He didn't have to bring me back here. He could've left me to the Coast Guard and motored away without a backward glance. He was ready to kick my ass last night, but there was kindness and generosity punching through his grouchyveneer.
I rolled out of bed, groaning as the pounding in my head intensified. I would have flopped back onto the mattress, buried my face in the pillows, and surrendered to the headache if my bladder wasn't a second from bursting. I fumbled across the hall and into thebathroom.
Once relieved, I set to washing the dried blood from my face. The cut only looked terrible, as if I was an extra onThe Walking Dead. There was swelling, and bruising running down my nose and over one cheek. As per usual, I'd inflicted a sizable amount of damage onmyself.
Staring into the mirror, I realized I was almostunrecognizable.
I'd been on the covers of countless magazines—everything fromForbesandNewsweektoRolling StoneandNylon—and while I wasn't as identifiable as George Clooney or Justin Timberlake, most people knew I wassomeone. A memorable face, but not memorable enough to stoptraffic.
But Owen didn't have to know I wassomeone. Maybe this was my chance to be no one again, if only for a couple ofdays.
After showering and changing into a fresh set of clothes, I dug my glasses from my bag. The pounding in my head made it impossible to see straight. Next, I fumbled through the pockets for my phone. There were missed calls, voicemails, emails, and text messages lighting up my notification bar, and I ignored all of it. I didn't need any of that noise right now. Instead, I called the small firm that built most of the components on my boat, and requested a full complement of replacementparts.
They were extremely apologetic, even offering to send their top craftsmen out to repair my boat personally. I didn't want that. They'd work too damn fast for my purposes here, and while I didn't know much about this region, I knew a crew of custom boat fabricators from California would garner too much attention. Since they didn't want negative press any more than I did, they agreed to shipping the components and keeping thisquiet.
They thought I was doing them a favor by staying low profile. They thought I was only concerned with protecting my investment in their firm rather than protecting my anonymity. It was funny how these situations worked. How people focused on the things they were getting out of an arrangement before considering how the arrangement harmed or benefited others. People were, as a matter of course, self-absorbed assholes and I knew that to be a fact because I had significant experience in the self-absorbed assholebusiness.
But that was all the navel-gazing I needed fortoday.
Next, I tapped open my secure text messaging app. I'd built it myself, and it was the only thing I trusted for communication with myteam.
That forced a bitter laugh from my chest. It wasn't clear to me whether I had a team anymore. Would my successor scoop them all up in a greedy power grab but strip them of their projects and priorities, leaving them to linger in corporate purgatory? CEOs called in to replace founders had a habit of doing that. They were also known for cleaning house and firing anyone connected to the old regime. Industry reporters liked to cloak it as "establishing culture" or "realigning core value pillars" but the reality was that new leadership hated the idea of semi-loyal servants. They wanted people who'd kiss the rings and bow, and they didn't care if they terminated all senior staff and vaporized institutional knowledge in theprocess.
But I didn't need a staff. Not really. The next steps were all onme.
I scrolled through the messages, ignoring most of them. There was one notable exception: Neera Malik. The most amazing thing about Neera was that she didn't need me. She wasn't hitching her wagon to my stars, she had no interest in climbing over me, and she was competent to the extent that I knew she'd solve most world issues if someone gave her a crack atthem.
Honestly, I was just waiting for the day when the United Nations called her up and requested her immediate presence to address global hunger, or broker some peace deals. And she'd have that shit managed within a few weeks. She was actually thatgood.
She was also one tough motherfucker but too stoic and reserved in her motherfucking for most to notice. Her story was simple, and more uncommon than anyone wanted to believe. Born in South Carolina shortly after her family emigrated from India. Grew up poor and socially isolated. Went to Stanford on a patchwork quilt of grants, scholarships, work-study, and loans. Odd jobs at odder start-ups in the Valley for a few years. Back to Stanford for business school. Found herself the unlikely right hand to a tech giant CEO after he judged her team in a case study competition and hired her on the spot. She left him and his company in better shape than either deserved, and then moved on to me shortly before myIPO.
None of that happened every day, and there was no underestimating Neera's drive and grit. She was proper like a white-shoe law firm, and had a knack for distilling issues down to their most essential parts. Whateverthe thingwas, she knew it long before anyone else and she knew how to tell me that without sending me into fits ofrage.
Neera also knew how to tell me that the fits of rage had to stop, and—magically—imparted that information without bringing about another fit of rage. She gave it to me straight, and I appreciated that. We didn't pussyfootaround.
At one point—ages ago—there was chatter of us being romantically involved after we'd attended some local events together. But nottogethertogether. We simply traveled in the same vehicle and people assumed we were fucking in the back seat and boardroom. We had a good laugh atthat.
Neera knew I was gay, but it wasn't the talk of the town. I didn't hide my sexuality when asked about it directly, but I didn't want it to precede me. I didn't want to be the gay CEO, the gay guy in tech's (mostly) straight guy world, the one who should expect interviews to include questions about coming out rather than the company's newest innovations. I didn't want my dick involved in my business, and that meant making sure my dick was no one'sbusiness.
As for Neera, I still didn't know who or what did it for her. Aside from offering the basics of her background, she didn't share many details from her private life. I took most of my clues in that area from her. Really, I took most of my clues in all areas fromher.
So, I had to respond to hermessage.
Neera:May I ask: where areyou?
Cole:TheAtlantic.
Neera:That's a vastarea.
Cole:The Americanside.
Neera:Stillvast.
Cole:I've been gone for less than a week. I'm no Magellan but I don't think I could've sailed from New York to Brazil in thattime.
Cole:The most logical explanation is that I'm somewhere in the northeast Atlantic, and I'm comfortable leaving it atthat.
Neera:Do I need to have youtracked?
