by Laura Carter
Jesus, Gregory, calm down.
“You’re mistaken, Mr. Ryans.” Stuart leans forward across the table and spits his words in a thick Zimbabwean accent. His temper could rival Gregory’s. “I never met my parents and I have no intention of ending up on the streets, so this game will continue to be a success and I’ll be one of the two in ten businesses that don’t fail.”
I wait for Gregory’s retort but it doesn’t come. He surprises me, leaning back in his seat and forming a steeple with the tips of his fingers. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Stuart just struck a chord with Mr. Sexy Bazillionaire CEO.
“Then tell me, Mr. Culliton, what is it that will make you successful?”
Stuart straightens his back but seems nervous again. “Black Diamonds is unique.”
“Bullshit,” Gregory snaps. “If you’re looking to set your stall out, don’t start with your weakness and pretend it’s a strength. Lay your weakness on the table. Get it out there so your opposition can’t use it against you but don’t lie about it.”
He’s giving him advice now?
“You don’t have a USP, a unique selling point. Black Diamonds is a knockoff of my own Jail Run, not to mention successful games produced by ten other well-known companies.”
“Is that right?”
I watch Stuart with wide eyes. He’s either unable or unwilling to back down.
“Then tell me why in my first three months of trading I’ve had hundreds of thousands of downloads and why I’m eating into your profit?”
“You don’t have a workable business model, Mr. Culliton. You can’t build and sustain a company on one game. What happens when people get bored, when technology moves on and your app loses functionality or users complete the game and go looking for the next? You fail. You don’t have a marketing plan. You don’t have financial backing.”
“How would you know that?”
“I have ways and means, Mr. Culliton, and I have those ways and means because I do have a sound business plan. I have money enough to look into a child playing from his bedroom at being a businessman. So, here’s my offer. I’ll give you five hundred thousand pounds tonight. I’ll take your game and do as I please with it.”
“Half a million?”
“Half a million pounds to create a platform that allows you to grow.” I can feel Gregory relax into his seat beside me but my eyes are on Markus, my counterpart. Even a half-assed, shabby lawyer won’t let his client take the first offer.
Sure enough, Markus leans into Stuart’s ear and after nods, shakes and shrugs, Stuart confirms, “No deal.”
Gregory cocks his head to one side and smiles, then leans in to the middle of the table and pours himself a glass of water before sitting back in his seat and resuming his cross-legged position. I watch his reflection in the windows. His body moves against the dark night sky as he sips the water, strategically dramatic in the silent room, his eyes fixed on Stuart. He replaces the water glass on the table then shuffles his leather chair back just enough to say, we’re done here.
Or so I think.
“One million, and that’s my final offer.”
He looks straight ahead at Stuart, who is somewhere between gobsmacked and smug. I have to dig my nails into my palms. This is Gregory’s show, I’m just his lawyer, I’ve given him my advice and I need to keep my cool. But doubling the offer, what is he thinking?
More mumblings pass between Stuart and Markus. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ryans, my client and I need to discuss your offer. May we take five minutes outside?”
“By all means,” Gregory says, his tone almost bored.
Once the door clicks shut, I whip around to face him. “Are you kidding me? One million? That’s insane.”
“Actually, Scarlett, it’s not. The kid’s got something and I stand to lose a lot more than one million if he succeeds in line with projections or if a bigger company takes Black Diamonds from him and gives it the right kind of support.”
“Even so, you doubled your offer, Gregory. That tells him your first offer was a joke and your second offer probably was, too.”
“Seriously, Scarlett, you’re going to tell me how to conduct a business negotiation?”
“I’m going to tell you how not to conduct it.”
“Scarlett, this is my world. This is what I do.”
“You could have fooled me!” I rise and walk to the window, feigning looking out to the towers and twinkling lights but watching him regard me through the reflection, his smug smile frankly pissing me off.
He scoffs like I’m a teenager taking a tantrum and that pisses me off even more. “I’m intrigued by him, Scarlett. I want to see where this goes.”
I turn and lean my back against the window, arms folded across my chest. “And you’re willing to blow one million pounds to find out?”
“It’s small fry. If it doesn’t work out, it’s an expensive mistake, but I didn’t get where I am today because I shy away from risk.”
You shied away from one risk for long enough. I’m glaring at him as the door opens, adding to my temper by forcing me to fake a smile.
Standing, I can appreciate just how un-lawyer-like Markus looks, with his unkempt appearance and all-round general manner and poise. He starts to speak before his arse even hits the chair. “My client believes his product is worth more than one million, Mr. Ryans.”
I bite down so hard on my gums I can taste iron in my mouth. Gregory raises one hand to his chin and I know he’s going to make another offer. I can’t let him. I won’t. “Mr. Jones, it’s a shame your client doesn’t seem capable of speaking for himself. If he could he might be able to justify to my client why in God’s name this technically basic game that’s similar to a lot of games already on the market and that has almost non-existent IP protection is worth even half a million pounds, let alone more.”
“Miss Heath, I would—”
I turn my attention to Stuart. “Do you understand the real reason Constant Sources wants to buy your game? We want to remove your game from the market. Not because it’s worth money now, but for the off chance that a company with enough time and energy might buy it and turn it into something more. Specifically, a company who knows how and has the money to protect the rights in the game properly. As a piece of technology, your game is practically worthless. But with no registered intellectual property portfolio, Black Diamonds could be recreated if it fell into the wrong hands. And do you know what you could do about that? Nothing. Unless you have a bottomless pit of money to step into a ring with wealthy businessmen, you can do absolutely nothing. Has your lawyer told you that?”
“My client doesn’t need this. We’ll find a new buyer. Come on Stuart, let’s go.”
“Yes, of course, you’ll find a new buyer. Let me tell you how that goes. You sit around a table like this for hours, again, and the person you sit across the table from will know your offering is built on sand. That your international intellectual property portfolio is non-existent. So, let’s say that person offers you half of what my client is offering and you accept because you’ve realised, finally, finally, that your offering isn’t as valuable as you’d thought. Mr. Ryans will go to your buyer and buy the game from him for ten million pounds. So, your buyer wins two times and you have half of what you have on the table right now.”
“Stuart, let’s go.”
Stuart leans back in his chair. “Wait, I need to think.”
I shuffle in my seat so that I’m looking right at Stuart and in the most nurturing voice I can conjure, I reason with him, the final, gentle nudge across the line.
“Look, Stuart, your greatest asset right now is your mind. You can create something better than this game and with one million pounds you could have the time and resources to do exactly that. Can I be honest with you?”
He nods.
“I
advised against Constant Sources making this deal at all. In my view, the risk is just too high—I can’t see beyond your not having registered your rights in the game. Now it’s after nine and I’m wondering whether you want to sell this game at all. If you don’t, that’s fine. I’ll gladly see my client walk away from this deal but I can promise you one thing—Mr. Ryans’s offer will not increase and you will not get a better offer elsewhere.”
I take the sale agreement out of my document folder and write one million pounds into the commercial schedule then rest my pen on top of the contract and slide it across the table.
“Take the deal, Stuart.”
Stuart looks at Markus, who nods without a word. Stuart takes the pen and turns it in his fingers.
“I had a figure in mind when I came into this room,” he says. “You haven’t met it.”
Gregory sits forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Mr. Culliton, my lawyer has told me to walk away at one million.” He casts an eye to me and beneath his business facade, I can tell he’s pissed that I’ve trampled his negotiation. “I will walk away. But first, let me put something else on the table for you. You can take one million, that’s my top offer. Or, you can take seven hundred and fifty thousand and come to work for me. At Constant Sources, from this office in London.” He leans back and re-crosses his legs. “I think you’ve got something, a hunger in your eyes, business in your mind, and I like that. I also think that, with guidance, you could be a solid creator. You’re nineteen, take this opportunity and come to me whilst you work out which you are, an entrepreneur or a designer.”
Stuart’s entire body visibly softens and his eyes widen, surprised and, I think, in awe.
“I was once in your position, stuck between wanting to create something and making money. Making money was the right path for me but I had to find out the hard way. I’m offering you a chance to take five years to earn some money and make that decision in a risk-free environment. If in five years you want to set up on your own, great, you’ll have the world at your feet with a good CV in your pocket.”
“I’d like to think about it,” Stuart says, his voice catching in his throat.
Gregory shakes his head. “That isn’t part of the offer. Sign now or walk away, Mr. Culliton.”
The pair stare at one another for seconds that feel much longer. There’s something in the air between them. Admiration? Mutual respect?
Eventually, and as his lawyer looks on, Stuart says, “Where do I sign?”
* * *
Once the documents are signed, handshakes are exchanged and I show Stuart and Markus to the lifts. I watch as the numbers descend, 27, 26, 25, 24, delaying Gregory’s inevitable wrath. I stole his show and now there’ll be some well-earned fireworks.
I take another lift to the twenty-eighth floor and reluctantly walk, contract in hand, to Gregory’s office. He’s standing by the window, shoulders back, hips slightly forward, calves taut in his tailored trousers. He’s braced for war. With a deep breath, I step into the lion’s den.
He keeps his back to me but watches me through the window, his jaw tense. At first he doesn’t speak. I know how hard he’s trying to control his temper. Then he snaps. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
I sigh. “Gregory, it’s eleven thirty, I’m already tired and I have to finalise this deal, can we talk about this later?”
“We’ll talk about it now!” His South African twang is stronger than ever.
I consider apologising and walking away but I know I was right. Instead, I fold my arms across my chest and stand tall in my black patent heels. “Fine. Talk.”
“You had no right jumping in like that.”
“Oh, really, I had no right? I was stopping you from making a bigger mistake than the one million pound mistake you were already making! You were about to offer him more, and for what?”
“You could have lost us the deal.”
“And if I had I wouldn’t be sorry. That deal is high risk and my advice to walk away was sound.”
He takes two steps towards me. The sinews of his neck are stretched tight beneath his late day stubble. Christ, he’s sexy.
“To succeed in business you have to take risks, Scarlett.”
I take one step forward.
“I’m not opposed to taking reasoned commercial risks, Gregory, but I can’t advise a client to take nonsensical risks.”
“Advise, Scarlett. Exactly. That’s what I pay you to do. I pay you to advise me of the legal risks but it’s my decision, mine, whether to accept that advice or to take the risk.”
I move another step forward until only inches of air separate us.
“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re not my client. Constant Sources is my client for this gig and I’m here to act in the best interests of the company, not yours, or those of your overly endowed ego.”
He leans forward so I can feel his hot breath on my face.
“I am Constant Sources. I am the GJR group. I decide who you do or don’t work for.”
“No. I decide who I work for and if you don’t like the way I work, I’ll close this deal and you don’t have to hear my legal advice again.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
I stare into his eyes, my heart pounding with fury. I won’t back down because I’m right. I’ll stare and stare into those big. Brown. Hot. Magnetic. Captivating eyes.
Like a pouncing South African cat hungry for its prey, his lips are on mine, fast and ferocious. He pulls up my dress and lifts my legs around his waist.
I want him. My mind tells me. My body shows me. My nipples harden, craving his contact, my bud swells, crying out for him to take me.
I ball my fists in his hair as he carries me to the sofa, his mouth continuing his wild attack.
“I’m going to fuck you. Hard. Because you deserve it.” His words are husky, laced with desperation.
“Gregory, I need to complete the deal,” I say through ragged breaths, already knowing I’ll relent.
“Not now.” His teeth clamp down on my neck. “Your client is a dick anyway.”
I pull my head back from his. “Too true,” I say, with a smug grin. I win!
He crashes my back against the sofa and forces my legs further apart with his knees as he moves between them. He sits back, leaving me bereft, then he stretches the thin lace of my knickers with both hands until he can puncture the material with his thumbs and he tears it away from my aching sex.
He leans forward and roughly takes my mouth, twisting his tongue in mine, pulling my lip harshly in his teeth as he cups my breasts through my dress. My hips rise to push against his erection, forcing a growl from his chest. He moves his hand from my breast to thrust two fingers into me, teasing my swollen insides.
“Gregory.” His name leaves my mouth on a pant.
His fingers withdraw, then they’re in my mouth and I suck my own wetness from him.
He moves quickly, sitting back on his heels and freeing his hard shaft from his trousers and boxers. “Turn over.” His words are dripping in sex.
I do as I’m told, turning to kneel on all fours, bracing my body with my hands on the arm of the sofa. With one foot on the floor, one knee on the sofa, he rams himself deep inside me, making me cry out. With his hands on my hips, he holds himself buried inside me.
“Please, Gregory.”
“Please what?”
“Fuck me.”
He moves, out and in slowly, then quicker and faster again, until he’s rousing me to the brink of a powerful orgasm. He keeps one hand on my hips, bracing himself and making sure he can crash into me, hard. The other moves to my clit and sends my pulsing muscles into spasm as he swirls with his finger and continues to drive into me from behind.
“Jesus!” he barks.
&nbs
p; His hoarse voice is the final push I need. As his rhythms speed up, back and front, I yell his name and climax around him.
“That’s right, baby.”
Both hands move back to my hips and with two more gruelling thrusts, he releases into me.
Chapter Ten
My iPhone rings for the second time in as many minutes. Amanda’s face dances across the screen to her designated Whitney Houston ringtone.
“Scarlett! Scarlett! Scarlett!” she screams through the handset. “It’s holidaaaaaay tiiime!”
“I’ll be two minutes. I need to finish this.”
“What are you doing? Give it to a trainee or something.”
“I’m finalising a plan to register the international intellectual property portfolio of—”
“Urgh, forget it, I don’t care. Just hurry up!”
“I’d be much quicker if you left me alone.” I giggle despite myself. “Is Gregory with you?”
“No, it’s just Ed and me, we’re in the car outside. Hang on. The driver is pissed. Says he’s on double yellows.”
“Alright. Alright. Jackson wouldn’t behave like that.”
“But Jackson is on holidaaaaaay!”
I laugh again, truly happy because not only is Jackson on holiday, he’s in St. Lucia preparing for his wedding to my favourite woman, friend and stand-in mum.
“Okay. Okay. I’m coming. Two minutes. But where is Greg—”
The line goes dead.
I drink the last mouthful of latte from the take out cup on my desk and click send on my email of instructions to the associate I’ve asked to manage our foreign counsel whilst I’m away. Despite being tired from my all-nighter, I smile as my computer shuts down for two whole weeks. Two whole weeks of Mr. Sexy Bazillionaire CEO.
I wanted so much to go home with him after our showdown on the sofa in his office but I had Kenneth drop me back at Saunders, knowing I’d be leaving from here to go direct to the airport. It’s been a long night but the plan to register the intellectual property rights in Black Diamonds is set. We’ll start with Europe, China, the US and Australia and fill in the gaps once those biggies are finalised. Then it’s up to Gregory and Constant Sources, they can develop the game and keep it on the market, or they can box it, but one thing’s for sure, his company profits will be safe now and, on reflection and after a good tension-releasing screw, maybe seven hundred and fifty thousand wasn’t too high a price for the benefits Constant Sources could reap. Not that I’ll be letting Mr. Arrogant know that.
