“You better. Love you. Here’s Gabe.”
I hear the two of them talking quietly to each other, and then Gabe’s deep voice comes through the phone. “So, what’s up, Ames?”
“I don’t work at GenTech anymore,” I blurt out, cringing. Probably should have practiced my delivery. “I haven’t for months. Nine months, to be exact.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the phone and then—“I know.”
What. The. Fuck.
“You…how?” I manage.
“Not because you told me,” he says wryly.
I blow out a breath. “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s a whole thing, and I’ll tell you everything, but how did you find out and why didn’t you tell me you knew?”
“The CEO of GenTech sits on the board of my women in STEM non-profit. You know, the board you refused to take a seat on because, nepotism?”
Gabe’s voice is full of humor, but I wince anyway because fuck, I wanted that board seat so badly, but I passed it up because I didn’t want anyone thinking I got it just because Gabe started the organization. As if I couldn’t have shown anyone on that board that I earned the seat just by being me. I’ve been such a short-sighted asshole. “I’m sorry about that. Maybe we can revisit the conversation about the board seat once we finish with this conversation.”
“Yeah?” The excitement in Gabe’s voice at the thought of me sitting on his board is so palpable that tears burn my eyes again.
“Definitely. So, the GenTech CEO told you I resigned?”
“He did. At our board meeting back in October he mentioned to me how sorry he was to lose you, and I pretended like I knew exactly what he was talking about, but you know I’m a shit liar, Ames.”
I laugh because yeah, he really is. “Why didn’t you say something? I was in Pittsburgh for a week for Thanksgiving, and then for ten days for Christmas. And you call me literally every day.”
I can practically hear Gabe’s shrug through the phone line. “You’re one of the calmest, most reasonable and level-headed people I know. I figured if you quit, you had a reason, and I hoped that eventually you would tell me what it was. I know my default is to get involved and try and fix everything for the people I love, but I thought maybe this time you needed to work it out on your own. Call it a fatherly instinct.”
I let out a watery laugh. “You are so not my father.”
Gabe chuckles. “Brotherly instinct, then. So, since you’re telling me now, does that mean you’re ready to tell me what you’re doing instead of GenTech?”
“You mean you don’t already know?”
Gabe lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I was ready to deep dive and do all kinds of things of dubious legality to figure it out, but Molly wouldn’t let me. She reminded me that you’re all adult and stuff, and I needed to let you do whatever it is you’re doing on your own, if that’s what you needed.”
“You’re welcome,” Molly yells from the background, and I miss them so much I wish I could reach through the phone and wrap my arms around them both.
“It’s a long story,” I say, wondering where in the world to start.
“I’ve got nothing but time,” Gabe says, and I hear shuffling in the background, like he’s flopping down on the couch, settling in for whatever story I’m about to tell him.
“Okay, well, I guess first things first. Do you know the Genesis app?”
“You mean the app that’s been number one in the Redwood store for like a million weeks? The one developed by someonehiding behind a web of IP addresses and an impenetrable LLC? I’m aware.”
“I made it.”
There’s almost a full minute of silence on the other end of the phone before Gabe speaks again. “Hang on. Explain this to me like I’m five years old. What do you mean you made it?”
“I mean, I came up with the idea, mapped out the app, coded it, and put it up on the Redwood Store. Genesis is mine.”
“You developed the app people are calling the most stable app ever created in the history of the smartphone? The one that has been downloaded more than twenty million times since the day it went live? The one the PR department of my former company gets like thirty media requests a day about because everyone wants to find the creator and hire that person? Or advertise on the app?”
“Seriously?”
Gabe laughs a little incredulously. “Yeah, Ames. Seriously. Fucking shit, I think I need a minute or five. I’m so damn proud of you. I always knew you had mad coding skills—way better than mine—but this? This is something else entirely.”
