But what kind of asshole thing to say was that?
“Strange how you didn’t think my age was a problem when we were screwing.”
He yanked his hand away, as though she’d spat in his face. To her mortification, her body followed it.
“Do you really think I didn’t?”
“We were together for a year. You had plenty of time to stop the problem if you’d really been worried about me.”
Guilt and hurt flared again. The oceanic-blue darkening and brightening like the play of light on waves.
She knew it hadn’t been just sex. They’d planned and strategized and created something fantastic. Suddenly, her skin prickled for an entirely different reason. Shloka was her life.
Slipping past him, she put distance between them. “Tell me what the board has decided. Are they funding the new features?”
His hand went to the nape of his neck and squeezed. Sympathy flooded his eyes. “I ordered you something to drink.” He turned to his desk.
An iced matcha bubble tea sat on his desk, next to his coffee. Black with a packet and a half of Splenda.
“Wow. Bubble tea, a mention of my age. You’re really leaning into the little girl narrative. How bad is it?”
Picking up the bubble tea, he held it out to her. “Extra boba.”
“Now you’re scaring me.”
His eyes did that hurt thing again, but this time tinged with humor. “I would never manipulate you with boba.”
Oh, he totally would. But she wasn’t going to fall into their old banter. She was not going to let his manipulation work any more than it already had. She fixed him with her most cynical glare.
“This is business, Cal. It’s not personal.”
“Tell me what the board said or I’m marching into CJ’s office right now.” She headed for the door.
“Don’t be this way. This isn’t who you are.”
Anger rose inside her, feeling too much like panic. It isn’t panic. This is anger. Name it. Anger and disappointment and hurt. Don’t try to control it.
She faced him, eye to eye. He was leaning back into his desk, making sure she knew he had this. His “I’m the rock to your waves” pose.
“They’re not funding new releases of the app anymore, are they? Why? It’s growing. There’s eight million subscribers now. Why would they do that? What aren’t you telling me?”
He took a deep breath, and his lean shoulders straightened. “They’re going to start charging a subscription for it.”
The icy bubble tea burned her hand. She slammed it down on the desk. “They can’t do that.” Eight million people took solace in Shloka, depended on it. In some cases, they were able to survive because of it. Cullie was one of those people too. “They pay for the Neuroband. They shouldn’t have to pay a subscription too. That was part of the deal. The board promised me there would be no subscription fee. Ever.”
“It’s already done. The decision has been made. The company has to make money. If they don’t charge a subscription, they’ll have to sell it, Cullie.” He made her name sound like Callie, and she hated that.
“It’s Cullie!” she snapped. “Cuh-lee. How many times do you have to sleep with someone to say their name right?” It meant “flower bud,” and it suddenly struck Cullie that every time he mispronounced it, the image of someone crushing petals formed in her head.
“Sorry.”
She shoved back the heavy bangs that fell across her forehead. “Sorry for what? For stealing my app? You can’t sell it. It’s not yours to sell.” But it was. She had given away enough equity that with the board’s support, he could do whatever the heck he wanted.
She was never trusting another soul again. Ever.
Lies were the laziest form of evil, and Cullie refused to be an easy target. Not any longer.
“You know that’s not my decision.”
Of course it was. Everything between them had been his decision.
She marched to the door, and he followed her.
“This is business. Don’t mix it with what we had.”
Without another word she let herself out of his office and stormed to the CEO’s office. NewReal was the umbrella company with a suite of apps for everything from meditation and anxiety support, like Shloka, to apps that helped you navigate emotional eating and count your way out of insomnia into sleep. A self-help conglomerate.
“Cullie.” He pronounced her name exactly right this time, exaggerating the uh as though he were suddenly Indian or like he was mocking her. “Wait. Let’s talk about this. Let’s not make a scene.”
Desai women do not make scenes. It was the one thing her mom and her grandmother would say together right now. In one voice.
“Yes, let’s not.” It would be a scene only if his betraying ass kept following her.
She knocked on CJ’s door and opened it without waiting for an answer.
CJ was hanging upside down on her back-stretching machine. Cullie had never actually seen BDSM equipment, but this contraption had dungeon of pain written all over it.
“Curlie,” CJ enunciated in her British way, still upside down. “Give me a moment. The sciatica’s been a whore lately.”
Cullie kept her face utterly serious as CJ pressed a button and the machine rotated her the right side up.
“My best friend’s a healer,” Cullie said. “I can have him send you energy. My grandmother swears by his healing light.” Bless Bharat for his woo-woo ways.
CJ unstrapped herself with impressive deftness. “Really? Why did I not know this?”
Because my asshole ex always got in the middle of every conversation we ever tried to have outside of Shloka.
“Send me a picture. His healing circle likes to have a photograph; it helps them channel energy.”
CJ, who was the tallest woman Cullie had met in real life—nearly a foot taller than Cullie’s own very average five-foot-four frame—walked right up to Cullie’s face in her bare feet.
It took Cullie a moment to realize that the woman was holding her face in a smile. Oh. She wanted Cullie to take a picture.
Okay. Holding up her phone, Cullie snapped a picture. “Got it. You can’t put a paid subscription on Shloka,” she said.
CJ’s eyes went to Steve, who had followed Cullie into CJ’s office. “I thought you said she was on board with this.”
“You bastard!” Cullie spun toward him.
He ignored her. As though she were too young for this conversation.
“I said she will be on board when she understands the benefits of the deal.” He spoke directly to CJ.
“You let him speak for me without checking with me first?” Cullie threw the question at the author who’d written last year’s bestseller about women in technology creating a safe space for one another. Balancing the Ladder had been hanging out on the New York Times bestseller list ever since its release without missing a week.
CJ blinked at Cullie, making it clear that no one had ever taken that tone with her.
“It’s fourteen million dollars in profit. Plus, every app has a life cycle. This one is past its downloading prime and is no longer selling enough Neurobands for us to stay profitable. Why wouldn’t we put a subscription fee on it? If we sell the app to another company, the first thing they’ll do is slap one on.” At least her tone was curious, fair. Not patronizing.