Page 22 of Personal Escort

That something big is Toby’s annual shareholder meeting, now just a week away. Like a lot of tech CEOs, he’s also the face of his company, and this is his chance to present something new and exciting to both the shareholders and the market at large.

He hasn’t talked about it much, but when he has, he’s sounded worried. I want to ask him about it, but I don’t want to pry, either.

It’s a weird thing, shifting a relationship that has been firmly established as one thing—brother’s friend, grown-up mentor—to another. A real friendship, as unexpected and weird as that sounds. But with a single, amazing kiss, Toby burst into technicolor in my life, and now I find myself wanting to talk to him every single day.

Which explains why I’m antsy on Sunday morning. I haven’t heard from him since Thursday. And when he texts me, the ridiculous smile that blooms across my face is almost too much.

I don’t care.

Toby: Morning. What are you up to?

Cara: Super exciting laundry.

Toby: Oh yeah?

Cara: I scored two washers right next to each other.

Toby: Your condo doesn’t have laundry in it?

Ah, billionaire expectations. I’m surprised he didn’t ask me why I don’t just send it out to a service.

Cara: Nope.

Toby: Damn.

Cara: I like the ritual. It’s fine.

Toby: Right, that makes sense.

Cara: How about you? Flying somewhere on a private jet today?

Toby: Ha. You know I don’t have one of those.

Cara: Yeah. Why don’t you?

Toby: I like the ritual.

Cara: LOL touché.

Toby: That’s true, actually. But it’s also a cost-benefit thing.

Cara: Ah.

Toby: How long will you be doing laundry.

Cara: Another hour, probably. I’m about to put everything in the dryer.

Toby: I’ll call you after that?

Cara: Can’t wait.

He didn’t reply again, and I was left staring at that last text. Why did I say that?Okayorsounds goodwould have also worked.Can’t wait. Jeez, way to sound needy, Cara.

We talk on Monday night and Tuesday at lunch, and on Wednesday, too, when he suddenly sounds excited about the shareholder meeting.

“We do this every year, and I always worry and push and stress, and then it works out just fine,” he says, shaking his head ruefully at the camera. We’re on video for this call, because he says he has to get a run in or he’ll go mental, and when he’s running, it’s easier for him to have a conversation on video. So he’s on a treadmill in his office in Palo Alto, and I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed in Toronto, holding my iPad and watching his t-shirt get soaked with sweat.

I am not complaining about this video request in the least. Thank heavens for light-weight cotton.

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