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It wasn’t until my senior year that I grew eight inches, and once I’d gained early admission to college, I had newfound time on my hands. I started rowing, which meant that I bulked up in a hurry. By the time I graduated, I looked like a different person and had a promising college future ahead of me. Girls took notice, but before I could take advantage of their interest, we were all shipping off to college, where I showed up as a grade-A virgin with no game.
I got to campus as a freshman, ready for…everything. Ready to be more than a science fair nerd, even though inside I was very much still a science fair nerd. I just hoped maybe I coulddistract a few women long enough with my newfound muscles that I could lose the V-card and have some fun.
Enter Archer Corbett.
We had very little in common financially—I was at Stanford on a scholarship, and he was a second-generation legacy—and he was studying business to my hard sciences.
I’d been right. Archer was a walk-on running back on the football team, where he was all but guaranteed to warm the bench. He didn’t care. Neither did the female population on campus.
He ate his meals late after evening practices, which coincided with when I had a break from working in a physics lab. I gave him shit about how many glasses of milk he lined up on his tray—at least eight—and he ribbed me for being “an actual astrophysicist.”
“I’m only an aspiring astrophysicist.” That only proved to Archer that I was “the guy I never would have been friends with in high school.”
We ended up being roommates for the next three years, one of which Archer made it off the bench for some playing time. Fifteen years later, here we are.
“Anyhow, message received. If I see PJ again, I’ll ignore her.” I speak into my glass, drowning out the words with a sip of red wine.
“It’s good, right?” Archer points at the wine, the other topic apparently forgiven and forgotten.
I don’t want to make him feel bad by telling him the wine vintage doesn’t make a difference to me. “Yup.”
I go to way too many fancy dinners where expensive wine and trendy food are thrown around like loose change. It’s part of how business gets done in the rarefied world where venture capitalists and investment bankers are all jockeying for the best places to make money grow.
And for the past five years, that place has been my company. Everyone wants in, whether it’s venture capitalists dying to put up money for what’s been a guaranteed return or friends and friends of friends wanting…something.
The longer I’ve been in the business of making other people money through my company’s space missions and future exploration, the more I’ve begun to question what the hell I’m doing. Am I keeping a good enough eye on the environmental impact of our missions? Are we a green enough company? Do investors care as long as we’re making money? Do I care if they care?
No wonder I couldn’t keep my shit together anymore. No wonder I ran my mouth and got myself into trouble. It was that or make myself crazy.
“We ordered steaks,” Archer tells his brother. “You staying for dinner?”
“Nah. I’m eating with the girls.” The girls are Ruby and his seven-year-old daughter. Archer explained earlier that Jax is so smitten that he rarely sees his brother outside of work anymore. I try to imagine being that enamored of another person, but it doesn’t square with any relationship I’ve ever had.
Different strokes, I guess.
Which brings my thoughts back to PJ. Not that I see her as anyone I’d presume to be in a relationship with or even date. But she’s the first woman—hell, the first person—I’ve met in a long time who didn’t try to kiss up to me, either because they wanted me for my money or for some strategic position at work.
That makes her interesting.
“Hey, are we still on to see Dad in the morning to talk about the financial stuff? He’s been having a rough week, and when I went a couple days ago, it was pretty grim,” Jackson says. I notice Archer flinch and realize how hard it is for him to be around his dad.
“No, I think PJ and Trix are going. I don’t want to overwhelm him,” Archer says. He sometimes abbreviates his sister Beatrix’s name into that of a breakfast cereal. What’s with this family and their nicknames?
“Oh, okay,” Jackson continues, seemingly oblivious to his brother’s scowl. Maybe because Archer has been scowling since he got here.
“Yeah,” Archer grunts. I shoot him a look. Even for him, he’s unusually prickly. He doesn’t meet my gaze. I opt to ignore his mood until Jackson leaves and I can ask him about it.
“Heard you’re staying here for a bit. We need to catch up for real one of these nights,” Jackson says. He used to hang around with Archer and me back when we were all in college, but it’s been a while.
“Sounds good, Jax. You tell me when.”
He takes another sip of his wine and shrugs. “We’ll figure it out.” His attention turns to our server, who appears with two large takeout bags. “Thanks.”
Jackson takes the bags and moves between the tables, saying hello to a couple more people he recognizes before walking out the door.
Archer smooths the white tablecloth, which doesn’t need smoothing. I’ve known him long enough to spot this tell. “What’s bothering you?” I ask.
His head jerks up, surprised at first that I’ve nailed it. Then he nods. “Financial fuck-ups. My dad’s health. Worrying about the future of the business. You know, basic shit.”
