A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain)

REED

My first-class seat on the flight back to California is very comfortable, and since I had to leave the hotel at five in the morning to get it, I ought to be sleeping right now.

I can’t, though. All I can think about is the heated look in Ava’s eyes as I laid her down in her bed last night. The way we exhausted ourselves before we slept.

And the way she refused to wake up to say goodbye this morning. She just rolled over and sighed when I kissed her goodbye.

I left a note on the counter for her, but it didn’t help much. It felt terrible to leave her—like I was repeating my sins. It felt as treacherous as leaving her crying on her dormitory bed a decade ago after I suddenly broke up with her.

Just like then, I know I’m the asshole here.

And just like then, I don’t know how to avoid it.

Go home, Reed, my father had said. Which is just another way of saying: this is not your home anymore.

He couldn’t have been more clear.

“Are you back?” Sheila says into my earbuds as I unlock the door to my condo apartment.

“Yeah. Just getting home.” I push open the door and drag my suitcase in behind me. Then I take a look around.

“Everything okay?” Sheila asks.

“Just fine.” My condo is always clean and quiet, even after an unexpected trip. The once-a-week housekeeper has been by, so the place smells like lemon cleaner and slightly stale air. “The good thing about having no personal life is that nothing goes wrong when you’re gone.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Sheila mumbles.

“Hey, there are perks.” The place is a tidy, glassy box with great views and a rooftop pool. “There are no pets looking for my attention and no plants in need of water. My place is low maintenance, if low character.”

“Just like you,” Sheila says.

“Hey! Why did you call, anyway? Did you need something, or is this just a drive-by character assassination?”

“Well, I have ten vacation days unaccounted for, so I thought I’d take a few of them now. If that’s okay.”

I blink. “Now? Like…right now? I thought you were flying back tomorrow.”

“Flights are cheaper on Thursday, boss. And I want to ski a couple more days. I’ll stay on top of calls and email, though. You won’t even miss me.”

“That is not true,” I grumble. “I’ll probably starve and fall asleep on my keyboard.”

“Please? I’ll draw you a map to Starbucks. Heck, I’ll order your DoorDash. I’ll hire strippers to come to your office late at night to remind you to go home.”

“Why strippers?” I have to ask.

“I can’t think of anyone else who’d be willing to show up at odd hours. Except me, of course.”

“Fine,” I grunt. “Go ski. Enjoy yourself.” Sheila never asks me for anything, and I shudder to think how few vacation days she’s taken this year.

I would have noticed, because I took very few myself.

“You are my favorite,” she gushes.

“I’ll bet.” I hear noises in the background. “Where are you, anyway?”

“In the employee canteen with the girls. I’m about to head up to the peak, though.”

The girls. “How’s Ava?” I hear myself ask.

“Ask her yourself,” Sheila says. “Got to run. Tonight I’ll read your email and look over your week, okay? We’ll talk.”

“Fine. Don’t break or sprain anything up there. If you’re going to blow off work, I insist you have fun.”

“Aw, boss! It’s almost like you care. Bye for now!” She hangs up.

As I’d promised my boss, Monday morning finds me in the conference room of a start-up virtual reality technology company in San Jose. Aaron Deevers walks in right on time, because he’s not an asshole. He doesn’t have any interest in making me wait to show me who’s boss.

He’s wearing a scruffy green polo shirt and cargo pants. He offers me a wave and a sheepish smile instead of a testosterone-fueled handshake.

I like Deevers. Even at twenty-five, he’s twice the man that I usually have to deal with. He’s also my most important client. But I didn’t come with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue or front row seats to a Sharks game to try to woo him back to me. Nope. I brought a bag of his favorite oatmeal-raisin cookies and two cups of coffee from Starbucks.

“Look, I appreciate that you drove all the way out here,” Deevers says, reaching into the bag and grabbing a cookie. “It sends a message. I swear I’m not trying to be a diva, Reed. I just needed some time to think about what it means to do an internal round of funding. It’s not personal. It’s an optics thing. I don’t want to look like we don’t have any other supporters in the valley.”

“I’m not here to send a message either,” I tell him, helping myself to a cookie. “I’m here because I am your biggest supporter in the valley. And if you have more questions, I want to answer them.”

He winces. He’s a prodigy who went to college at sixteen and started two engineering degrees at nineteen. Then he invented a chip that’s going to change the way virtual reality works within two to three years.

I was the first VC who would listen to him. I could tell he was special, even if he’s not great at eye contact and not the best communicator.

“Okay, does it hurt me if I work only with you?” he asks. “I know Prashant runs a great firm. Everyone speaks well of you guys. But my dad thinks I should have more than one investor.”

Yup, he’s still young enough to listen to his dad, who runs a small insurance company in Minneapolis.

“Look.” I sit back in my chair. “I don’t think the optics work against you at all. But you have to go with your gut. Who do you want to do business with? Whose face do you want to see on every earnings call for the next decade? I will respect the hell out of you no matter what you choose to do. But I hope you pick us, because we know the most about your business. We know you. I’m really excited about your next couple of years.”

He sets down his coffee cup and smiles. “You were the first guy who got me. Like, ever in my life.”

I shrug, trying to look modest. “Prashant and I know your company inside and out, and we know what you’re trying to do here. You’re not just a hot commodity to us, Aaron. You’re building a big future for yourself, and we want to make it happen.”

“All right.” He reaches across the table for my pen. “I’m ready. I’ll sign.”

“He just needed the space to make his own decision,” I tell Sheila later that night as I’m driving home from an early dinner with other VCs. Networking, of course. That’s what my social life is like in California.

“You made Deevers feel seen. Good work in there. Now you can go home to your empty apartment and celebrate by spending the evening on the treadmill, catching up on your email.”

“Jesus.” I let out a snort. “That’s not very flattering, is it?”

Although it is frighteningly accurate.

“Was Prashant satisfied?” she asks.

“More than. He sent me a bottle of scotch so rare that I had to google it to know what it is.”

“Righteous,” she says. “Good thing you’re fine with drinking alone.”

I snort.

“Let me ask you something,” Sheila presses on, and I can feel her wide-eyed stare even from hundreds of miles away. “Is this a better job than running a ski resort?”

“Well, yeah.” I don’t even understand the question. “This is a much bigger job. I just won a big stake in one of the most creative engineering projects in California. Deevers could be bought out by Meta in a year. For a billion dollars.”

“Bigger job is an interesting way to describe it. You wear nice clothes, and you work in a shiny building. But there’s no torch-lit ski parade, am I right?”

“What is your point?” I demand. “It sounds like you think I should drop everything and move home to Madigan Mountain. Is this because I haven’t put through that raise yet?”

Her voice is low and oddly serious. “I know you think it sounds outrageous to turn your whole life on a dime. But what if it’s outrageous not to?”

“Sheila. If I drop everything and move back to Colorado next weekend, are you going with me?”

“I might,” she says. And it doesn’t sound like a joke.

“Didn’t I just write you a recommendation for your application to Stanford business school?”

“Yes,” she says quietly. “But I might not decide to go. Even if I get in.”

“Really?” I yelp. “When did you make this decision?”

“Yesterday on the peak lift, I think.” She clears her throat.

“I have no idea if we’re joking or not right now,” I grumble. “But I seriously hope so.”

“It’s not a joke, Reed. I like working for you. You’re so smart, and we make it fun. But I don’t want to be you. I want a life somewhere different. I want to work normal hours and have more fun than you do.”

Well, ouch. “You think Ava works normal hours?”

“They’re more normal than yours, the odd raccoon notwithstanding. And she has a real community. They aren’t all secretly plotting to undermine each other, like the people in our office.”

I don’t even know what to say. “You’re too young for a midlife crisis. Are you really going to bail on business school? Don’t you want to wait to hear if you’ll get into Stanford?”

“Yes,” she says softly. “Of course.”

“And you’ll be here on Thursday, right?”

“You know it,” she says. “Even if I wish you weren’t there. I just don’t understand why you’re going to let your father sell the resort to Sharpe.”

“Maybe because I don’t have a choice?”

“He might come around if you put a little pressure on him. You’re good at that, Reed. Deevers just gave you another piece of his company, and all you had to bring were oatmeal cookies.”

“I don’t have fourteen years of bad blood with Deevers. And they’re really good cookies.”

She lets out a sniff. “What if you could buy time? Make it hard for the Sharpes to win.”

I know exactly where she’s going with this, because I am really good at what I do. “You think I should scuttle the deal.”

“It had occurred to me,” she says quietly. “You could leak—”

“—the Sharpes’ plans. I know I could. If I sent that photo to everyone on the town council, there would be an uproar. Block would look like an asshole. And my dad’s buyout price could drop.”

“Exactly,” Sheila says.

God, it’s tempting. The Sharpes might get cold feet. Or at least slow their roll.

I sit with that a minute, until a honk behind me lets me know that the light is green. Reluctantly, I move back into the traffic. “Look, Sheila. I know it’s an appealing idea. But don’t scuttle the deal. I mean it. Don’t tell the lifties or the evil bartender, even though it’s tempting.”

“You spoil all my fun. This place is so beautiful, Reed. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to it.”

“I know. Me neither. But that’s not the solution.” I’m angry at my father, but I’m not going to undermine him. “The blame could fall on Ava, and I don’t want that for her. She deserves her promotion.”

“Grrr. I hate it when you’re right. Do you miss her?”

My answer is immediate. “Like I miss oxygen when I’m underwater.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“Bye, Reed. I have to drink a ginger martini now.”

“Bye.”