“What?”
I shake my head once.
“That’s impressive.”
Something in his expression shifts.
Small, but there.
Like he had expected a different reaction.
He looks back down at his plate.
“I don’t usually talk about it much.”
“Why?”
“Because once people hear money, that tends to become the headline," he says.
I sit with that for a second.
Then shake my head.
“I’m not impressed by the money.”
His eyes lift to mine.
I drag my fork through egg yolk, considering how to explain it.
“In my line of work,” I say, “I spend half my life around people with money. Authors who can throw five figures at publicity before a book even launches. Publishers who will drag a television presenter or some mildly famousactor onto every publishing event in the country because celebrity sells. People who can buy visibility whether the work deserves it or not.”
Mark listens quietly.
“There are plenty of brilliant authors,” I add. “And plenty who got where they are because they’re genuinely talented. But there are also a lot of people who can pay to be seen.”
I glance at him.
“Money opens doors. That part doesn’t impress me.”
His gaze stays on mine.
“So what does?”
I look down at my plate, then back up.
“You built something.”
The words come out simple.
Certain.
“You had an idea, made it work, and turned it into three companies. That’s not the same as having money. That’s having a brain and enough stubbornness to do something with it.”
For a second Mark just watches me.
Then he exhales softly through his nose.
“I didn’t do all of it on my own.”
