“It’s simple,” Zeke said. “I own the patent. You want to bake the cookies. I think we can come to some sort of agreement, whether that’s financial, or a stake with the company itself, or something like that. I’m a reasonable man.”
“Of course,” Bret said with a sigh. “He wants more. What else would you want?”
Zeke’s smile didn’t falter, to his credit. “Yes, I want money. Are you doing this for free? Are both of you getting involved with the Fluke Company out of the goodness of your hearts? No, you’re doing it to get rich, or to make some cash at least, and I’m trying to make a damn living here.”
“An honest, hard living,” Bret said, and laughed ruefully. “Come on, you can’t possibly think this is going to work. You know how absurd it sounds.”
“I’ll send over the paperwork,” Zeke said.
“How much do you want?” I asked.
“Jude,” Bret said, leaning toward me. “Don’t take this seriously. We’re not going to pay him.”
“How much?” I asked again, ignoring Bret. I felt a stab of frustration. He was trying to undermine me right in front of Zeke, and that was going to be a problem moving forward if he couldn’t get it under control.
“Five million,” Zeke said, and Bret let out a shocked laugh. I leaned back, blinking rapidly, before shaking my head over and over.
“No way,” I said. “I’m sorry, that’s far too much.”
“Five million is reasonable,” Zeke said. “I know how much money the Flukes bring in every year, and they can afford it. Five million is a drop in the bucket for them.”
“Five million is our entire budget,” I said, which wasn’t true, since I didn’t actually have a budget. “Five million is too much. I can’t even give you one million.”
“I suppose that’s a problem then,” Zeke said, cocking his head. “I suppose that means we’re at an impasse.”
“We’re moving forward,” Bret said. “We’re building our factory, and we’re making our cookies. We’re selling our product, whether you have some fake patent or not.”
Jakub leaned forward and let out a growl, but Zeke held up a hand to hold him back. I felt a chill run down my spine at the dead, glassy look in Jakub’s eyes—and was sure that massive monstrosity would crack my skull like a melon, given the chance, and probably enjoy himself.
“Reconsider,” Zeke said. “I have resources, and I’m not afraid to use them as needed.”
“Send the documentation over to our lawyer,” Bret said. “And then go fuck yourself.”
Another heavy silence, and Zeke’s smile slowly faded. I wanted to groan but I was too afraid to move. Bret leaned forward, rage in his eyes, and I saw something similar mirrored back in Zeke’s look. These two men wanted to kill each other, I realized, and if I didn’t do something to defuse this—they just might do it.
And considering Jakub loomed over the conversation, I had a feeling it wouldn’t end too well for Bret.
“We’ll take a look at whatever you send,” I said quickly. “I promise, we’ll take it seriously.”
“Your partner doesn’t seem so inclined,” Zeke said. Nobody moved an inch.
“I’ll take care of my partner,” I said, trying to laugh, but it fell flat. “Send over the documentation. If it’s in order, we’ll negotiate fair payment.”
His eyes met mine and he nodded once. “All right then. I’ll be in touch.” He got to his feet, and turned his attention back to Bret. “But you’d better rethink your attitude. I don’t know what Lady told you, but I don’t respond well to insolent little pricks.”
“And I don’t respond to blackmail at all,” Bret said.
Zeke only smirked again, then turned and walked back to the front door. His bodyguard lumbered after him like a steam engine. I stood and made sure they were gone before whirling around and storming back over to Bret.
“What the hell was that?” I hissed, spreading my hands out wide. “Are you trying to get us both killed or something?”
“Fuck that guy,” Bret said, and got to his feet. He walked away from me, pacing across the room, and stopped to stare out the window. “He thinks he can roll in here and bully us into giving him a stupid amount of money. I’m not even convinced he has anything.”
“He probably doesn’t,” I said. “But we’re not going to get anywhere trying to bully this guy.”
“So we should let him bully us?” He turned to me and real anger flared into his eyes. I opened my mouth to argue—then shut it again.
I remembered a young Bret sitting on the swings at the playground with a black eye and an embarrassed smile. Dad got a little drunk again, he said back then with a shrug, and I should’ve been angrier, more upset, but it’d gotten so common that the sadness washed over me like rain and wouldn’t stop soaking through my bones instead.