Page 110 of The Fate Factor

“Wes. Jesus, man.”

“Okay, that was wrong. I know that.” He scrapes his palms over his face, blowing out a breath. “So what happens if we keep growing, and you realize you’re not cut out for this?”

I stutter at the question I’ve been asking myself pitched out loud. “You think I’m not?”

“I don’t know, but it’s a valid question if you want me to fall in line.”

“I’m not asking you to fall in line. I’m asking you to be my business partner.”

“Convince me then.”

“Convince you?”

He crosses his arms. “You’re disorganized. You’re soft-hearted. You refuse to make the tough calls. Tell me why I shouldn’t walk away.”

I haven’t forgotten there’s still the possibility this is where our partnership ends instead of strengthens, but hearing him admit it takes a little wind out of the cocky sail I blew in here on. But I meant what I said about not being in this to prove myself. Actingon defensiveness and hurt feelings isn’t how I want to move forward.

“Because you’re the opposite of all those things, Wes, and that’s why it works. Surrounding yourself with the people who can do what you can’t, who can help you, that’s not a weakness. It’s smart business. And I’m also creative. I’m a good salesman because people trust me. And I’m a damn good brewer. I can do this without you, Wes. I’m not sure you can say the same. If we’re going to keep working together, I won’t keep treating this like a favor you’re doing me.”

He stares me down, that jaw twitch I’m so used to on full display.

“Well?”

“You forgot cocky. And fucking petulant.”

I shrug. “I’m a work in progress.”

“It wasn’t an insult.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Christ.”

“All right. You want to bet on you, Jamie. Let’s bet on you.”

“You really told Wes to fuck off?” Em’s stacking pint glasses when I get to the bar.

I spin my key ring around my finger. “I told him I made my decision. And the answer’s no.”

She puts her fist out, and I bump it. “That’s some boss behavior, Jameson.”

“I am actually the boss.”

She presses a hand to her heart and pretends to wipe a tear. “So. Next topic. Have you talked to Noel yet?”

I haven’t. I’m ready now, though, and an idea came to me on my way here. Something Noel said before she left my apartment. Something I can’t seem to get out of my head.

“Actually, I was hoping you would text her for me.”

Em growls in frustration, chucking a bar rag at me. “Jesus, Jamie. You’re really going to choose this part to punk out on?”

“Wait,” I say. “I’m not punking out. I promise. I have an idea.”

I explain my plan to Em, and this time I don’t let myself consider any other fate besides this working.

thirty-six

Noel

Mymotherleftona bus early this morning. One night of Mom duty, and she was off on the next adventure. She said something about a friend she knew in Vermont and a longing for some mountains after all of that flat desert.

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