Page 20 of The Hard Launch

“Thank you,” I say as she leaves.

“This was fun,” she tells me.

When she’s gone, I realize she’s left her empty, expensive bottle behind. I put it on my desk next to my three monitors, and I get to work.

“How we doing, bro?” Trevor’s in my doorway, not picking up on the don’t interrupt my flow state vibes I’m sending his way.

I nod, hoping he’ll go away but he comes in and stretches out on the sofa, crosses his feet on the armrest.

“Things were looking pretty cozy in here before,” he comments.

“What do you mean by that?” I keep typing.

“You and Lacey,” he says. I ignore the tone and what it’s implying.

“Yeah, we worked through that distribution problem I was stuck on. We landed on something much more configurable than where I started.”

“You sure there’s not more than minds meeting? You know?”

He’s smirking at me when I look up.

“Enough, Trevor.”

“I get it. Lacey would be hot if she weren’t so… sour.”

“She’s not sour.”

“So you think she’s hot.”

“I don’t have time for this,” I say, throwing my stress ball at his head. He catches it and tosses it back.

“This isn’t a social visit. I’ve got my brother’s bachelor party this weekend, but I see you put meetings all over it.”

What part of all hands on deck does Trevor not understand? We have thirty days, and he has two teams that have committed to grind this out. I need him to be present and pushing or this is all a waste of time. I unload on him, to the point where Jonnie pops her head in and asks if everything’s okay.

“It’s chill,” Trevor tells her, standing up. “I’m about to go. Glad to be your punching bag, Jude.”

Jonnie, who doesn’t even like Trevor, pats him on the shoulder as he makes his way out of my office.

“Wait,” I tell him.

I know my expectations can be a little unrealistic. I sometimes forget that I’m the only one who’s chosen to give up their entire personal life for Lettercat. I can’t ask him to skip a family event, even if it does involve Las Vegas and the things Trevor does in a place like that. I apologize and tell him to have fun. Not so much fun that he’s not here on Monday.

“But I do need to make a change,” I tell him.

He gives me a sad fist bump before he goes.

Lacey’s got her headphones on and her hair’s pulled into a messy pile. I can tell by the way she’s looking at her screen that she’s found something she wants to change; she twists her mouth to the side whenever this happens. She taps her pencil against her notepad a few times, then sketches something and nods to herself. She processes things externally, I’ve noticed: talking, sticky notes, diagrams.

“Hey,” she says, finally seeing me. She pulls her headphones off and looks up at me, then at what I’m holding in my hand. I start to wonder if this was a stupid idea.

I hold up the little stuffed tiger my sister sent me earlier this week, and I wiggle it awkwardly at her before placing it on her desk.

“What is this?” she asks.

“It’s a tiger,” I say.

“No. What is this?” she asks, motioning to the three of us: me, her, the tiger.