The overflowing trash can taunted him.
Lack of focus is what happens when you let your wife swallow you. Other venture capital firms have fewer dominoes, more liquid assets, less leveraged cash. One push and it'll all vanish.
He could never do what she was asking.
Once and for all, he could resolve it. Right here, right now, give her that final push away before he gave in to the emotions and forgot all the reasons he couldn't have his company and love Daniella.
"I stay on the sidelines for a reason. It's how I balance my obsessive personality." His heart thumped painfully. This was the right thing, for him and Reynolds Capital. Why didn't it feel like it? "I need you to be the wife I thought I was getting from EA International."
Which was impossible. Daniella could never be the out-of-sight, out-of-mind wife he'd envisioned. He'd given up on categorizing her and forcing her into a box when she insisted on being in all the boxes simultaneously. His multitalented wife was the only woman alive who could do that.
Her expression went as stiff as her spine. "Then that's what you'll get. I'll schedule your appointments and host your parties and make you look good to your associates. I won't be in your bed at night, but I'll give you a hundred percent during the day and never mention how many hours you work."
It was everything he'd asked for. And the polar opposite of what he wanted. He vised his throbbing temples between his middle finger and his thumb but his brain still felt as though it was about to explode. How had she managed to twist this around so that they were back to their original agreement but it felt as if she'd kicked him in the stomach?
"I wish..." She crossed her arms as if holding herself in. "Love creates security, too. I wish you could see that. But if it's your choice for me to be nothing more than a glorified personal assistant, I hope it makes you happy. Just keep in mind that your company and your wife bear your name. You will always be a part of both."
And then she walked out, heels clicking on the stained concrete in perfect rhythm to the sound of his soul splitting in two.
Twelve
"Dorito?" Tommy offered and stuck out the bag.
Leo shook his head. Doritos didn't sit well on an empty stomach. Nothing sat well on an empty stomach, especially not the dreck in his coffee cup. Mrs. Gordon had remade it four times already and the look on her face said he'd better be happy with this round.
He shoved the half-full mug to the far end of the conference table, wished it was a travel mug filled by his wife and scrubbed his jaw. Rough stubble stabbed his fingers. Forgot to shave. Again.
"So, amigo." Tommy crunched absently and nodded to the TV on the wall, where Leo's laptop screen was displayed. "I've redone this schematic twice. The prototype passed the CAD analysis. What's it going to take to get you happy with it?"
Hell would probably freeze over before Leo was happy about anything. He'd officially labeled this funk Daniella's Curse, because until she'd said she hoped his choice made him happy, he'd never given a thought to whether he was or not. And this funk was the opposite of happy.
He missed his wife. Her invisible presence invaded every last area of his life, including his car, which never dipped below half a tank of gas. And smelled like strawberries.
"The schematic is still wrong. That's why I keep telling you to redo it." Leo flipped the drawing vertically inside the CAD program and glanced up at the TV. "Look, you can't take this to manufacturing as is. We have to shave another two cubic centimeters somewhere to meet the price point. Otherwise the markup will be too high and the distribution deals will fall through."
Leo's phone beeped. Daniella's picture flashed and he snatched it up. Text message. He frowned at the concisely worded reminder of his appointment for a haircut that afternoon. Of course she hadn't called to talk to him.
"Why does this have to be so complicated?" Tommy complained. "I designed the thing. That should be enough. Why don't you figure out where to shave off whatever you think makes sense?"
Leo fiddled with the pencil in his fingers, weaving it through them like a baton, and counted all the way to fifteen for good measure. It did not calm him. "You're the designer. You have to redesign when it's not ready." His fingers sought the leather portfolio on the table. The picture he'd drawn of Daniella was inside. It equaled serenity in the midst of turmoil. Oddly enough. "I help you on the back end. We've been over this."
Shades of the last real conversation he'd had with Daniella filtered through his mind. Why did he have to constantly remind people of things they should already know? Leo had a specific role to fill-in the background. Always. Nobody remembered that he stayed out of the middle, except him.
"I don't know how to get it to your specifications!" Tommy burst out in recalcitrant five-year-old fashion, complete with a scowl and crossed arms. "I've tried. I need help. That's why I signed with you."
"I'm your financial backer. I'm only talking to you about the schematic now because we're behind schedule and I need a good design today." With a short laugh, Leo shook his head. "Why would you assume I could do anything to help?"
Tommy flipped hair out of his face. "Dannie. She believes in you. She totally convinced me you walk on water daily and in your spare time you invest in people's potential. As far as she's concerned, you're the messiah of everything."
His gut spasmed. What exactly had his wife told Tommy to give him such a ridiculous picture of Leo? "That's entirely too fanciful for what I do."
Entirely too fanciful for a mortal man who'd made plenty of mistakes. But it didn't stop the low hum of pleasure behind his rib cage. Did Daniella really think of him like that, as someone heroic and unfailing? Or had she said those things for Tommy's benefit, playing her part as a dutiful wife?
Leo had the distinct, uncomfortable realization it was probably both. And he didn't deserve either.
Eyebrows raised, Tommy crossed his feet casually. "Yeah? If you tell me you don't know exactly what needs to happen with that schematic, I'll call you a dirty liar. You've been trying to lead me to it for an hour and I can't see it."
Leo sighed and thought seriously about driving the pencil through the table, but it would only break the wood, not solve his mounting frustration. Before he could count the reasons why it was a stupid, ridiculous path, he centered a piece of paper under the graphite and drew the first line.
Tommy's purple high-tops hit the floor as he leaned forward to peer over Leo's shoulder. The fuel-converter schematic took shape on the paper. With each new line, he explained to Tommy where he varied from the original design, why the modification was necessary, what the downstream manufacturing effect would be.
Occasionally Tommy interjected questions, objections and once, a really heartfelt "Dude. That's righteous."
One of Tommy's objections was sound and Leo reconsidered his stance on it. He erased that part of the drawing and incorporated Tommy's suggestion. Mrs. Gordon left for the day, shaking her head and mumbling about creative minds. After several hours, many heated exchanges and a few moments of near-poetic collaboration, they had a design they could both live with.
The last time Leo could honestly say he'd had that much fun was during the weekend he'd spent with Daniella. Before that-never.
Once Leo had scanned the finished product into his laptop and displayed it on the TV, Tommy whistled. "A work of art. I have to use every tool known to designers to put something that beautiful together. I can't believe you freehanded that. With a pencil, no less."
"A pencil gets the shading right," Leo muttered with a shrug. "I guess you could say it's a talent."
"I knew you had it in you," Tommy said smugly. "If I'd gone with Moreno Partners, I'd be screwed right now. Kiss your wife for me. She knows her stuff."