On Thursday he snapped at his assistant for overbooking him in meetings. Overbooking. This from the guy for whom overbooking was usually standard operating mode.
Friday brought everything to a head, when Josh read an email from Hal Braddon, an important potential investor, about a deal they’d been working on for weeks. They were due to speak the next day at a weekend conference, but Braddon asked for a blisteringly early breakfast before the event began. At SymphoCync, not the hotel across town that was hosting the conference.
That was actually good news. Braddon was a high-profile investment capital magnate rich enough to buy tech companies for amusement if not for profit. The guy could say no any number of ways, or not respond at all. The fact that he wanted to meet privately told Josh the deal might be about to take a huge leap forward.
Josh slept in the office Friday night, working late and rising well before dawn to get ready for the monumental day ahead. It was still dark when the headlights of Hal Braddon’s sleek convertible appeared in front of the building and Josh went down to meet him at the door.
Braddon was one of those guys who managed to make a tailored shirt and a pair of jeans look like a power suit. He never wore a suit because he never needed to—his powerful reputation and the size of his empire preceded him into any room. This morning, Tyler guessed there wasn’t a single item of clothing or accessory on the man costing less than $200. Braddon’s watch alone probably could have bought out Bill Williams’s entire inventory. “I thought we’d go up to the rooftop terrace and watch the sun come up,” Josh said as he shook Braddon’s hand. “I’ve got coffee up there.”
“Really good coffee, I hope?”
“Decent enough.” The first rule in negotiations was to never look eager, to always look like you needed the deal less than the other guy. They rode the elevator up to the top floor just as the first pink streaks of sunrise were brightening the sky.
“Nice view,” Braddon said as they walked out onto the terrace that overlooked the landscaped hillside. Even in the pale light of the arriving day, the scenery was breathtaking. The gorgeous view was one of the reasons Josh had bought the building, and certainly the reason he’d put in the garden patio.
“Keeps my head on straight,” Josh replied. That wasn’t a line; there had been chaotic weeks where ten minutes up here in the quiet was the only thing keeping a lid on his sanity.
“This can be a crazy business, but I love the pace. Do you?”
“Parts of it. I could do with more sleep than I’m getting. It helps that SymphoCync is packed with great people.” It was. Personal music apps like SymphoCync weren’t especially new ideas—it was the brilliant people Josh had gathered around him who’d taken a basic idea and made it sing. No other app had the sophistication of preference algorithms and the ease of use paired with the ability to surprise a customer with a “new favorite” like SymphoCync did. People gave him lots of the credit—and he worked harder than anyone else on staff—but it was the “symphony” of all the engineers, designers and technicians that made the success.
“Maybe,” replied Braddon as he took the cup of coffee Josh offered. Normally Josh didn’t handle refreshments, but with the exception of the overnight tech support staff, the building was empty. “I prefer to think it’s the great leaders who make brilliance happen,” Braddon went on. “Good tech is only half the battle—you know that.” Braddon eased himself into one of the deck chairs with the grace of a man accustomed to having the upper hand in any room he entered. The fact that he could claim the upper hand, even on Josh’s turf, spoke to the considerable power he wore with ease. “I know that.”
“Takes a lot of capital to make brilliance keep happening, I know that,” Josh replied as he sat down himself. Despite being only in his forties, Braddon already owned two media companies—one in video, the other in entertainment news—and had built up an empire. Josh had been pitching him for months to come in as a silent partner and wield that empire—and its very deep pockets—on SymphoCync’s behalf.
“Well, I do believe we could do some pretty amazing things if we partner up.” Braddon crossed one foot over the other knee, leaning back. Josh thought if the man had a cigar, he would have taken the time to light it at a leisurely pace.
Josh sipped his own coffee, knowing better than to fill the silence the man was laying out before him. This wasn’t his first high-level negotiation. After a pause that felt entirely too long, Josh put down his cup and said, “You didn’t ask for this meeting to tell me you’re still thinking.”
Braddon chuckled. “No.”
So he had made a decision. Josh leaned in, ready to move things forward. “And a man like you doesn’t come clear across town before dawn to pass on a deal.” Anticipation buzzed like an electric current under his skin.
“I pick the people I do business with very carefully.” He leveled Josh with a fierce, unflinching look. “You and I, though, we’re cut from the same cloth. Strong ideas. Bold moves. We’re risk takers. I like you. I’ve already told you I want to work with you.” After a pause he repeated, “You. I do deals with people, not companies.”
How much longer were they going to dance around Braddon’s response? “Fair enough.”
After drinking his coffee to a remarkably unnerving dramatic effect, Braddon declared, “I’m here to make a counteroffer. I don’t want a silent partnership. I want to buy SymphoCync outright. For an obscene amount of money. You’ll never have to mess around with public offerings or venture capital, and I’ll probably approve whatever executive structure you want. But only in a full buyout.”
Josh took pains to hide his surprise. Sell SymphoCync? Could he really go that far, even if it got him what the company needed?
“I meant what I said—I back people, not companies. I’m backing you,” Braddon explained, “but I’ll back you as owner, not investor. That’s the offer I came ‘clear across town,’ as you say, to make.”
I wouldn’t own SymphoCync. The thought seemed impossible. Taking on Hal Braddon as a partner, a backer, was one thing. Reporting to him as boss? That was quite another.
“I get that you’re not a ‘work for someone else’ kind of guy,” Braddon continued. “And I know selling SymphoCync isn’t what we talked about. But I’ve decided it’s what I want. And I’m used to paying for what I want. Handsomely.” With that, Braddon pulled a single sheet of paper from the sleek leather portfolio he carried and spread it out on the table between them.
Josh stared at the number. For a drawn-out second, his mind went a thousand directions with what Braddon’s $240 million—million—could do.
“I’m about to make SymphoCync a legend, Tyler,” Braddon went on. “Think about it—with that kind of capital, there won’t be another company that can touch your market share.”
“Your market share,” Josh countered.
“Now don’t get petty. It’ll be our market share,” Braddon returned. “You retain full autonomy. It’ll still be your company in all the ways that matter. You still run the show.”
Josh heard his father’s voice: never forget, son, it’s the man who has the money who makes the rules. “What’s to say you don’t turn around and fire me the day after you take ownership?”
“I wouldn’t. As a matter of fact, I’m going to stipulate you stay on as CEO for four years minimum. I have no interest in running SymphoCync.”
“Just in owning it,” Josh shot back. Here he thought he’d landed the perfect deal to add assets for the growth SymphoCync needed, and he’d been outmaneuvered. He’d considered himself above a buyout. Even a multimillion-dollar one like this.
“Really, this can’t come as a total surprise,” Braddon said as he stood up.
Shame on me, Josh thought. “Let’s just say you’re living up to your reputation.”
Braddon laughed. “Good to hear. So now you’ve got my terms. You and I have a conference to
attend in—” he checked the fancy watch “—two hours, so you know where to find me when you have an answer.” With that, Braddon headed off the terrace, but stopped for a moment to turn back. “You’ll still be the man who made SymphoCync, Josh. I’m not taking that away from you.”
Josh had a dozen responses brewing in his head, but the set of Braddon’s spine told Josh the man had said what he came to say. Any arguments would fall on deaf ears.
Deaf ears. He was going to have to stop thinking stuff like that.
He watched Braddon’s silhouette disappear through the door and be swallowed up in the gorgeous reflection of the sunshine that now bounced off the glass. How had this become the month of people setting off bombs in his life?
He had to reject Braddon’s arrogant offer. Didn’t he? He was Josh Tyler—he was the boss, the innovator—and SymphoCync was his.
Run, not own? The thought choked him. It was a dizzying amount of money. Jonah would need therapies and schooling and college and doctors...
The impossible contradiction that was his future had just managed to become twice as impossible.
Chapter Twelve
Jean sat at the kitchen table going over tomorrow’s schedule while she waited for the water to boil. Tomorrow’s bus excursion for the dozen Asheville wedding planners could be a major step forward for Matrimony Valley. Especially if North Carolina Nuptials magazine sent a photographer like they promised. It had been a flurry of work to send out all those press releases and email invitations on top of the final preparations for Violet’s wedding over Memorial Day weekend, but if even one of the twelve booked a wedding in the valley, the effort would pay for itself. Plus, affairs that already came with wedding planners in tow made her job that much easier.
She had Josh to thank for that particular idea—marketing to planners as well as to brides. It would feel good to let him know how well it had worked out.
If he called, that was.
She looked up from her papers to see Jonah playing with the tablet Josh had sent to him. Josh had never actually promised to video chat every day, but when he’d done so for the first three days, Jonah had come to expect it. That’s how little boys’ minds worked. All Jonah knew was that Big Fish hadn’t called in four days. He didn’t understand that his new friend Big Fish had a huge company to run.
Quite frankly, the connection between those two frightened her. The way Jonah looked at Josh, Jean could almost believe her son could somehow recognize his father. As if their DNA called to each other in a way only Jonah’s deaf ears could hear.
“What are you drawing?” she signed, nodding toward the digital illustration program Jonah had recently discovered. She’d found him bent over the tablet more often than not recently, his small pink tongue stuck out in serious concentration as his finger swiped over the surface.
She hardly needed to ask; Jonah drew the same thing over and over. Fish. Almost always in heartbreaking pairs of big fish and little fish, occasionally in startling family trios—a big, a medium and a small fish. He never named them, never said who the fish were, just drew fish. Was he sending her a deliberate message? Was his small brain working through whatever he’d picked up on between her and Josh? Or was he just a boy expressing his fascination for finned creatures?
Don’t you dare leave him hanging. Jean sent her silent plea to Josh across the miles. Don’t make me glad I held off letting him know who you are.
She hadn’t meant to turn this week into some sort of test, some unintentional hurdle Josh must jump to earn the right to call himself Jonah’s father. She’d never asked him for daily communication with Jonah or herself. She’d intentionally stayed away from making any demands on him at all. No, it was Josh’s own enthusiastic promises that had ignited all these dangerous hopes that now clanged around in her chest. Everything Josh did—or didn’t do—seemed heavy with too much meaning right now. She read and reread his few emails, the handful of text messages and photos, dissecting them for clues to his intentions. She scoured his expressions on the three days he did video chat with Jonah, searching for signs of waning attention. She couldn’t stop herself from jumping to conclusions, from waiting for things to go wrong, to fall apart. After all, hadn’t life shown her how easily things fell apart?
All this casual-appearing vigilance was exhausting. Pretending this very big deal was no big deal was sapping energy that she should be using elsewhere.
Like on the twelve wedding planners who needed to be impressed tomorrow.
Back in college, there had been a final she’d botched because Josh had made some wild, eloquent promise of a celebration. He’d painted such a fantastic picture of how he was going to take her on a picnic inside the campus telescope silo, showing her stars and promising her the moon, that she’d been too distracted to do well on the crucial test. His ability to persuade her, to distract her to the point of derailing, had flustered her that day. It made her feel weak and impressionable. All those feelings were replaced with anger when he didn’t show at the silo at the appointed time. The scene had replayed dozens of times while they were in San Jose.
He’d had a good excuse that night. Something about a professor and a lab lockdown or whatever. That was the hard thing about Josh—he always had a good excuse. Loads of them. Only good excuses could pile up with as much weight as poor ones. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d found herself alone at a restaurant, coffee shop or her own dining room table. She never seemed to matter as much as whatever crisis arose—and the crises always arose. Jean wanted to matter, even if only to one person. It’s what made it easy to come home to the faithfulness of her father, to the valley, where it felt like she mattered a great deal.
The water boiled, the spaghetti cooked and Jonah talked about fish during his bath. She pulled the tablet from his hands as his eyes fell closed in sleep, wanting to call Josh and yell at him.
You can’t have his heart. Or mine. Not if we’re going to be on the sidelines like this.
As she placed it on the nightstand, the notification light illuminated with a quiet ping. Opening it up, she found a message from Josh. It was just like him to come in under the wire, to save himself at the last possible moment.
A photo appeared in the message feed. A goofy selfie, a shot of himself smiling and pointing to the front of an expensive-looking refrigerator. Jonah’s drawing was fixed to the door by a set of four shiny magnets. Newly purchased, she somehow knew, for the purpose.
That was the thing about Josh—he was the kind of man she could never quite hate. He could irritate the living daylights out of her, push her to the limits of her grace and patience, and then somehow manage to save himself with a grand gesture, a perfectly phrased apology or just the right plea. It was what made him professionally great...and personally impossible.
It was why she kept him out of her life. She could never seem to put limits on how he invaded her good sense. Some part of her could only do “all or nothing” when it came to Josh Tyler.
And now neither one was a viable choice.
Jean sighed, closed the tablet and put it down. She snapped off the light in Jonah’s room and walked to the kitchen table, where her files and her cell phone lay. After a brief prayer for wisdom, she tapped the contact on her phone for Josh and pressed Dial.
“Hey there” came Josh’s energetic voice over the line. “Did he like my shot?”
“He’s asleep. It’s eight thirty here.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s earlier here. I haven’t even thought about dinner.”
Another way their lives were vastly different. “But you’re home. That’s unusual for you, isn’t it?”
“I had to get out of the office tonight. I...um...I had some thinking to do.”
That was curious. “About what?” She wasn’t altogether sure she wanted to hear the answer.
His sigh was weary. “Not now.”
She
didn’t know what to say to that. Was it a work worry, or was he pondering how to mesh their lives for Jonah’s sake? Every way to ask the question seemed loaded with pressure. She settled for “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” After a bit of a pause where she thought she was going to just have to end with “Good night,” he said, “I’ve decided I’m going to come back and stay through Violet’s wedding.”
That startled her. “Really?”
“Yeah. You know, take a bite out of those fifty-some-odd vacation days I have piled up.”
The Josh she’d known would have vacationed—if he vacationed at all—someplace exotic, remote and expensive. Matrimony Valley, even for Violet’s wedding, didn’t seem to fit the bill.
“Why?” Jean tried to make the question sound supportive, curious, instead of a question of motive. She was fishing for some declaration of wanting to spend time with Jonah, she knew that, but couldn’t seem to help herself.
He sighed again—something that seemed odd, even for the new Josh—before answering. “I can’t seem to think here.”
She didn’t know what to make of that answer, or the disjointed way he gave it. “Meaning?”
“I have to make a big decision—a business one, I mean—and I can’t seem to get my head in the right place to make it out here. I did an important conference this weekend. I love those things—or I used to. This last one just felt too loud and frantic all of a sudden.”
Loud and frantic was Josh’s native habitat—or had been. Certainly more than sleepy, slow-paced Matrimony Valley.
“You’re welcome here. I’m sure Violet will love to have you serve as her advance team.” Go on, say it. “Jonah will be happy, too.”
“I want to tell him, Jean. I want him to know.”
She closed her eyes, feeling the power of his demand even across the miles. “He will know. We just have to go slowly here. You’ve got to be ready to be who he needs you to be.” She recalled the sight of Jonah’s eager little eyes. He’d latched on to Josh already somehow. Did she really have the right to delay his knowing any longer? At five, did he have the capacity to understand a situation this complicated? “Big Fish not calling for days is different—really different—from Daddy not calling for days. Than Daddy not being here.”
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