Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I couldn’t believe he was even questioning it. “I like it,” I told him. “Indoor pyrotechnics sounds revolutionary.”
His eyes lit up. Chuckie had a terrible poker face, which I appreciated because I enjoyed watching his elation. This was what I’d been missing lately—this kind of joy and excitement. Having a new idea and running with it.
“Really?” he asked, a little hesitant like he was unsure whether or not I was pulling his leg.
“Absolutely. Now, sit down and tell me more about yourself. What are your goals? How do you see your future?”
“My goal is to be you.” He said it with complete sincerity and earnestness.
I chuckled, appreciating the compliment. He didn’t smile in return. He sat, or more like perched, on the edge of the chair, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. “I mean it. I’ve studied you and your background. I’ve read every article I could find.”
I coughed. “Hopefully not everything,” I said, thinking of the few articles out there that tended to focus less on me as a successful businessman and more on me as a man about town. Usually, they were accompanied by paparazzi shots of me in tropical locales wearing skimpy bathing suits and with good-looking men on my arm.
He nodded solemnly. “Everything. You’re, like, my hero. The fact that you’re totally zoned in on your business, no personal distractions, is super inspiring. And the fact that you grew up on a ranch in rural Texas, left home at eighteen, worked your way through college, and made your first million by the time you were twenty-three…” He sighed. “I mean, that shows anything’s possible, right?”
“I didn’t do it alone,” I told him. I’d been lucky and had a lot of help along the way from folks who were generous with their time and knowledge. One of the reasons I’d been all in when Lesya had suggested a mentorship program was because it gave me a chance to pay it forward.
“Yeah, but you did it. And you did it with micro-investments in people like me. Which is amazing! I mean, look at this place.” He twisted in his seat, waving around with his arms. “I wasn’t nervous, or not much anyway, when I was on the train. But then I got to the lobby and saw all the glass and the big Overton Investments sign, and I was like, shit, Chuck, this is a big deal. You know?”
His enthusiasm was contagious. “I definitely do.”
“Probably not as intimidating when you’re the guy whose name is on the sign though, eh?”
“You’d be surprised.” I smiled. “Sometimes that’s even more intimidating.”
“Seriously?” Chuckie frowned. “How’s that work?”
I stared down at the tablet, still showing examples of his indoor fireworks. The walls of the room in the video lit up in deep oranges and reds, like the sky at sunset on the ranch where I’d grown up.
The fact that I’d grown up poor, the son of a housekeeper on a big Texas ranch, was public knowledge. My stepfather had given many interviews over the years, talking about our rags-to-riches tale.
But regardless of what Birch was willing to talk about publicly, I never did because the reality was more pathetic than inspirational. The truth was, I’d felt awkward and out of place on the ranch. Not part of the rancher’s family. Not part of the community, either, since I was gay and scrawny and hated football—which was a little like hating Jesus in the town I grew up in. My father, the ranch foreman, hadn’t had much patience for the embarrassment I’d caused just by being myself. It had caused endless fights between my parents, and eventually, he’d taken off and left us without a backward glance.
After he left, my discomfort and shame had simmered to a violent boil, creating a driving passion in me to escape, to build a life with a man I loved—Boone, I imagined, since we’d been dating at the time—where I’d never again feel worry or shame that I was too much or too little to fit in.
One of those dreams had come true, at least. I hadn’t set foot in that part of Texas again.
I cleared my throat. “When your name is on the sign, people have certain expectations, that’s all I meant.”
“Ah.” Chuck tilted his head. “But then you crush their expectations, right? You prove them all wrong for doubting you?”
I smiled at him. Something in this kid reminded me of myself at his age. Maybe it was his awkwardness or his innate belief that he was going somewhere in life. Maybe it was how painfully skinny he was and the big dreams so obvious in his eyes. Or maybe it was the way he wanted to prove everyone wrong about himself.
Either way, I liked him.
And maybe helping him reach his dreams would help me ignore the fact that some dreams simply weren’t meant to come true.