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.

The Google teams with whom we’d planned to integrate and codevelop technologies and products were reluctant to work with us. They kept asking their execs for more details to figure out if they really had to help us at the expense of their own projects. Why? Why? Why do we have to help a team that isn’t Google? Over the subsequent months, every time we had to clarify yet again for customers that Nest was separate from Google, our internal reputation took another hit.

I should have remembered what it was like at Apple during the very first months when we started building the iPod. It just didn’t occur to me—Nest was so much bigger and more established than my tiny iPod team, I thought this was a completely different situation. But it was exactly the same. Back then Apple’s executive antibodies saw us coming to take their time and draw away their resources, so they tried to block our way and ignore our requests.

That’s when Steve Jobs gave us air cover, dropped bombs on the teams who were slowing us down, forced the issue, yelled sometimes to make sure we got what we needed. Steve Jobs fighting for us was ultimately what allowed us to succeed.

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.

I was also told that a brand-new CEO shouldn’t be trying to make huge acquisitions. I was “crazy,” as one of our investment bankers put it, because the numbers would never work out and this was an impossible “sale” to the street.

The banker had a point. It’s true that on paper the deal didn’t make obvious sense. But I felt certain that this level of ingenuity was worth more than any of us understood or could calculate at the time. It’s perhaps not the most responsible advice in a book like this to say that leaders should just go out there and trust their gut, because it might be interpreted as endorsing impulsivity over thoughtfulness, gambling rather than careful study. As with everything, the key is awareness, taking it all in and weighing every factor—your own motivations, what the people you trust are saying, what careful study and analysis tell you, and then what analysis can’t tell you. You carefully consider all of these factors, understanding that no two circumstances are alike, and then, if you’re in charge, it still ultimately comes down to instinct. Is this right or isn’t it? Nothing is a sure thing, but you need at the very least to be willing to take big risks. You can’t have big wins without them.

He said the basic research unit was not affordable and needed to be downsized. He was quite concerned about IBM’s software business, mainframe business, and midrange products. As I look back at my notes, it is clear he understood most, if not all, of the business issues we tackled over the ensuing years. What’s striking from my notes is the absence of any mention of culture, teamwork, customers, or leadership—the elements that turned

out to be the toughest challenges at IBM…

I went home with a deepening sense of fear. Could I pull this off? Who was going to help me?