Page 42 of Tied Up in Riches
He nods, a faint smile gracing his lips. “Sisu is a visceral energy that resides deep inside you and fuels your grit, creating your ability to surpass your preconceived limitations. It’s usually harnessed in the face of adversity by accessing this stored-up energy or spirit to get you through any endeavor in life, even if you have no idea how you’ll make it to the end.”
I think that's the most words he’s ever strung together in my presence. It’s like my interest unlocked his talkative side. When I was younger, I had this impression that being part of a world with other business owners could be collaborative–the whole idea that you’re a combination of the people you spend the most time with, so you want to surround yourself with people always asking questions, learning and growing. But since working alongside Beau, I’ve seen first hand that more often than not, everything is competitive, and no one is willing to learn at the cost of looking unintelligent. Something tells me that Marcus thinks willingness to learn is a sign of intelligence instead. “Oh, okay. That makes sense. Why did you get it?”
Silence.
I let it hang there. Maybe I was totally off base. I’m prepared to let go of the conversation and fall asleep if he’s not comfortable telling me, but still, I breathe slowly and wait.
“My senior year of high school, I created an app. I knew it worked and that it was brilliant, but I was too young to know what to do with it. All I knew was that I wanted to help my parents pay for my tuition and thought maybe I could sell it. I placed my trust in the wrong person.”
A small gasp leaves me. “What happened?”
“They stole it.”
“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m more diligent now. Prepared. Organized. Cautious.”
“You didn’t fight back? Didn’t you work hard on the app? I can’t imagine it’s easy.”
“It took me two years to code. But I didn’t get a copyright or have proof that it was mine first. I had no leg to stand on.”
“I would have been so upset. Debilitatingly so.”
He chuckles. “There might be a laptop in a dumpster somewhere serving as collateral damage.”
“So, what did you do?”
“I came up with another idea and made a new app.”
“You say it like it was easy.”
“Anything but. I didn’t see another choice, though. One day at a time. One decision. Week after week until I figured it out and got it done. That’s why I got this. It’s a permanent reminder that I can tap into sisu whenever I need to so my life and dreams can continue on the path I’ve chosen.”
“Wow. I love that,” I whisper in the dark, wishing I could see him better. “You probably think me acting like my mom is some insurmountable mountain is ridiculous then. Not a real problem.”
“Adversity is subjective. We’re all entitled to our triggers and challenges based on our experiences. It’s more about how we overcome them that defines us.”
I keep my hands to myself despite their urge to reach for him as if I could extract my own sisu from his. I should feel pathetic hoping he’s my lifeboat, but I don’t. I feel hope that I can turn this situation around.
He holds my gaze in the dark, the glow of the hotel clock the only thing casting light across his face. The way he doesn’t close his eyes and lets them scan my face draws me closer to him. As if I’m possessed, I reach to touch his arm. The way he’s laying with his hands under his face like a pillow, the tattooed part of his skin isn’t even visible, but I brush my fingers along the outer edge of his bicep anyway. He doesn’t flinch. His skin just feels warm under my touch.
“It already exists inside you too, you know,” he tells me.
“You think so?” I whisper.
“Positive.” He speaks with certainty like he’s known me my whole life.
Against my rational thoughts, I let my fingers wander. They slowly scan his arm–down his bicep, along the crook of his elbow, brushing over his forearm to where his face rests on his hands. He doesn’t follow my touch–rather keeps his gaze on me, his emotions untelling. My pinky nearly links with his, my hand ending its journey near his mouth. Holy shit, I want him to kiss me. I want his fingers in my hair. I pull my hand away like my thoughts lit his skin on fire.
“Goodnight, Marcus,” I whisper, turning over, away from him.
He’s close enough behind me that I feel his breath on my hair when he returns the sentiment.
A glow from behind me is the only light in the room when I crack my eyes open. In my line of sight, the curtains over the window are pinched together by the pant clasp of a coat hanger to prevent daylight from seeping through. That’s a neat hack. My vision is blurry with a film of sleep. I wipe it away and turn slowly, taking in the way Marcus’ laptop screen lights his face. Again? Already? Does this man ever sleep? Or do anything besides work? His hair is pulled back neat where his head leans against the headboard, his black shirt fairly tight against his chest.
He glances over at my movement.
“Morning,” I manage with a raspy voice.