One reason we managed to put together an outstanding team to create the iPod was that our team could get relatively outsized stock and bonus plans that they couldn’t get anywhere else at Apple. The other important reason was that we had Steve Jobs fully behind us. Those two things allowed us to recruit amazing people—even though we couldn’t tell them what they’d be working on before they signed on—and survive the internal antibodies. Steve

gave our tiny team an unfair advantage—gave us air cover and dropped bombs if anyone messed with us. There were times when the internal antibodies at Apple tried to expel us from the organization—we’d constantly hear “We have other priorities, we’ll help you if we have time.” Or “Why are we doing this project—it’s not core to our business.” But as long as our team was making reasonable (or unreasonable but important) requests, the teams who were stalling us would get a call from Steve. “If they’re asking for something, then give it to them for Christ’s sake! This is very important for the company!

One of the most painful parts of the Google acquisition of Nest was losing our board. We had an amazing board at Nest—structured and informed, operational and active. We could go to the board, get firm agreement on a clear strategy and plan: yes, we’re going to do this, I’ll get back to you in a week with next steps.

When we were acquired, our beloved board was dissolved and replaced with . . . nothing. We were supposed to have a governing board of several Google execs, but our meetings were either perpetually rescheduled or barely attended. We’d propose a path forward and everyone would say, “Yeah, well, let’s think about that a little bit more.” The can would get kicked down the road to the next meeting that nobody went to and we’d be left sitting

on our hands.

One might look at that and say, “So what’s the problem? If the board doesn’t give you guidance, then just go do it yourself. You’re the CEO.”

But that is not the solution. Even the most incredible CEOs in the world still need a board. Not the meetings, necessarily, but the advice of smart, invested, experienced people. Even big projects within a company should have a mini-board—a collection of helpful execs who can work to guide a project lead and step in if things go sideways.

When Larry told me during acquisition that Google would marshal the team and align their priorities with ours, he was 100 percent telling the truth. But what that looked like at Google was giving the team the skeleton of a plan and letting them fill in the rest as they went. Then they’d have a meeting every so often to ask how things were going.

But I had interpreted his words through an Apple lens. If Steve Jobs said he was going to marshal the team, that meant he was going to be there every step of the way—weekly, sometimes daily. He’d assemble everyone, tell them where to go, make sure they were marching together, and drag any stragglers back in place by sheer force of will.

Google Ventures, now known as GV, was an investor. They knew our financials and had always been extremely supportive, so I wasn’t worried about the number. I was worried about which teams we’d work with, what technology we’d share, what products we’d build. Nest wasn’t joining Google for the money—we were joining to accelerate our mission. So it was always mission first, money second.

Together with Google, we went through every single function—marketing, PR, HR, sales, every part of the company. We established where we could create synergies and where we couldn’t, figured out which managers would be assigned to us, how we would do the hiring, which perks people would get, which salaries they could expect, which teams would be working together closely, and how those relationships would be established.

It took a lot of time. In fact I was starting to get a lot of eye rolls. “Really, Tony? You want to get into the details of this now?” Yes, yes, I do. It’s important.

And it was—critically important and usually overlooked.

Most acquisitions are driven and overseen by bankers, and bankers only make the real money if the deal goes through, so they’re motivated to move fast and get paid. They don’t care about getting every detail of what happens to employees right. They don’t really care about cultural fit. Not deeply.

When Google gave us new, gorgeous, high-end office space after the acquisition, I thanked Larry Page. I said it was very beautiful. And I told him—and our team—that we didn’t deserve it.

It felt wrong. We hadn’t earned it yet. That building was meant for a profitable company that had already proven itself. It was meant for people who could relax and spend their time arguing about who was going to get the window seat, who’d get the best view. But that’s not what Nest was about. We were focused on our mission, on staying late and solving problems and working hard and fighting through and over and around every obstacle in our path.