Chapter 4
“Did you hear a word I said?”
“Uh-huh,” Trevor sighed. “Blooming Weeds—terrible name, by the way—is really onto something with their glass production idea. If they can get more money into R&D, they’ll resolve the pesky shattering and fogging problems and their glass will end up on every touchscreen device known to man and maybe some we’ve never considered. They’re a sure thing so we should dump money into them fast or someone else will get to them first and steal our chance.”
“I sounded less ridiculous and more enthusiastic when I said it,” said Jim Olson, an old friend and new executive in TM Enterprises, Trevor’s company.
“Your enthusiasm is what made you sound ridiculous.”
“Now you’re just being an asshole, Trevor.”
“Maybe. But that was still ridiculous.”
“Fine.” Jim closed his laptop, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at Trevor. “We’ll deal with work first and then you. What’s ridiculous about investing in Blooming Weeds?”
“Investing in them is fine. You think they have potential, we can go with it. I hired you because I trust you.” And because his wife left him, he drank too much, lost his job, and fell so far into a self-destructive spiral all their friends worried he’d end up dead or destitute.
“Well, then, what’s your point?”
“My point is that first”—Trevor raised one finger—“no company is a sure thing. Not one. Even with good funding and expert advice, there are times the market isn’t ready for a product or a competitor comes out with something better or luck doesn’t go our way. Whatever. We don’t have absolute certainty in this industry, only a well-reasoned investment choice.” He added a finger. “Second, it’s rare that someone struggling for funding has a line of investors clamoring to get to them. If that’s what Blooming Weeds implied, they’re using the same tactic as late night television sales—buy now before prices go up or the product disappears.”
“It may be rare but it’s not impossible. I’m telling you, Trevor, their idea is great.”
“Third.” Trevor raised another finger. “The rare company that has a slew of investors fighting over the opportunity to hand over money has the upper hand in the negotiation so the stock to dollar ratio drops, which reduces or even eliminates the opportunity for us to make a profit. A bidding war is great for them but bad for us, which is why we don’t invest in those types of situations.”
Jim blinked, softened his posture, and nodded.
“And fourth,” Trevor lowered his voice, seeing that Jim was paying attention and understanding his point. “Our best profit centers are people or companies that need more than money. Venture capitalists are a dime a dozen. We provide more than cash. We have the acumen to understand tech products and the expertise to bring them to market. Putting our money and our people into a company gives us a better monitoring opportunity and earns us a significantly higher return than an arm’s length investment.”
“I hear what you’re saying.” Jim slumped in his chair and scratched his head. “I saw a product I liked and I got a little…exuberant.”
Trevor rose from his chair, walked over to Jim, and patted his shoulder. “Exuberant is good. No sense dropping money on something we aren’t excited about. But we need to think through the rest of it too.”
“I’ll do more research on Blooming Weeds,” Jim agreed. “Hopefully I didn’t waste too much time and I can get it done before they find another investor.”
“Take your time and do what needs to be done the right way. If they find someone else, we’ll move on to the next project. We’re not desperate.”
“You’re not, but me…” Raising his gaze to the ceiling of Trevor’s Silicon Valley office, Jim breathed out heavily. “I’ve screwed up so many things for so long that everyone thinks I’m a has-been.” He looked at Trevor, his jaw tight and nostrils flared. “I want to prove that isn’t true.”
“You’re not even forty yet. How can you be a has-been with more than half your life ahead of you?”
“She said I am,” he whispered, not meeting Trevor’s gaze.
“Who? Sarah?”
Jim nodded.
“That’s because she was mad at you for fucking her cousin, the woman from your office, the two from the gym, and a bunch of others I can’t remember because listening to you brag about your sexual conquests is boring for everyone except maybe you.”
“But that’s all it was—fucking. I wasn’t dating them and I sure as hell didn’t marry them. They didn’t mean anything!”
“Well, I guess they meant something to her.” Trevor shrugged as he walked back to his chair. “Now you know to keep it in your pants the next time you get married.”
Which was certain to happen sooner rather than later because Jim wasn’t the type to stay single. He also wasn’t the type to stay monogamous, but maybe his divorce had taught him a lesson.
“You’re lucky you’re gay.” Jim pushed himself out of his seat. “A guy wouldn’t have overreacted like this. She threw away our whole lives. We had a solid circle of friends. We’d just bought a house. We were trying to get pregnant. All gone because of nothing.”
Trevor narrowed his eyes. “I’m lucky I’m gay for a lot of reasons but being okay with someone fucking around isn’t one of them. Gay isn’t synonymous with slut. If you were my husband, I’d have kicked your ass out too.”
Flinching, Jim said, “I didn’t mean it like that.” He shook his head. “I can’t say anything right.”
“You’ve had a rough couple of years, but you don’t have to make up for everything right away. Cut yourself some slack.”
“Thanks.” He walked toward the door, opened it, and then flipped back around. “Oh, I forgot the other thing I was going to say after we finished talking about Blooming Weeds.”
Clicking on his laptop to wake it, Trevor said, “What?” without looking up.
“You’ve been tense and it’s scaring everyone. Go get laid.”
Trevor would have said that approach to problem solving was what had landed Jim in his current mess but he walked out and closed the door without giving Trevor time to respond. And besides, Trevor had been considering the same thing. Over a month had passed since his interlude with Ford Hollingsworth and Trevor still thought about the sweet-natured congressman daily. Often when he was alone with his hand around his dick.
Though he had a couple of friends in San Francisco who were usually up for a hookup, Trevor couldn’t muster the interest. He itched to see Ford again and he knew himself well enough to realize nothing else would satisfy that desire. With a resigned sigh, he grabbed his phone and dialed one of his assistants.
“Hi, Trevor.”
“Hey, Carol.” Carol Gizmond arranged Trevor’s travel and handled everything related to his jet with military precision thanks to her years in the Air Force. “I’m leaving earlier than anticipated. Call Lou and tell him to get the plane ready.”
“Will do. Are you going to New York?”
“DC.”
Typing sounded immediately. “I’ll reserve a spot at the usual hangar and have a car waiting for you. Will you be going straight to the event or are you stopping by the White House first?”
“What event?”
There was a brief pause and then Carol said, “The Bartech reception. Isn’t that why you’re going?”
He had completely forgotten about the foundation honoring his company. Those types of awards were generally designed to raise money—whether through donations claimed to be made in recognition of the honorees, attendance fees, or future contributions. Being in a room full of people who pretended to be interested in each other when all they really cared about was a networking opportunity reminded Trevor of his upbringing, so he rarely attended, and instead, TM’s marketing director Shonda Lemens ensured appropriate people represented the company. But Trevor received biweekly emails from each of his directors bulleting their focuses and he vaguely recalled the Bartech reception being on the list.
Between his travel schedule and Shonda’s they hadn’t had a face-to-face in a month, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had joined her at an event. Although she didn’t complain, she likely would appreciate a show of support for her work.
“Let Shonda know I’ll come to the reception, but I don’t know what time I’ll be there or how long I can stay.”
“Will do. And do you want me to notify the First Lady’s staff that you’ll be in town?”
“Yes. Tell my mother I’m coming in. If she doesn’t have a scheduling conflict, I’ll go see her after I land and then I’ll go to the reception.” After that, if luck was on his side, he’d have an up close and personal meeting with his favorite congressional representative.
“Trevor!”
Looking up from the email he’d been reading, Trevor said, “Hi, Mom.” He set his phone down on the end table, got up, and walked over to her. “I hope I didn’t make a mess of your schedule by stopping in at the last minute.”
“Don’t be silly.” She held her arms open and he hunched down and hugged her. “How long are you staying? I have a dinner tonight but I have time for an early coffee tomorrow or a late lunch.”
Her phone buzzed. She took it out of her jacket pocket and glanced at it.
“I don’t know what my schedule will be yet.” He turned around and scanned the living room, confirming they were alone.
“We’re in the residence,” his mother said, immediately recognizing his actions for what they were. “You can speak freely.”
For a moment, Trevor wondered if other families had these sorts of rules or if he was alone in having parents who taught him when to talk with the same focus as how to talk. Even as a young child he had known which topics he could discuss only in front of his mother and father because nobody else could be trusted to put their interests first. Trevor had always resented the secrecy and stress, but now that he wanted information without anyone knowing he asked and he had the perfect way to get it, he saw the benefit in their methods.
“I need Ford Hollingsworth’s cell phone number.”
“Bradford Hollingsworth’s son and one of our newest congressional representatives?”
He nodded.
His mother slipped her phone back into her pocket, walked across the room, and ran her finger over one of the antique sideboards. “To my knowledge, the junior Mr. Hollingsworth is a lawyer by education and a career politician by trade. I’m not aware of his involvement in your industry.”
“This isn’t work related.”
“I see.” Her expression and tone unchanging, she slowly made her way to the door. “I’ll get his number for you and I can offer a piece of advice as well if you’re interested.”
Years of experience had taught Trevor his mother was rarely wrong. “What’s your advice?”
“If Ford Hollingsworth is like most representatives who don’t have sources of income outside of their salaries and need to maintain homes in their districts, he likely lives with roommates or in a small apartment in a building housing other congressional members or staffers.”
In typical fashion, she effectively made her point without articulating it.
“Thank you.” Trevor picked up his phone and texted his assistant.
I need a hotel room.
You’re not staying at the White House?
Not this time. He thought about what his mother said and added, Make sure it’s somewhere private. Very private.
I’ll take care of it and text you the details.
Before leaving the White House, Trevor fired off a short text telling Ford he was in DC and wanted to see him. He thought that form of communication would be better than a phone call because if there was someone standing close to Ford, he wouldn’t be overheard and trapped in an uncomfortable situation. With a text, Ford could read his screen privately and type back a reply away from prying eyes.
But when thirty minutes had passed with no response, Trevor started second-guessing his decision. Ford had struck him as old-fashioned so maybe after the intimacy they’d shared, he had taken the text as cold and terse and would have preferred a call.
“Or maybe he’s busy working and you’re embarrassingly eager,” Trevor said to himself as he pulled up to the Bartech reception. While the valet rushed to his door, he checked his phone again. “And impatient,” he mumbled, shaking his head.
He stepped out of the car, dropped the phone into his pants pocket, and took the ticket from the valet. As he walked into the convention center, his pocket vibrated. He grabbed it, hoping to see Ford’sß number flash across the screen, sighed disappointedly when he saw it was his marketing director, and then rolled his eyes at his own idiocy.
“Hi, Shonda. I just walked in. Where are you?”
“You made it!” she said excitedly. “They’ll be wrapping up in about forty minutes so I was worried. Tell me where you are and I’ll come to you. There are a few key people who’re dying to meet you.”
He hated hobnobbing, being hit up for money by organizations he knew nothing about or worse, by political candidates, and having people talk to him with the goal of being introduced to his parents or their staff. Every single one of those things was destined to occur that night, but he was there to show Shonda that her work was valued, which meant not sulking. So he squared his shoulders, rattled off his location, and waited for Shonda.
Twenty minutes later, he had been introduced to half a dozen people he’d never remember. As he walked with Shonda to say hello to one of the event organizers, he picked up his phone again. Still no response from Ford.
“I’m sure you need to leave,” Shonda said. “I promise this won’t take long. Gerry Gibbons was on the committee that selected TM for the award and meeting you will make his night.”
“Sounds good.” Trevor smiled, hoping it came across as sincere despite being anything but.
Leaning close to him, Shonda whispered conspiratorially, “I have to confess, when Carol told me you were coming here tonight, I was sure she was wrong.”
“Carol Gizmond is never wrong.” Trevor looked at Shonda and shook his head. “Never.”
“I know! But my options were Carol being wrong, which is completely crazy, or you showing up to a reception loaded with lobbyists, politicians, and social climbers. Door number one seemed like the smarter choice. Clearly I was wrong.”
Trevor laughed and smiled genuinely for the first time that night. “Don’t tell Carol I said so, but I’d have made the same choice.”
“Mister Moga. We’re honored you could make it tonight.”
Trevor turned toward the man approaching him, his hand outstretched.
“Trevor, this is Gerry Gibbons. Gerry, meet Trevor Moga.”
As he took Gerry’s hand and shook it, Trevor caught a glimpse of a familiar body. That was quite a feat because ninety-five percent of Washington, DC event attendees wore dark suits and a thick coat of ego. This person had stuck to the suit uniform, but he had checked the ego at the door. About twenty feet away, talking with a small group of people, stood Ford Hollingsworth.
Looking over Gerry’s shoulder, Trevor blinked a few times to confirm he wasn’t imagining things. When Ford didn’t disappear, Trevor knew luck was on his side. Thankfully, Gerry Gibbons was very talkative so he didn’t notice Trevor’s distraction, and after a few minutes, Shonda deftly extricated them from the conversation.
“Thanks again for coming tonight, Trevor,” Shonda said. “I know how busy you are.”
“I should have joined you at one of these sooner, but you do such a thorough job that I’m not needed.” Trevor forced himself to look Shonda in the eyes while he spoke to her, but he kept tabs on Ford with his peripheral vision. Not approaching him wasn’t an option but neither did Trevor want to do anything that could hint at their history.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.” Shonda reached for Trevor’s hand and shook it. “I’m going to make a final round before I leave. You’ll have my summary of this event on your desk by tomorrow afternoon. Good night.”
She started turning around when Trevor said, “Shonda?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know the people in that group?” He subtly tipped his chin toward the area where Ford stood.
Shonda flicked her gaze in the direction Trevor indicated and then lowered her voice and leaned close to him. “Hmm. Let’s see. Beth Everett is with the Robson Group, they were last year’s Bartech honoree, and John Rabe is on the Bartech board. A couple of the others look familiar, but I can’t place them.”
Carefully choosing his words, he said, “I have a few more minutes. Do you want me to meet John Rabe and thank him?”
Looking surprised but pleased, Shonda nodded. “Absolutely.”
They walked over to the group and Trevor noticed the exact moment Ford spotted him. His eyes widened, his face paled, and his nostrils flared as if he was gasping for air. While Trevor certainly would have preferred a happier reaction to his arrival, he understood why Ford was afraid. Understood and wanted to ease. So he kept his focus on the man Shonda was approaching and watched Ford from his peripheral vision.
“John, thank you again for a lovely evening,” Shonda said. “I want to introduce you to Trevor Moga.”
Smiling broadly, John turned to them and stretched out his hand. “It’s an honor to have you here.” He shook Trevor’s hand and rambled about something Trevor couldn’t follow but ultimately came down to compliments.
“Thank you,” Trevor said. “We’re grateful to have been recognized tonight.” He smiled at John and then turned toward the rest of the group. “Sorry to interrupt you.”
“Not at all.” The one woman in the circle stepped forward. “I’m Beth Everett. It’s good to meet you.”
Introductions were made one-by-one until only Ford was left. He hadn’t said a word, and when Trevor focused on him, he gulped.
He wouldn’t out Ford or do anything else to humiliate him, but if the man didn’t calm down, he’d draw unwanted attention to himself so Trevor looked in his eyes and tried to convey comfort. “Trevor Moga,” Trevor said, keeping his tone light. He held out his hand and hoped nobody else noticed the surprise followed by relief that crossed Ford’s face.
“Ford Hollingsworth.” Ford shook his hand, his palm clammy.
“It’s good to meet you.” Trevor clasped his free hand over the back of Ford’s, needing another connection, and squeezed him briefly before letting go and turning back to John. “It’s been a long day so I’m going to head out before the valet line gets out of hand.” He flicked his gaze toward Ford. “A warm shower and a comfortable hotel bed are calling my name.”