Page 54 of The Hard Launch

“Bro,” Trevor says, pity mixed with disgust.

“You guys know this isn’t my call,” Jude says, looking at his socks.

“Of course it wasn’t,” I say. “But you just dropped a bomb on everyone and came in here to hide.”

He looks up at me, irritated.

“What am I supposed to do, Lacey? It’s not the CEO’s job to stand in front of the team and blame everything on the board. I can’t even tell you guys what’s going on, okay?”

“Is it Edmund?” I ask.

“There was an emergency board meeting this morning. Please don’t let that leave this room.”

“I bet it’s about that Tooity shit,” Trevor says.

Jude just sighs and pulls his wallet out of his pocket.

“Here,” he says, holding a credit card out. “It’s the company card. I don’t care what the tab is, just go and tell everyone to be done for the day.”

Trevor takes the card but I’m already out the door.

I go to the stairwell, which is part of the building but not technically the office. Because I don’t cry at work.

The door opens.

“Woman,” Kate says, sitting next to me and handing me a tissue to blubber into. “I told you work was a shitty choice of boyfriend.”

“It did kind of break my heart,” I sniff.

“And it didn’t even get you off before that,” she rubs my back consolingly. “We can do better. But first let’s get you nice and drunk with the team, okay?”

I nod. She dabs the remainder of my tears away with a fresh tissue and we go back to the office to get our things and file into the elevator with our tired and confused co-workers.

Dave is older and wiser and he tells us that when you luck into day drinking on a beautiful afternoon in San Francisco, you go to The Ramp. It’s just what you do.

“I think Jude had a rez at Woodbury,” Trevor offers.

“I think I speak for everyone right now when I say these two words: fuck Jude,” Dave says.

We walk to The Ramp, which is quite literally a restaurant next to a ramp into the bay, with outside tables and water views and vibes far more mellow and relaxed than ours. Angry Lettercatters and tequila should make for an interesting mix, but I’m going to take it easy. I sit back and listen to criticism, conspiracy theories, gossip, but mostly shit-talking.

“I just feel betrayed, man. I mean, I should know better, but I thought he was different,” Dave is saying to our table of surly engineers.

“Because he made us think he was one of us,” Ingrid explains.

Dave points at her. “Exactly. That’s exactly it. It’s all an act. At the end of the day, he’s a founder, not an engineer.”

I don’t have it in me to defend Jude right now, so I pick up my drink and move to a table where Kate and Trevor are sitting alone. Kate is helping herself to the fried that came with Trevor’s burger; it’s got to be bad if Trevor’s eating carbs.

“You done trashing my buddy?” Trevor asks me when I sit down.

“I’m not trashing him” I say.

“You’re not mad, you’re just disappointed?” he suggests.

“Something like that.”

“See, the difference between Trevor and me and the people at those tables,” Kate waves a French fry at the development teams tipsily, “is that you all take this too personally. It’s a job.”