Emma pauses with her glass halfway to her mouth. “Oh? If he’s that difficult to keep tabs on, how do you know all that? Are you friends?”
“Acquaintances, I’d say. We’ve been admirers of each other’s work for a long time.”
She sets the glass back down and leans forward with rapt interest. “Really? Baldicchi is interested in programming?”
I know what she means — coding isn’t usually something that elicits enthusiastic attention of artists and celebrities. Most people’s eyes glaze over after a half-second of conversation about it.
“Yes, well, he’s very interested in terms of how it might help him preserve his privacy. He now uses our home studio software to record, which I worked with him to develop. He was our guinea pig, you could say, although I’d be absolutely horrified if that term got back to him.”
Emma perks up some more. “Oh, I didn’t know Pentabyte was in the recording market.”
I nod, feeling pleased to have conversation flowing between us again, even if it isn’t of a personal nature. “One of our software divisions focuses on cutting-edge solutions for the entertainment industry. We work with artists like Baldicchi to develop some really innovative programs for musicians, podcasters, YouTubers, all sorts of media.”
“Smart,” she says. “It’s a growing industry, and the big media conglomerates are notoriously slow to adapt to new platforms and the needs of innovators.”
I barely manage to suppress the stupid grin that wants to spread across my face. I could talk about this stuff for hours, especially with Emma. “We see quickly-growing services like Patreon, Twitch, and Snapchat, with more emerging platforms coming every day, and content creators need innovative software tools to help them stand out. It’s the businesses coming out of nowhere that are changing things. There’s no reason, with all the technology available for individuals, not to have the very best production setup right in their home office.”
“Absolutely. It’s great that Pentabyte is pursuing the underserved markets. I’m sure they’re eager for quality programs.”
“We’re trying to get into a little bit of everything. I think ‘diversified portfolio’ is the technical lingo — Trigg would talk for ages about it if you’d let him.”
“He seems to be very good at what he does for Pentabyte.”
I nod enthusiastically. “He is. He’s an excellent CFO.”
She looks down at her glass of port, a small blush on her cheeks. “It’s hard to imagine smoothie-making, yoga-master Trigg as a hard-hitting corporate genius pouring over financial spreadsheets and investment reports all day.”
“He’s a man of many talents, that’s for sure. We sink a lot of money into new technologies and promising products, like your software, for example. But sometimes they fail — although I highly doubt that will be the fate of your program. It was Trigg who came up with our strategic plan. Spreading our investments across different markets helps us minimize the overall risk, since we’re not putting all our eggs into one basket.”
“Which of your software divisions will... would be handling my product?”
I try not to get too excited about her slip up. “Security Innovations. We’ve purchased a few programs like yours, but nothing that even comes close to what you’re working on.”
“Do you have a plan?” she asks. “For product development and implementation, that is?”
“The guys and I have been talking about this a lot since the Gala. We would roll it out in stages. Bring in some of our trusted vendors to work with our SI department on convergence. Jax would use his team to try to break into it.”
Emma swirls the strong, rich liquid around in her glass. “That’s his specialty? Cyber hacking?”
“He’s fantastic,” I tell her. “Jax could make more money hiring his services out to companies for exactly that — testing security protocols, running white hat cyber attacks and the like — but he’s a real team player, doesn’t want to be out on his own anymore.”
She seems a little intimidated, but also impressed. “So, I’ll have the best of the best trying to tear my code apart?”
“But of course.” It’s meant to be an assurance. No program is perfect, and Emma knows this.
She swallows and nods slowly. I can see from the look in her eyes that a thousand thoughts are racing through her mind, but apparently they are mostly good, because she smiles approvingly. “It sounds like you have a comprehensive plan, and you’re ready to give it a thorough testing.”
“Yes, of course. It deserves all the resources we can bring to the table. We plan to take an exhaustive approach. We’ll find the weak points, improve on them, and then hit all the major OS developers.”
Emma drinks in this news and mulls on it for a moment. I see the question forming on her lips, but she holds back for a few seconds. Finally she asks, “It’s safe to assume that you see this as a commercially viable product with a wide market base… and an even larger profit margin?”
Now we’re getting into it. Normally, I play my cards close to the vest with what our valuation of a potential acquisition is, but I step out of my corporate mindset for a moment. Instead, I think about the brilliant young woman sitting across from me asking me an honest — albeit unorthodox — question about her life’s work.
Screw it. Maybe I should have passed this meeting to someone else, because I can’t do the corporate doublespeak dance with Emma. Instead, I just give her the truth. “That’s correct.”
Her eyes light up, and there’s a look of astonishment in her expression. She’s as surprised as I am at my direct confession. This is not how negotiations work. I’m breaking some of the biggest cardinal rules. But now that the cat’s out of the bag, it’s time to let it run free.
I take a deep breath, my stomach tightening. Emma’s been in a no bullshit mood all night, so I hope she appreciates the situation I’m putting the company in with what I’m about to say.
“I’ll be honest. There’s talk about what other companies are offering you. We know six figures is old news to you by now. Pentabyte is willing to push it well into a seven-figure deal, and we’d be interested in revenue sharing, if it will sweeten the offer.”
She can’t refrain from raising her eyebrows and staring with her mouth slightly open. “Are you sure you should have told me that? I mean, I haven’t declined your original offer yet. But there’s no way revenue sharing is coming off the table now.”
“So be it,” I say, giving her a devil-may-care shrug. I just don’t have the heart to play the usual back-and-forth corporate dodgeball games with Emma.
“Well, I have to say, I’m surprised at this. But, it’s a very tempting arrangement.”
“Revenue won’t be immediate,” I explain. “We’ll want to customize it to our own systems and test it as we roll it out to early adopters through our own beta programs. It’ll take a year or two, but by that time, if this is the product we all hope it is, it’ll become standard software on all future OS builds.”
“It can do it.” Her response is immediate, and that confidence is damn sexy. “I’m working on the last kinks, but it has nothing to do with the security protocols. Those are all set.”
Emma fixes on me, her eyes determined, and that spunkiness makes me want to throw down my credit card and whisk her off to the nearest hotel suite for a much more private conference.
Instead, I let a different confession spill out of me. “It’s one of the most exciting security solution programs I’ve seen in years — maybe ever.”
Emma doesn’t mince words. “I think ‘game-changer’ is the technical lingo,” she says with a smile, echoing my choice of phrasing from earlier. “And I believe what I’ve developed is exactly that.”
“Touché. And I would have to agree.”
I sit back as the waiter returns to our table, chocolate truffles in hand. I’m so caught up in Emma’s feisty beauty that I don’t realize I’m staring until she clears her throat and looks down at the elegant dessert place
d in front of her, breaking our gaze.
Picking up my fork, I dig in, savoring the rich chocolate as it melts in my mouth. Now that Emma is smiling and joking with me, food tastes amazing once again.
8
Emma
“Oh, she’s your favorite poet? How fortunate.”
Yes, how... fortunate — far too fortunate to just be coincidence. But I keep my thoughts to myself and reply politely. “Ever since high school, yes. She’s had an illustrious career. There aren’t many people who can make a living off doing what they’re passionate about.”
“Well, you’ll be one of the lucky ones as well.” Marcus Davidson, the BHC Incorporated rep extraordinaire, lifts his wine glass to toast me. “Here’s to signing our offer so you can enjoy a life of luxury and a fruitful partnership.”
I raise my glass as well, but counter with, “To finding the right partner and a fair price.”
He gives me a conciliatory smile before we both tip the glasses to our lips. I swirl the Pinot Noir around in my mouth for a moment before swallowing, trying not to stare at Marcus over my glass.
The catering company at this event just happens to be serving wine from my favorite vintner, a rather obscure little winery operating in the Blue Ridge Mountains — not the sort of thing a catering company is likely to keep on hand. And the music playing softly in the background is quite coincidentally from my favorite movie soundtrack. And those stuffed jalapenos and the smoked salmon crostini the waitstaff has been offering me this evening? Two of my favorite appetizers.
Marcus has oozed interested surprise at each turn, but it’s that kind of feigned amazement someone has when everyone yells ‘Happy Birthday!’ but they’ve known for ages about their surprise party.
It’s all far too cozy for my comfort, and I’m wondering if they’re the sort of tech firm that hires private investigators to help them get an edge on the competition — the kind that would find unassuming ways to interview my friends and family, dig through my trash for clues to my personal tastes, and follow me around, taking those eerie zoom lens stalker snapshots.
We have a break in conversation to listen to another reading by Sylvia Wright from her newest release of poetry. Technically, it isn’t even released yet.
Just like with Pentabyte, I’d requested a meeting with BHC in order to talk over the state of affairs, and just like Daniel did, Marcus has treated me to a posh evening.
Both have involved elegant settings and extravagant experiences; but so far, the similarities stop there. Whereas Daniel was open and honest; Marcus seems to have a rehearsed non-answer to every question I’ve asked. Daniel had allowed me to steer the topics of our conversation; Marcus keeps circling back around to the contract every chance he gets. And I’m pretty sure he quite literally has it ready in his pocket. He keeps checking the inner breast of his suit jacket where there’s a sizeable bulge, as if a thick document has been rolled up and stuffed in there.
And last, but not least, Daniel was not sure about the kind of things I like — why on earth should he? He took me to a classical concert because he was trying to share part of himself with me and hoping I would find it enjoyable, too. But here I am with Marcus, at an exclusive reading for my favorite poet, and everywhere I turn are more of my favorite things. It’s downright… creepy.
Sylvia finishes her reading, and the small, intimate gathering of attendees offer polite applause. Afterward, another round of appetizers are ushered from the kitchen, and the two dozen other guests return to mingling.
I turn to Marcus and ask, “What department would oversee the program after acquisition?”
He presses his lips together and furrows his brow for a second. “Well, Miss Collins, we don’t discuss our internal process until a contract is signed. We do have specialists who are quite competent to manage the implementation of security software, though.”
I press on. “Specialists. Would they include a team working on testing the code?”
Marcus licks his lips and tilts his head, and I’m certain I’m not going to get a clear answer once again. “If you would like to be on the developmental team, we can discuss that further once things are official. You have to understand, Miss Collins, that our process is highly proprietary.”
“I do understand. I was just hoping you’d be able to offer some insight on how you plan to move my product from development through to retail.”
One of the waitstaff makes her way to our table, and Marcus gives the young woman a cold stare just as she’s about to set down an appetizer. He snaps out a hand, blocking the free space at the center of the table, and then waves her away dismissively.
The woman is taken aback for a moment, the platter in her outstretched hand hovering awkwardly in the air above the table for a moment. Then she says, “Oh, I apologize! I shouldn’t have brought the oysters. I’ll go get the caviar.”
She disappears back the way she came as I give Marcus a narrow look — how does he know I don’t like oysters?
But he doesn’t notice my hard stare. Instead, he busies himself spreading a pat of creamy, hand-churned butter on a wedge of freshly toasted pumpernickel and picks up where I left off.
“Moving the product to retail, yes. We’ll want to move as quickly as possible. We’ll have to look into the code for ourselves first to know how to implement things, so unfortunately I can’t give you specifics.”
I wait for more, but Marcus crunches down on the buttered toast and skims the room, the conversation obviously over in his mind. I realize that’s all I’m going to get on the topic.
Perhaps, I was spoiled by Daniel’s forthrightness. He gave me much more detail than I expected to receive — I know how corporate types can be very tight-lipped about this kind of stuff, but I certainly hoped for more than what Marcus is sharing. He’s spouting off plenty of lines, but giving me next to nothing.
That’s not all that’s bothering me, though. It’s something about his face. Marcus has a smiled plastered on his lips, but the cheer doesn’t reach his eyes. When Daniel smiles at me, it’s warm and friendly — genuine. I’m not sure Marcus even wants to be here, much less talking to me. He’s acting as if he’s doing me a favor, this meeting just a menial task he’s eager to cross off his list.
I fidget with my napkin and bite my lip, trying not to be flustered by his irritating behavior and the far too personal setup of this event. Be tough, Emma. They want your product, make them work for it. “You’re not giving me much to go on.”
Marcus turns to me, and I swear I spot the briefest look of disdain on his lips before they morph back into a practiced smile. “We’re certainly willing to discuss things in more detail, once—”
“Once I sign,” I say, sighing with barely veiled frustration. “That seems to be the recurring theme of the evening. I ask for information, so I can evaluate your offer, and you tell me that all the details will be forthcoming once I’ve accepted your offer. A bit of a catch-22, isn’t it?”
“Well, quite frankly, Miss Collins, what difference does it make?” Marcus says, his tone right there on the edge of condescending. “Once you sell the product, it’s not your worry anymore. However, I can tell you that if you sign with us, we can give you an advance on the purchase. A very nice advance, mind you. No one else is going to offer you that.”
More sidestepping of my question. Does this guy even know how to give a straightforward answer? “As I said earlier this evening, the software isn’t finished. I’m surprised you’d offer an advance on an unproven product that isn’t deliverable yet.”
“Yes, well, BHC is well-connected. We have generous investors interested in new security solutions. We can afford to take risks that our competitors can’t.” He flashes me a conceited sneer, so in love with himself and his power-hungry position he can’t even summon a true smile.
The young woman is back with a dish of caviar, and I make sure to give her a kind smile and say thank you. Marcus doesn’t so much as offer a glance in her direction, and she seems r
elieved to depart with lightning speed as soon as she sets the dish down.
This guy is a real piece of work. At least he’s just the recruiter. From what my tech friends have shared about their experiences, the recruiters are almost always obnoxious. Even so, I’m tired of his slick game — and that stupid smile on his face.
Watching as Marcus reaches for the dish of caviar, I try to cool his relentless approach. “I don’t think I should commit to anything until the program is ready.”
“We can help with that,” he says, scooping a huge pile of caviar onto a cracker.
“How so?” Come on, give me something to hang my hat on.
“We have people who can finish the code. It’ll need changes, anyway, so you don’t need to fuss with the finishing touches. We’ll be adapting it to suit the needs of our own clients.”
I blink slowly, trying to digest this latest string of words — the first revealing thing he’s said all night. Too bad it’s the opposite of what I was hoping to hear.
He’s not going to sell that kind of help as a benefit, not to me. I see it for what it is, a dick move to take early control of an innovative product and lock me out of the most rewarding part of this whole damn process — finally seeing it realized as a finished product of my own creation.
He stuffs the cracker into his mouth and lifts the bottle of wine, talking through his mouthful. “More Pinot?”
“No, thank you.” I’m not interested in a refill — or whatever else Marcus is offering. I’m ready to get the hell out of here.
9
Jax
“Ander’s Fine Art?”
I look behind me as Emma approaches through the building’s lobby, her gaze bouncing from my eyes to what I’m holding. I adjust my grip on the twine handle to the paper bag full of art supplies. “Yeah, just picked up a few things for some projects.”
She tilts her head just a little. “Projects? Like art projects?”
Hidden Agenda: A Reverse Harem Romance (The Code Book 2) Page 7
