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Man, that smile lights up not just her face, not just her eyes, but her whole body. And the room.
“It’s not my gateway,” she says. “Paper planners forever.” She punches the air as if in a protest march. “Anyway, got to go organize the crap out of your brother. See you.”
And she’s gone, her ponytail swinging in time to her hips, which always look extra good in that particular skirt. It’s almost as figure-hugging as the wetsuit she wore when we all had a surfing lesson as part of the launch weekend for my cousin Walker’s brewery hotel up near Cape Cod a couple weeks ago.
It was also the weekend I found out Charlotte had just broken up with the guy she’d been seeing since she started working here. But that doesn’t mean she’s ready to date again. And even if she were, it doesn’t mean there’s the slightest hope she’d be interested in me. And even if she were, she’s my eldest brother’s assistant, and since Max has zero tolerance for workplace relationships and is a stickler for not mixing family and business, she’s the most off-limits woman in the building. Possibly New York. Possibly the galaxy.
I close my eyes and shake my head, as if doing so might dislodge the woman who took up residence there the moment I met her. Almost four years ago, I walked into Max’s office and interrupted her telling him he must never schedule his own meetings again because he did it “illogically.” A bold move for her first day on the job, I thought.
But I have to drag my mind back to what’s on my center monitor. I just need to choose which of these computers, tablets, phones, watches, headphones, and other peripherals to order from Netto, the incredible main sponsor of our new nonprofit.
We’re creating tech learning centers for kids, called First Byte. The first one opens in two weeks.
Although Owen and I have been developing our idea to open these hubs in low-income areas for more than a year, this launch feels like it’s come upon us suddenly.
We’d struggled to get a sponsor that fit our ethos, and there’ve been a few false starts—including the particularly unpleasant hotel chain owner who Owen told to go fuck himself when he insulted the woman Owen’s now about to marry.
Their wedding is just a week after the First Byte opening, so yeah, the timing isn’t great. But Netto picked the date to coincide with the launch of their new generation tablet. It’s a condition of the sponsorship, so if we’re not ready on time, not only will this first center not open, we’ll be back to square one looking for another suitable backer. And both those things would be professionally humiliating.
But the tight time frame is a small price to pay to have the hubs look like a cross between a youth club and the Netto Experience stores known around the world for their coolness.
We have a manager on the ground for the first location in Indiana, but since the nonprofit is so important to Owen and me personally, we’ve been very hands-on, with a lot of help from my assistant, Greta.
Admittedly, I did forget that Greta had already booked her Colorado adventure, but she’ll be back in time for the vital final push to the finish line.
This list of hardware from Netto is amazing—we can basically have whatever we want from their entire catalog. If anyone had let me loose in a place full of these things when I was twelve, I’d have passed out with joy.
My phone rattles on my desk and jolts me back to reality. Greta. Maybe she’s decided to come back early and save my sanity.
“Hello, Super Gran. How’s the outdoor challenge going?”
“Oh, Elliot!” She’s breathless and sounds panicked yet also relieved at the same time.
“Are you okay? Did you just run up a mountain?”
“Well, a mountain is involved in what I’m about to tell you.”
“Jesus, what’s happened?” My stomach turns over. “Are the kids all right?”
“Oh, yeah.” She chuckles nervously. “They’re both totally fine. They’re sitting here by my bed playing on the tablets you gave them.”
“Your bed?” I check the time on screen number one. “At lunchtime? Colorado’s only two hours behind New York, right?”
“Hm.” She pauses. “Thing is, Elliot, I’ve had a bit of a…mishap.”
“A mishap?” If the kids are okay, and she’s alive enough to talk to me, whatever it is can’t be too bad.
“Yes.” There’s a large intake of breath. “And the bed I’m in is in a…hospital.”
I spring to my feet, banging my knee on the underside of my desk. “You’re in the hospital? After a mishap that involved a mountain?” I rub my knee and wince. “What the hell happened?”
“We were rappelling. And I got it a bit wrong.”
“Jesus, Greta. And you hurt yourself?”
“A bit. There was some banging into the side of the mountain. And a bit of a hard landing.”
Christ, how could the guides let that happen? “Sounds painful. But the hospital’s fixed you up, right?”
