Page 18 of Falling Madly
“The whole team gets in on the initial token allocation,” Kyle enthused. “They could be worth millions.”
“Theywillbe worth millions,” Gavin announced. “We need the right guy on this, and Charlie thinks it’s Boris. But we wanted to get your take on this. I don’t know much about your kind of creativity, but I want to hit that magic zone. When the planets align, and we squeeze the pure essence of your sweet brain juice.” He made a squeezing gesture with his hand, and I quietly gagged. It’d be challenging to keep a straight face around this guy.
Trevor’s voice sounded strained. “I think Charlie’s right—Teresa isn’t the right fit. Boris has more experience with this sort of thing.”
The fire in my stomach turned ice. I could barely hear anything else they said. Something about how excited everyone was and how they were going to make millions.
Trevor had sold me out.
That was it. My biggest dream, down the toilet.
Tears stinging behind my eyes, I stormed to the exit, leaning my whole weight on the green button that made the sliding door open. I heard Trevor’s alarmed voice and footsteps, but I was faster—straight into the elevators. The door shut before he reached me, and the elevator plummeted towards the ground floor.
This was why I couldn’t trust anyone. Not Trevor, not anyone. My independence wasn’t just a choice—it was survival. And tonight, I’d been stupid enough to forget that.
Chapter Five
Trevor
Fed Teresa looked a lot more settled than hungry Teresa, and I congratulated myself for my foresight. Not that one car picnic solved our problems. I had a long way to go before she’d trust me again. Even longer before she’d give me another chance. But I’d get there.
I’d loved Teresa for eighteen months, ever since the night we’d spent by the quiet swimming pool in Crypto-Gavin’s apartment building. Mostly talking, mind you. We’d been crudely interrupted just as things started heating up again, which was probably for the best. I’d been at the end of my tether, self-control-wise. Yet, she meant more to me than some random hookup, and I was glad we hadn’t slept together in that weird spa, no matter how desperately I wanted her.
That night had changed everything for me. Before, she’d been my office crush. Someone I flirted with every day. Someone I thought about, constantly, imagining what it would be like toact on these desires, wondering if she saw me like that. If I was just a bit of fun or someone she could be with.
After that night, I knew she was my soulmate, who no longer spoke to me. I deserved it, too.
Later, I decided it had been a blessing in disguise. On that Fourth of July night, I hadn’t been ready for us. I’d been lost and floating, gambling with my health and wasting my life. A directionless man who’d left his home country to get away but hadn’t yet figured out what I wanted to getto. Fleeing had been more important.
As much as Teresa had hated me, I’d hated myself more. And I’d finally gotten myself in motion. Bit by bit, I’d changed my life. I’d fixed my health and was finally chasing dreams I’d been sitting on for years. Eighteen months on, I felt so much better that it almost made up for the fact that she’d written me off.
Almost. Because I couldn’t move on. We still worked together and chatted every day. Even when I didn’t see her in person, Teresa was always there. The living, breathing, gorgeous reminder of what I’d lost.
When the highway withered into a smaller, winding road and the last remnants of suburbia turned into forest, her posture tensed. “Do you have any music?”
“Maybe on the radio?” I suggested, turning it on.
A mattress ad with an irritating jingle filled the silence between us. Teresa killed the volume. “I’ll just connect my Spotify to your car stereo.”
I let her work it out as I drove, wondering why I’d never thought of doing that. I listened to the ads and accepted them for what they were—one of life’s little uncontrollable annoyances.
“I’ve been working on something,” I confessed. “Many things, to be honest.”
I only had this little trip and limited time with her, sharing the same space. Things between us probably couldn’t get anyworse, so I might as well go for broke. But it was surprisingly hard to put any of this into words. I was a copywriter. If I couldn’t put things into words, what the hell was I good for?
Teresa turned up the volume, and a melancholic guitar created an instant mood—not one I’d expected. Wistful. “Working on what?” she asked.
“On myself,” I said, gripping the steering wheel. “I wasn’t happy with a few things, so I’ve been making changes.”
Her eyebrows traveled up. “Like what?”
“I quit smoking.”
She chuckled softly.
“I’m not joking.” I huffed a frustrated sigh.
Me quitting smoking had been a running office joke for a long time. Nobody had noticed when I’d quit for real. I guess they had all assumed it would never happen.
