I grin. “Absolutely. Besides, I could use a celebratory drink anyway.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” he says, slowly spinning the glass with his fingers. “What are we drinking to?”
“To the newest sale of one of my start-ups,” I tell him, a huge smile on my face. I’m damn proud of the fact.
He nods, impressed. “That definitely sounds like a celebration is in order.” He flags down the bartender for me. “Pinot Noir?” he asks, remembering what I ordered last night.
I shake my head. Not this time. “Champagne, please. Your finest bottle,” I tell the bartender.
“Champagne, huh? Fancy,” he teases, a smile still on his handsome face, eyes twinkling.
“Only the best.” A pop sounds and the bartender comes back with my bottle of champagne and two glasses. “Join me?”
“Sure,” he replies, pushing his empty highball glass away.
“To success,” I declare, raising my champagne glass to his.
“To success,” he echoes, clinking his glass gently against mine.
Taking a sip of my bubbly, I savor the bubbles that roll over my tongue in a delicate dance.
“Not bad,” he declares, once he’s taken a sip.
“Mmm,” I hum, sipping more of my drink. “Not too shabby. But I’ve had better.”
He laughs softly, his eyes on mine. “Congrats, Layla.”
“Thank you, Gabe.” I sigh.
“And?” he asks. “You seem happy, but there’s something else.”
Perceptive.
“It’s… it’s such a relief when they sell. Not that I ever have any doubts, mind you. But it’s also bittersweet. The start-ups I sell off, each of them are like my brainchild, so they’re like my babies. And when I sell them off, it’s like letting go of something that’s dear to you. It feels kind of strange for them to be gone. It’s almost like empty-nest syndrome.”
“You have other start-ups?”
“I do. I incubate and grow them, then sell them off. It’s the same cycle over and over. You’d think I’d be used to it by now,” I catch myself saying, my eyes getting misty. I’m getting sentimental over a company, for crying out loud. But I put my blood, sweat, and tears into each and every one of my start-ups, so it’s only natural to feel a little subdued once they’re in someone else’s hands.
“Definitely bittersweet,” he says to me, taking my hand in his. I welcome his touch.
I nod, pursing my lips. I will not cry. “Did you win today?” I ask, transferring the topic of conversation to him and his team.
“We did,” he replies, his roughened pad of his thumb stroking the soft skin of my hand.
“One step closer to clinching the division, then.”
“You know your baseball,” he says, smiling at me, still stroking my skin.
“I like to think I know a little more than the average person on the street.” What I don’t tell him is that I looked up the Blue Valley Vipers. Since they’re not my team, I wasn’t as familiar with them. I am now, though. All thanks to meeting Gabe.
“More champagne?” he asks, looking at my empty glass. When did that happen?
“Yes, please. This is my last.” He refills my glass and I take a drink of the cool, bubbly liquid.
“One more game tomorrow?” I ask. I already know the answer, but I want to see what he says.
“Yep. Then on to Cincinnati.”
