“Who’s Josh?” she asked on the way to the door.
“Josh Hart.”
“Your CEO?”
“Yeah,” he called. “We’re going to the symphony.”
Amanda opened the door and saw a bright blue Tesla roadster outside. “Sweet,” she said. Maybe if tonight’s date didn’t work out she could date the CEO of Hook.
Josh rolled down the window. He was pasty white and his eyes were beady, like a reptile’s, but he wasn’t terrible looking. “Where’s Juan?”
She stuck out her hand. “I’m Amanda, his roommate.” She smiled and batted her lashes. He didn’t respond. “He’s on his way out, asked me to tell you.”
Josh glared at Amanda in suggestion she leave.
“Have a good time,” she said to Juan as he walked out the door.
Amanda went back inside, Josh’s rebuff already forgotten by the time she got to the door. She turned on the radio and killed time putting on makeup while she waited for her date, Ben Loftis, to arrive.
San Francisco had been a great move. Her roommates were great, the weather was great, the profiles of men on Hook were great. Work still sucked, but her hours were better, and when she came home she had free booze, courtesy of Hook. It felt cool being in such close proximity to an app everyone used.
And to top it all off, Ben Loftis, who was now on his way to pick her up, was legitimately perfect. Not only had he messaged her, he’d asked her to dinner. When would that ever happen in New York? Guys there just used the app for easy sex, she now realized. Why had she ever wasted her time thinking she could fix Todd Kent? Guys here didn’t need to be fixed, and they appreciated a woman like Amanda when they saw her.
As she curled her hair, Amanda thought through Ben Loftis’s stats. He’d gone to Duke undergrad, then worked at Citigroup in investment banking in New York, then gone to Wharton for business school, and now he was starting the first-ever all-organic, locally sourced, sustainably manufactured craft beer hall in the country. Plus he’d run a marathon, visited twenty countries, was a certified scuba instructor, and had spent a summer teaching English to kids in China. And he had super-attractive photos.
The doorbell rang and Amanda took a deep breath, one last look in the mirror, and skipped down the stairs.
“Hi.” Ben Loftis smiled, handing her a bouquet of flowers.
Oh my god, she thought, should we just go up and sleep together right now?!
“Hi,” she said, containing herself. “This is so sweet of you.”
“Here’s the flower food.” He handed her a small sachet. “It makes them last longer.”
She opened her arms and gave him a hug, overcome. “Thank you so much. This is seriously so nice.” His arms were stiff as he returned the hug and she blushed: maybe she’d been too effusive?
She put the flowers down on the table by the door. “Should we get going?”
He looked at the flowers, then smiled, closed-lipped, back at her. “Sure.”
JUAN
FRIDAY, APRIL 11; SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
Juan tried not to be nervous but he couldn’t help it: everything was making him nervous since he’d discovered that Kelly was with another Hook user the night she died. Would it really derail the IPO if people found out?
“Who was that?” Josh asked as Juan plopped into the passenger seat of the sports car.
“My new roommate, Amanda,” Juan said, trying to shake thoughts of Kelly. “She just moved here from New York.”
“Why do you have a girl roommate?” Josh asked.
“I’ve got two, actually,” Juan said. “I like living with girls.”
“You should get your own place after the IPO.”
“Nah—rent around here is crazy high,” Juan said. “Didn’t they only make like a thousand of these cars?”
“I don’t know. Rachel suggested I get it,” Josh said, apparently uninterested in the car everyone else was talking about.
“Can I ask you a question?” Juan asked.
“You just did.”
“Do you use Hook?”
“Of course not.”
“Why not?”
“Dealers should never use their own drug.”
“Do you think it’s safe?”
“In what sense?”
“Like, do you think people could get hurt using it. Like, a murderer could use it to kill people?”
“I think a murderer would be better off with a gun.”
“But do you think Hook might”—Juan paused carefully—“facilitate it?”
“If a murderer drives to kill his victim, is the car guilty?”
Josh parked his Tesla around the corner from Davies Symphony Hall and Juan let the question go. Maybe he was right.
“Are you glad we’re going public?” Juan asked, changing the subject as they got out of the car.
“I’m glad to get the VCs off my ass,” Josh said. “You’ve got someone helping with your taxes, right?”
“No,” Juan said. “Do I need to?”
“Yeah,” Josh said, as if it were obvious, “if you don’t want half of it going to the government, paying for unemployment for this guy the second you cash in.” He lifted his chin to indicate a homeless man passed out at a bus stop.
“What do you mean?”
“Our tax bracket is like fifty-three percent. But a good accountant can help you reduce it by at least half, maybe more.”
“Is that legal?”
“All tax loopholes are legal.”
Juan shrugged. “I don’t know that I’ve got enough to worry about it.”
“What are you talking about?” Josh said.
“You know what I make,” Juan said. He’d just gotten a raise to a hundred twenty thousand dollars a year, which was hardly rich in San Francisco.
Josh stopped and turned to look at him. “You do realize you own one and a half percent of the company?”
Juan felt his face cool when he saw the seriousness in Josh’s eyes. “Is that a lot?” he asked carefully.
“If we get a fourteen-billion-dollar valuation, your shares are worth two hundred million,” Josh said, then turned and kept walking. “But the government’s going to take half if you don’t get it sorted soon.”
Juan stood, paralyzed. Had Josh just said two hundred million? As in two hundred million dollars?
Josh showed the ticket collector their passes and Juan followed him in a daze to their seats.
Juan was grateful when the lights went down and he could settle into his thoughts.
Two hundred million dollars? That was . . . that was actually more than Juan’s brain could comprehend.
AMANDA
FRIDAY, APRIL 11; SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
Amanda and Ben walked from her house down Union Street to Terzo, where the host greeted Ben. “The usual table, Mr. Loftis?”
“Please.”
“So you come here often?” she asked.
“Yes.” He smiled curtly. “It’s the best restaurant in your neighborhood, although their beer selection is subpar. I’ve got a meeting with the owner next week to discuss a partnership for our craft beers.”
“Oh, that’s awesome,” Amanda said. “I have so many questions about your business. It must be so cool having a start-up.”
“It is. Not everyone’s cut out for it—it’s a lot of work, but I’m used to it from my years in investment banking.” His brown eyes blinked rapidly when he talked. He wasn’t as attractive as in the photos: he was fatter, for one thing. But Amanda gave him a pass. Starting a business must make it hard to keep up with his usual marathon routine.
“Oh, I’ve heard investment banking is brutal,” she agreed. “I mean, I thought paralegal hours were long, but—”
“They’re nothing in comparison,” Ben interrupted. “Nothing
is, except starting a company. Or at least starting a successful company, like mine.”
“So it’s going well?”
He lifted an eyebrow as if he didn’t believe she was asking the question. “Did you not see Forbes this year? I was on the Thirty Under Thirty list.”
“Seriously?” Amanda’s jaw dropped. Was she really having dinner with a guy who was in Forbes magazine? “I don’t read it, but that’s amazing.”
“You need to,” he counseled. “If you’re going to participate in the Valley you’ve got to stay on top of the Forbes Thirty Under Thirty list. It’s pretty much what separates the good companies from the ones that are BS. What do you want to drink?”
“Wine?” she suggested.
“What do you like?”
“White, I guess?”
He studied her. “Dry or fruity?”
“Oh, I’m not picky.”
“Interesting,” he said, looking at the menu. “We’ll have a bottle of the Napa chardonnay,” he instructed the waiter, “and my usual order for food.” He turned back to Amanda. “I’ll order for both of us, just to get this going.”
“Oh, sure,” she said. “Do you know a lot about wine?”
“Yes. I’m certified.”
“As a sommelier? Doesn’t that take years?”
“I did a compressed course while I was in business school. It was thirty hours, but it’s basically the same training.”
The waiter came back with the wine and Ben tasted it before pouring her a glass. “Very good,” he said.
“Delicious,” she agreed, taking a sip.
He didn’t say anything, so she asked another question. “So, did you like Wharton? I loved Penn as an undergrad.”
“The business school is much different from undergrad. Much more competitive, for one thing.” He was looking in the mirror behind her, studying the other people in the restaurant.
“It’s annoying out here because everyone thinks Stanford Business School is the only place to go for entrepreneurship,” he went on, “but statistically more companies come out of Wharton. And our average GMAT scores are higher than theirs. I met some girl from there the other day who got a 670. I couldn’t believe it. Like, I know standards are lower for women because they need to keep numbers up, but that’s absurd. They’re clearly losing their edge.”
Amanda took a deep breath and sipped her wine. Maybe she was asking the wrong questions.
“Will you hold on a second?” He stood up without waiting for her to respond and she watched him go to the table he’d been studying and confront a man and a woman on what looked like a date.
The waiter arrived with their food and she nibbled at the roasted eggplant, then finished it altogether, watching him stand and chuckle at the table.
Next she went for the meatballs, watching as Ben Loftis’s perfection melted while he stood at the table, rocking on his heels with one hand in the pocket of his bright blue fleece vest. Who wore a fleece vest to a restaurant like this? His fat face got red as he laughed a fake laugh at something the seated guy said. He took a sip of the wine they were drinking and puckered, evidently using his thirty hours of wine training expertise to criticize whatever they’d ordered.
She watched and chewed without tasting. Had he asked her a single question this entire dinner? Oh yes, he asked what she wanted to drink. And Penn undergrad most definitely was as competitive as Wharton. And definitely more competitive than . . . Where had he gone? Duke?
But he gave you flowers, she defended him to herself.
“Here, babe.” She turned to the voice. A woman at the table next to her slid a shot of tequila in front of her. “You need this more than Tara does.”
Amanda looked up: the woman’s face was Asian and flushed from drinking, and she smiled comically while the woman she sat with giggled helplessly.
Amanda felt herself puff up defensively, realizing the pair had been observing her date. She glanced at their fingers: no rings. How dare some bitter, older girls mock her when . . . she looked over at Ben, then back at the women.
The woman nodded, following Amanda’s thoughts. “I’m telling you, honey, it’s as good as it gets out here.”
“But I came out here to find better men.”
The woman shrugged but laughed, saying, “Didn’t we all,” then indicated the tequila shot. “Drink up.”
Amanda downed the shot as Ben Loftis returned. “Sorry,” he said. “Old girlfriend.”
“Oh?” Amanda puckered her lips, swallowing the tequila taste.
“Poor girl ended up with that private equity loser. I have no respect for men who just make money off other people’s work.” He looked at the food. “Did you eat all the meatballs?”
“Yeah.” She noticed the clear plate. “I was starving.”
“Oh.” His eyes darted back and forth, trying to decide what to do, then he gestured for the waiter. “Can we have more meatballs, Marc? Guess you won’t need any dessert, then,” he said, turning back to her.
The women at the next table paid the check and gave a good luck sign as they left the restaurant. Amanda chugged the wine in front of her while Ben continued to talk about himself and the things on his résumé.
She didn’t even pretend to offer to pay when the bill came.
“I’m going to get a cab to Pac Heights,” he said. “I can drop you off.”
“That would be great,” she said, and the gesture made her think maybe she should give him another chance.
He signed the bill and she followed him outside.
“You know, I’ve actually been thinking about starting my own company,” she said as they got into the car. “Like, I’ve realized in law there isn’t really a good system for people who aren’t pro bono but can’t pay the big legal fees for firms like Crowley—”
“Sorry.” He put a finger up. “Do you mind if we watch this?” He gestured to the tiny TV screen in the cab. “I love this clip.” He laughed as Jimmy Kimmel came on. She sat back and crossed her arms. The cab arrived at her door as the clip finished.
“Well, it’s been fun.” She opened the door.
“Hey, listen,” he stopped her. “I’m sorry.”
She turned, hopeful. “About what?” Maybe the ex-girlfriend had been serious, had broken his heart and made it difficult to sit through dinner.
“I should have cut this off before dinner,” he said.
“Why?” she asked kindly, waiting for him to say he was still heartbroken, wasn’t ready for a new relationship.
“The flowers,” he said. “It was just so thoughtless the way you left them on the table. I bought those for you, and now they’re probably dead, when all you had to do was take a minute to put them in water with the flower food I gave you instead of disrespecting my effort.”
“What?” Her face squinted. Was he joking?
“J. C. Penney had this test that he wouldn’t hire anyone who salted his food before tasting it. The flowers were my test. I can’t be with a girl who treats my thoughtfulness so flippantly.”
Amanda stared at him, mouth open, trying to figure out whether this was actually happening or she’d just had too much wine. “I understand,” she finally said, getting out of the cab and shutting the door.
The cab drove off while she was still fumbling with the keys in the damp chill that had settled into the night. She shut the door behind her, picked up the flowers, and chucked them in the garbage.
JUAN
FRIDAY, APRIL 11; SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
“Now you’re thinking about it,” Josh laughed at Juan when the concert ended and they followed the crowds down the stairs, his lips spread to reveal pink gums. Juan hadn’t seen Josh smile without closed lips since the early days of Hook; it made him look younger, innocent and a bit naive. “Get trusts in place so you don’t have to pay taxes,” he coached.
“But who cares?” Juan said. “Even if they take half I still don’t know what to do with a hundred million dollars.”
“It’s not about the money, it’s about the principle. Why should guys like you and me, who fund the innovation that fuels this country, also be expected to prop up a bureaucratic government that’s going to squander it all on inefficient programs that don’t work?”
“But then who helps poor people?”
“Private foundations,” Josh said, “which I’m sure you’ll have.”
Juan blushed: that was a great idea.
“Don’t you think, though, that if all support switches to private foundations, only the causes rich people care about get any attention?” He’d use his to help kids in East Palo Alto, but all the rich guys he knew were programmers who only cared about video games, Lord of the Rings and the occasional rare turtle species.
“You think it isn’t like that now? What do you think lobbyists are for? Private foundations are just more efficient.”
“Are you Republican?” Juan didn’t think he’d ever met a Republican before.
“Libertarian.”
“What’s that?”
“What you’ll be as soon as you have money.”
“Are you going to have a foundation?”
“No,” he said. “I’m going to start another company. I’m using the money to pay for it myself so I don’t have to deal with dickhead venture capitalists.”
“You don’t like Phil Dalton?”
“All he cares about is his return. He’s watering down the vision.”
“What’s the vision?”
“Of Hook?” Josh’s head twitched. “To make social interactions more efficient. Sex is a human necessity, and it’s ridiculous how much time is wasted trying to fulfill the need. Hook uses technology to fix that. There are a million other applications of that logic, but Phil doesn’t see them.”
Juan didn’t say anything. He was thinking about Kelly again. Making things more efficient wasn’t a crime. Even if she had been killed, which they didn’t even know for sure, at the very, very absolute worst Hook had only helped make it more efficient. It hadn’t caused her to get killed. And that wasn’t worth risking the IPO over, especially if the IPO meant he’d have money to maybe help transform East Palo Alto.
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