Tease (Cloverleigh Farms #8)(7)

She sighed. “Yeah. I know.”

“Also, I have other plans tonight.”

“What are you doing?”

“I promised my dad I’d come to his barbershop quartet poker night.”

“That’s social,” she objected.

“It’s slightly social, and I don’t really want to do it,” I said, easing onto the highway toward town. “But there will only be four old guys there, and we’ll be occupied with the card game. There will be snacks and beer, but no small talk. Minimal eye contact. No one asking for selfies. No prancing grannies. Possibly I’ll have to endure some old-timey four-part harmonies, and I’ll definitely be subjected to a lot of dad jokes, but I’ll live.”

“I love that your dad is actually a barber in a barbershop quartet.”

“The Clipper Cuts are available for wakes, weddings, and everything in between. They will meet all your entertainment needs.”

Felicity laughed. “Well, while you’re enjoying the snacks and harmonies, spare a thought for me trying to survive high school again, this time alone.”

“Just skip it, Felicity.” Avoidance was my specialty.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m catering some appetizers and it will be a good business opportunity. Plus, I might have to do some damage control.” She got all worked up telling me about a bad review she’d gotten this morning on some app. “And it’s all lies! That bride raved about everything all night.”

“Want me to buy the app and shut it down?”

She gasped. “Oh my God, can you? No, wait. Don’t do that—it’s a really helpful thing for a lot of people and businesses. Just not for me at the moment.”

“Your business is going to be fine,” I told her. “But I know how it feels to have people talking shit about you, and I’m sorry.” There were endless rumors about me out there—I was a cold-hearted robot (not really), I was an arrogant prick (occasionally), I was an undercover Robinhood who stole from the rich and gave to the poor (half-true), I was a commitment-phobic player (I guess also half-true . . . I avoided commitment, but I wasn’t a dick), I was shy and reserved in public but dominant and controlling in the bedroom.

Actually, that one I liked.

“Does that mean you’ll come with me tonight?” she asked hopefully.

“No. But if there are any leftover zucchini fritters, bring them over tomorrow. You can tell me how it went.”

She sighed. “Fine. But if I change my mind about the app, would you really buy it and shut it down for me?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Thank you. Have fun with your family.”

We hung up, and I felt guilty that I’d refused her request for a favor. I believed in doing good things for good people, and Felicity was as good as anyone I’d ever known.

Still, a high school reunion? A room full of people staring at me? Judging my every word, or worse, my awkward silence?

Fuck that.

A few minutes later, I pulled up in front of my sister’s house and parked on the street. Before getting out of the car, I glanced at my phone and noticed a text from my business partner, Wade Hasbrouck.

His home address was San Francisco, but since it wasn’t even eight a.m. there, I knew he wasn’t in California. Wade was a night owl, which used to cause some friction between us when we were roommates at M.I.T., since he was not a particularly quiet night owl, and I was an early riser. His family had a lot of money and owned several luxury homes around the globe, and he hopped from one place to another as easily as he hopped from bed to bed, which was why his marriage of two years was already on the rocks.

Yo, his text said. (I truly hated the media stereotype of the dudebro tech billionaires, but the image fit Wade to a T.) Date with Sam final. July 28. Can’t push it back. Gird your loins, bruh.

Sam referred to Uncle Sam, and the date I was hoping to push back—again—was the date I had to appear in front of the House Financial Services Committee in D.C. They wanted testimony regarding regulation of the digital-asset industry in general and our crypto exchange in particular.

My gut clenched. Today was the 9th.

I had just under three weeks.

While I’d known for months this was coming, the idea of having to give a public, live, televised statement and field questions on the fly was almost enough to make me want to cash out of HFX and go underground.

But what kind of person is so fucked up he can’t even handle the thought of defending the business he’d helped build, especially if it meant losing half his net worth? Not that money was everything. I’d never set out to get rich, and I knew better than to think money could solve all your problems. In fact, I liked giving it away just as much as I liked earning it—what was the point of being a billionaire if all you did was horde your riches? Collect yachts and cars? For fuck’s sake, how many Porsches does one person’s ego need? I wanted to do things that mattered.

But most of all, I wanted what money couldn’t buy.

I wanted to be the kind of guy who could testify without breaking a sweat—at least not visibly. The kind of guy who could conquer his fear of being put on display and subjected to pressure. The kind of guy whose nervous system didn’t react like he was walking into a den of angry lions every time he thought about all the eyes in the room on him.