“Everything OK? What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “I — I don’t know. Maybe nothing. But I have to make a quick call.” I duck out to the darkened parking lot and hit the callback icon.
Even though it’s late in the day on Saturday, the man himself picks up. I’m more than a little surprised; I assume he haspeopleto gatekeep for him, people whose entire job it is to ask callers very politely who the fuck they are and what the fuck they want and what gives them the fucking audacity to think that Hunter goddamn Houlihan wants to hear fromthem. I end up tripping over my words like an idiot when it dawns on me that he left me that message from his personal line, not the official one where he makes and breaks fortunes on a weekly basis.
The world of tech start-ups has no shortage of angel investors and venture capitalists and private equity bros who circle around it like so many birds of prey. Even the brainiest and most brazen geeks in the industry have to cobble together funding from an assortment of these raptors. I sure did.
There’s only one cheat code for bypassing this nerve-wracking, low-key humiliating marathon of begging for money: Hunter Houlihan.
Whatever size check you’d get from those other losers? Tack another zero onto the end. Shit, tack another three zeros and a comma onto the end. When Hunter Houlihan sees something he likes, he doesn’t fuck around; he goes all in.
But Hunter Houlihan doesn’ttakecalls — he onlymakesthem. And now, he’s callingme. My heart sinks at the thoughtthat I’m going to have to tell him he’s too late; I already sold my firstborn in a fit of pique. Until he tells me why he’s calling.
Even though the rest of the conversation takes place with my brain operating in some surreal, out-of-body plane, I must stammer out the right combination of responses, because as I head back in, my phone vibrates with an incoming text from a different unfamiliar number, this one very politely inquiring about my flight preferences.
Errol meets me at the door, concern on his face. I give him the quick version of who Hunter Houlihan is and his expression grows puzzled. “But you already sold your business to Marcus, right?”
“Yeah, that’s why I thought he was calling at first, too. But he didn’t want to buy my company.” I take a deep breath. I’m not sure what it’s going to feel like to say the words on my tongue, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to buckle up for the ride they’ll set in motion.
“He wants to hire me.”
Errol blinks in surprise. “What? Hire you for what?”
“He’s got a team that helps him vet the companies he invests in. He’sbrilliantwhen it comes to picking out winners from all the half-assed ideas out there, but he has people who help him vet prospects on some of the more technical aspects of their software architecture.”
“And he wants you to help him do this?”
“That’s what he said.” I huff out a laugh. “He wants me to fly out there next week.”
“Wow.” Errol’s quiet for a minute. “I don’t have any idea how much this job pays, but I’m guessing it’s a lot.”
I don’t want to brag, but it is. “Yeah.” To change the subject, I add, “And the craziest thing of all? You won’t fucking believe how I got on Houlihan’s radar.”
Errol shrugs. I’m bursting to tell him. “Fucking Tyler.”
“Tyler? Like,thatTyler?” Errol’s eyebrows disappear under his hair.
“Yep. Small fucking world, huh?”
“You said you seriously screwed him.”
I snicker. “Oh, I did.” Errol’s frown deepens. “And he thought it was fucking brilliant. He was pissed, but he apparently told Houlihan in so many words that I’m a shrewd, cutthroat asshole who’s playing chess when everybody else is playing checkers.” I start laughing for real. “I guess he thinks I did it on purpose —like I was planning all along to sell it out from under him like that.”
Errol rolls his eyes. “Never mind that it washimbanging your ex behind your back that kicked the whole thing off.”
I snort. “No kidding. Although —” I’m not really the sentimental type, but I stop myself just to look at Errol’s face. “I’m not upset about how everything turned out. Tyler did me a favor. I wouldn’t trade what you and I have now for anything —any amount of money, any career recognition —in the world.”
Errol throws his arms around me with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs. “I’m so proud of you, Stud,” he murmurs into the hair above my ear. When he pulls back to look at me, there’s a mischievous smirk on his lips.
“Hmm, mild-mannered geek has a secret dark and ruthless side?” He gives me a poke in the ribs and narrows his eyes at me playfully. “Now why does that sound familiar?”
I chuckle as the memory drops back into the front of my brain, unbidden. “Right. Clark Kent.”
Errol lets out a peal of laughter. “No, you dork.” When he smiles at me again, his expression is sultry. He gives me that little eyelash flutter. “I meanyou, Stud.”
“Oh. um…” I think about it for a couple seconds and feel a smile creeping onto my face. “Thanks, Babydoll.”
I think Clark Kent was on my mind because I’m hoping like hell there’s still time for me to be the hero here. “By the way, I told Houlihan I couldn’t come out until Wednesday.”
