Page 23 of HEA: Happily Ever After

“Please.” Lesya snorted. “Like Oscar Overton’s not a force of nature all on his own. You’ll have fun. Just like you will tonight.”

“Tonight,” I repeated.

“The appointment your mother booked with you,” she reminded me. “You’re having dinner with her at Amy Ruth’s over on West 116th.”

I rolled my eyes. You could take my mother out of Texas, but apparently, you couldn’t take the chicken and waffles out of my mother. “Fine. Okay.” I blew out a breath, stretched my neck, and tried to refocus on work. “What’s next on our agenda? Let’s get this done.”

“Actually, you’re gonna like this one. You’re meeting with your new student mentee, Mr. Carlos Gutzman-Driscoll. He’s a junior at Jerome Murphy High School. And he should be here now.” She consulted her tablet. “I’ll send him in if you’re ready.”

She left the door cracked, and I could hear her voice shift from business mode to the softer tone she took with our mentees. A few seconds later, I heard someone approach the office. I stood, ready to greet them… but no one appeared.

I was about to call out hello when I heard soft murmuring. I came around the desk, straining to make out the words.

“Come on, Chuckie,” a young voice muttered. “You’ve got this. You’re the man, and you’re smart, and you have good ideas. Believe in yourself, and others will believe in you too.”

Then the door swung open, and a painfully thin kid with light brown skin and a shock of thick black hair barged his way inside. He lifted his chin in challenge and held out a hand. “My name is Carlos Gutzman-Driscoll, sir. And today…” He paused dramatically. “…is your lucky day.”

I took his hand, and he shook it firmly. “Is it?” I asked.

I could practically see the tremor move through him as his childlike excitement warred with his nerves and his desire to appear businesslike. “It certainly is, sir.”

I smiled, hoping to put him at ease. “Well, then, I look forward to hearing about your project.”

“Oh no,” he corrected. “I don’t have a project. Chucktastic Productions is a lifestyle.” He splayed his hands as he said it.

Oh my god. Surely I had never been that young in my entire life. I turned my back as I made my way around my desk because I knew there was no way I was going to be able to hide my laugh otherwise.

Once I was seated, I indicated for him to sit as well. “I’m intrigued,” I said solemnly. “Tell me more.”

Apparently, he was too amped up to sit, so he remained standing, nearly vibrating with energy. “Well.” The kid’s businesslike mien cracked, and he smiled a little wildly. “It was hard to choose just one project because I’ve got probably a million ideas—my whole Notes app is brainstorming and shi—stuff. But I narrowed it down to my favorite.” He pulled a tablet out of his backpack and turned it to face me before pressing Play on a demonstration video. “I present to you… the Starburst Illuminator. It’s an indoor fireworks display partly done with lasers, partly with LED lights, and partly with self-contained pyrotechnics that are totally safe and nonflammable, all synchronized to music through a program I coded myself. Like, for when it’s raining on the Fourth of July and you wanna have your celebration indoors.”

I blinked as the video showed a really cool and creditable demonstration. I sat forward, watching the screen. “You created this? And you’ve tested it?”

“Oh yeah. Extensively. I used it at Homecoming and again when the basketball team won the championship. It’s already turning a profit.” He blushed slightly. “And if you don’t like this idea, I have a million more.”

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?”

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