“Yes. Talk later.”
“Talk later.”
That’s how we always end our calls.
It is highly unlikely that I will ever in my life make as close a friend as Monty.
Therefore, I cannot date or think about railing his only sister.
Anymore.
I just have to find someone like Olivia. But different. Or not different. Just not her.
Not anytime soon, obviously, because I’ll be busy with this start-up. Or some other start-up. But eventually. There will be a window of opportunity, and I will find someone like Olivia.
CHAPTER 8
JOHN
NOW
Why am I so nervous?
Clearly, this entire situation is playing out the way it’s meant to. Destiny and free will are at play here in a brilliant, beautiful, choreographed dance. The way that Monty literally told me to check up on Olivia. And then two days later, George Merrick’s granddaughter—wearing a pink tutu—walked in on my Zoom call with him. It’s undeniable. Things are falling into place. I have done all the work I needed to do to become the best man for Olivia, and now the algorithms of the Universe have provided me with the exact means by which to find a solution to two problems: the Merrick problem, and the problem of getting Olivia and her brother to understand that she and I belong together. I have figured out the simplest, most accelerated method to achieve this goal. The shortest distance between two points—the state ofnotbeing with Olivia and the state of being in a relationship with her.
Step One has been accomplished—I crushed it.
Step Two is sharing information with Monty.Someinformation. Before I share the information with the rest of the world. Because that’s the right thing to do.
It’s just a phone call.
So why the fuck am I so nervous?
I worked out for a full hour before showering this afternoon to eliminate nervous energy. That was followed by a fifteen-minute guided meditation to calm down. Then I listened to “The Throne Room and End Title” fromA New Hopeto psych myself up. Three times.
Logically, I know for a fact that it is not possible for Nathan Montgomery to physically throat-punch me through my phone. My rational mind also understands that he’s too busy to get on a plane and fly to the Bay Area to do it in person. I am confident that the chances of him ending a friendship that has lasted over two decades because I’m taking his only sister out on a date are slim to none.
Richard is driving me. Not that I’d allow him to beat up my best friend if it came to that, but heishere to protect me.
So why do my pulse and blood-pressure readings indicate that I anticipate my balls are about to be separated from the rest of me?
I just need to relax and state my case calmly. Rationally. With science-based reasoning.
Three deep breaths, and I am initiating the call…
Hopefully, he’ll be busy and won’t answer.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Fuck me.
“Hey. Hi. How are you?” I say.
There’s a long pause on his end.
“Hello? Monty?”
“Have you been kidnapped?” he asks.
