I hadn’t had a vacation in years. Not a real one anyway. Not one where I wasn’t sneaking emails under the table or running numbers between sightseeing stops. The last time I truly unplugged, I was drinking rum from a pineapple on a beach in Tulum for my honeymoon. Six days in paradise. She picked the destination, and I picked the hotel. It was a nice balance.
That was before everything imploded. Before thelate-night fights, the cold shoulders, and the truth that surfaced in the form of a text message from one of my oldest friends.
This trip isn't technically a vacation. But it’s the closest thing I’ve allowed myself in years. A couple of nights in Paris before the transition starts. Just one breath before I stop being Theodore Jones, the guy who built his own tech company from scratch to become the face of someone else’s empire.
Hayes International.
The name itself makes something in my chest tighten. It sounds so big, old, and powerful. This is the kind of company that comes with a lot of pressure and a whole lot more politics. Which I’ve spent most of my career avoiding. But it is also an opportunity, a shift, a challenge I couldn’t turn down, even if a part of me wished I had.
Outside the window, the last bit of sunlight dipped below the horizon. The flight attendant passed by, checking trays, moving smoothly between rows. She didn’t look my way this time.
I reopened the laptop and stared at the blank email again.
I’m honored to step into this new chapter…
No, too stiff.
Excited to join the Hayes team…
Way too eager.
I rub my temples trying to take the stress out of my mind and body. How is it harder to write a paragraph opening for a corporate welcome email than itwas to build a product roadmap or convince investors to give me millions of dollars?
“Hi,” she said, holding a leather-bound menu and getting me out of my head, which I’m thankful for.
“Just wanted to go over your meal selections.”
“Sure,” I said, tilting down the laptop’s screen. “Let me guess, chicken or pasta?” She cracked a small smile. “Not quite. Tonight’s dinner options are short rib with horseradish-mashed potatoes, roasted salmon with fennel, or butternut squash risotto. You’ll also want to choose an option for breakfast, oh, and a snack, so we don’t have to wake you up mid-flight.”
I took the menu from her, glancing over it quickly. “You are really good at this, aren’t you?” She shrugged lightly.
“You figure out the rhythm after a while. Dinner, snacks, breakfast. Keep the cabin calm, keep the coffee hot, try not to spill red wine on anyone’s white shirt.”
“That’s practical,” I said. “And poetic, in its own way.”
That earned a short but real laugh. “Poetic isn’t usually in the job description.” I looked up at her again. She was standing easily, her weight slightly shifted to one side, her hands resting in front of her. Confident, but not stiff. Professional, but not cold.
There was a flicker of something in her expression, amusement? Interest? Or maybe she was just doing her job really well.
I tried to remember what it felt like to be good atreading people. That used to be my thing. Now I wasn’t sure whether I was picking up on someone being flirty or just imagining it.
“I’ll do the short rib, the fruit and cheese plate, and the egg sandwich for breakfast,” I said, handing the menu back.
“Solid choices. The short rib’s a favorite.”
“Good to know.” She hesitated just half a beat before adding, “Would you like another Jack and ginger?” I met her gaze, trying to read something in it, tone, body language, anything that would tell me if this was standard or… more.I nodded. “Sure. One more.”
She gave a small smile. I wasn’t sure if she was flirting. I wasn’t sure if I cared at all. I’m just seeing things to distract myself.
That’s it.
“Here you go,” she said, setting the Jack and ginger on the tray table with a practiced grace. “Thanks,” I replied, adjusting the glass. She gave a light nod, then did another sweep through the cabin.
The lights dimmed. The captain came on to announce expected turbulence over the Atlantic.
I leaned back in the seat, sipped the drink, and stared at the blinking cursor again.
Subject: A Note of Introduction
