Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

But there’s still that little voice in the back of my mind telling me that the other shoe is sure to drop at some point—especially when I tell her why I left her a decade ago: why I walked away from her and didn’t look back. Or so she thinks.

I cringe when I think about the things that I said to her, the words that have swirled around in my mind for the last ten years on repeat.

“Mr. Carter?” I snap my head up, my eyes widening at all of the board members that sit around the large table. When I don’t answer, Catiya repeats. “Oliver?”

I clear my throat. “Yes.” I shuffle forward, pulling the cuffs of my suit jacket down. “He’s coming in for a meeting.” I look around the table, capturing all of their eyes and trying to drive home how big of a deal this is. “He used our Pearl software at the last art show he did, and he wants us to make him specific software, tailored to him.”

“Can we do that?” one of them asks.

“Of course we can,” I assure them, trying not to roll my eyes. “But this sets a precedent; we need to branch out, we need to look at new and different ways that we can expand.”

They murmur between themselves and I stand, doing the button up on my navy suit jacket before shoving my hands in my pockets and walking around the table, staring out of the windows.

“Let me put it into perspective for you,” I say, stopping when I get to the middle window. “Oliver himself can bring us in over thirty million with this one deal. Not to mention the advertisement it brings with it.”

I turn to face them all, catching Catiya’s gaze as she smiles.

“This is the start of getting our name out there without putting all of our eggs in one basket. Our name won’t only be in the software world, it’ll be in the arts too. Oliver is a trendsetter, whatever he does, people follow like sheep.”

“What are you saying, Tristan? That we’ll sell his software?” one of the board members asks.

“No.” I shake my head, my eyes flitting over to where I was sitting when my cell vibrates. “Like I said, we tailor the software to fit his needs. If we get it right? Imagine all of the other clients we could bring in. We could double or even triple our profits by making different kinds of software we can take to the open market.”

I walk back around the table, seeing Harmony’s name flicker on my screen.

“I’m going to run with it.” I pick my cell up, smiling and shaking my head, seeing that she’s changed the chat colors again. “I’m meeting with Oliver now.”

“What will the outgoing costs be?” another board member asks.

I lean against the table, crossing my arms. “Ten percent of the profits.”

A few gasps go around the room and I capture lots of cynical faces. “The software will take minimal work. We’ll need to put a specific team on it, but I already have a few people in mind. And if they work their magic—like I know that they will—then we’re all set.”

“Sir?” Catiya catches my attention and I turn to where she’s standing at the door. “Mr. Hunt is here.”

I nod and face the board. “Let’s discuss this further tomorrow.”

“We still haven’t discussed Pete.”

My nostrils flare at the sound of his name and I turn back around slowly, grinding my teeth together before saying, “There’s nothing more to talk about.” I pause. “He’s been trying to drag my name through the mud, but does it look like his desperate attempts are working?”

I raise a brow, waiting for an answer, but when I don’t get one, I shake my head and leave the room before unlocking my cell as I walk and send Harmony a message, telling her that she’s color bipolar before pushing through to my office.

“Mr. Hunt is waiting.” Catiya’s voice comes through the speaker on my desk and I walk forward, pocketing my cell and clicking the button to reply.

“Send him in.”

I lean against the front of my desk, my hands cupping the edge while I wait for the door to open and the flamboyant man to enter.

He’s dressed in a pair of black coveralls, fluorescent paint splattered all over them. His face has a pink diagonal splatter across it, running across his nose and into his brown hair.

“Mr. Carter.” He holds his hand out, shaking mine and then whistling as he looks out of the windows. “Some view you have here.” He stares at it in th

e same way that Harmony does when she’s working all of the colors and shapes out; almost depicting how he would paint it.

“Would you like a drink?” I ask.

“Oh! No, thanks, I can’t stay long. I’m in the zone.”