. I ducked out of my office a little early. I need to get ready for the dinner, but my stomach is in knots. The kind used in rope climbing or sailing, way too secure for me to undo.
“Hey, Abs!” Delilah greets me with a hug as I set my laptop bag on the kitchen table. “Aw, why so glum, sugarplum?”
I shake my head, managing a small smile. “Just work stuff. Hey, um.” I clear my throat, which seems suddenly tight. “Is Zoey here?”
“Nope. She’s at some work thing with her boss. Just you and me. Why? Do you need her?”
Falling for Your Best Friend's Twin: a Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love Clichés Romantic Comedy Series Book 1) Page 14
