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“You might want to cut back on her coffee a bit,” Amelia Greene said from the other end of the phone.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” I said, not having the time or inclination to explain things.
“Listen, Marten, I have news.”
“Really? Do tell.”
“Smith & Smyth are interested in investing.”
I could almost feel the blood flee from my face as my knees turned to jelly. Quick thinking and sharp reflexes were the only thing keeping me from literally falling to my knees in awe of her sheer awesomeness.
“You don’t say,” I said, somewhat regaining my equilibrium.
“I do say. They still want us to give a presentation. Really lay it out.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that because we want you to give the presentation.”
“M-me?”
I was an ideas guy. I always had been. Think deeply and speak little, that was me. In the military, it was speak when spoken to, which was absolutely fine with me and made me popular with the commanders.
“O-okay,” I said, wanting the project to be a success, even at the cost of my pride.
“Oh, I wasn’t asking. We want you to do it so you will. The presentation is in two days. Make sure you are prepared.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, but she had already hung up.
It was both the shortest and the longest distance in the world. The tile was squeaking under my sneakers as I returned to my office. The lab was in my name, but it was bought with Greene’s money. Everything was.
There had been other projects and other contracts, I was a billionaire after all, but Greene had me beat in all ways. If it wasn’t for my burning desire to do the project, the drive to create the prime directive for my entire life up to that point, I would have quit. As it was, Ms. Greene was the boss, mistress of my immediate success, and I had to do what she bid.
“I brought you some tea,” Amanda said, putting the tea-service onto the desk.
“Thank you, Amanda. I’m sorry for yelling at you before.”
“That’s okay, boss, I surprised you. Was everything okay with Ms. Greene?”
“Better than okay. Thinks are really looking up.”
“Cool!”
“Could you go and take some pictures of the prototype for me?” I asked, still in a kind of daze.
“Sure!”
“Digital pictures,” I clarified, just in case.
There was no known way to make a Power-Point out of polaroids.
“Is there any other kind?” She asked, dashing off to fulfill my request.
It was amazing to think how far I had come since high school. Everything I had ever dreamed of coming into glorious reality. Well, most things.
There was still that one problem. The matter of the hole in my soul and ache in my heart. A state created by a moment of youthful foolishness more than a decade old. Not that it hurt any less. ‘Time heals all wounds’ was so much bullshit.
Ada and I had only been kids, really, but I had loved her. Ironically, it took losing her to realize just how much. It seemed logical at the time. We stayed together through college. West Point was only about an hour from Manhattan. It meant I had to get a car in a hurry but, we were still able to spend most weekends together as well as all major holidays. We barely felt the distance.
The problem came after graduation. She was staying in town, and I was going overseas and not sure when or if I was going to be coming back. We were both still young and I didn’t want her to be forever tied to a memory. I had seen it happen before with one of my aunts and it wasn’t pretty. I thought I was setting her free.
I couldn’t help but marvel at how monumentally stupid I had been and kicked myself in retrospect. No woman ever affected me the way Ada had, and I had been given lots of opportunity for comparison. First, in the Army, the few women around seemed to be drawn to me by some unknown force. Not just my colleagues in R&D, but some from the combat branch as well, including a few commanders.
Nothing ever happened. I just wasn’t feeling it. I seemed incapable of thinking or feeling anything for anyone except Ada, my first love. Besides, there were various anti-fraternization regulations to think of.
I might have looked like a jarhead but still thought like a milquetoast. The kind of guys who grew up to be soldiers were bullied in school, which had happened to me up until I hit my growth spurt.
I grew a full six inches seemingly overnight. My metabolism also seemed to go into overdrive, and I was packing muscle as easily as some people breathed.
My nickname went from Meekly Marten, an admittedly clever play on my name, to Killer Kingsley, even though I never actually got into a single fight my entire academic career.
