“Sure. I’ll talk fast. Angelic Jewels. I’ve been poring over everything you sent me, and I gotta say, I don’t see the vision.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously. You’ve got this small business operating out of San Francisco that isn’t even worldwide. They have eleven stores. That’s it. Just eleven.”
“I know.”
“Do you know who else has eleven stores? No one. No one does because eleven isn’t even a real number. It’s dust at the bottom of the drawer. What kind of company can draw in anything worthwhile in this market with only eleven stores?”
“Buster, take a breath.”
“I’ve taken a breath. I’m breathing, can you hear me?” He gasps exaggeratedly in my ear. “I’m breathing. Eleven stores, Elijah. What are you doing to me?”
“Did you really read everything I sent you?”
“Yes, of course I did.”
“No, you didn’t because if you did, you wouldn’t be focused on those eleven stores.”
“What else is there? Eleven stores up and down the coast, some questionable deals with a gemstone supplier that we need to vet in case we end up in the same situation as your father, and a CEO who’s making demands. Did you get my email? He’s adamant that two giants can’t exist, Elijah. They can’t exist!” Buster chokes on his laughter, bringing a smile to my lips as I drain my beer.
“I know how it looks. Trust me. But you need to look a little deeper. It’s worth it, I promise.”
Buster sighs dramatically and groans. “Fine. I’ll read it again.” Then his voice softens. “How’re you doing?”
“Fine.”
“How are you really doing?”
I glance at my watch. Eight minutes. “I’m tired.”
“Sleep on the plane.”
“I will.”
“But you’re good? You’re really just packing up your entire life and moving across the entire country to escape a girl?”
“Yes. And no. It’s not just her. It’s everything. I’m smothered, Buster. I feel like I’m drowning constantly. I need out of here. I need away.”
“I get it.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. After your Mom, Imogen was sucking the fucking life out of you, dude. I get it. You need to disconnect.”
He sort of gets it, but not as deeply as I need him to. I could explain to him that life in New York is meaningless, that people see my name and act like they know me, that all they want are my business and my contacts so they can use me.
I want to feel like a person.
Like I matter.
But daring to say that out loud just makes me sound like a child throwing his silver spoon out of his highchair in a grumpy rage.
“Yeah,” I sigh after a moment of contemplation. “You get it.”
“Listen. I’ll look at the report again. Just promise me this isn’t you trying to offload some millions in a bad way because you’re feeling rich guilt.”
“The fuck is rich guilt?”
