Of course not, because the Legendary line was her baby. “Oh?”
“These are definitely Rattler series clubs.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes.”
“So, where are the clubs destined for your Legendary line?”
Nicole looked down at her feet. “Those aren’t even in pre-pre-production. It was a miracle that I managed to push through the Scimitar Edge.”
Kingston leaned down, watching Nicole’s eyes through the scratches on his plastic safety glasses. “Why is that?”
“Because Joe thought innovation like the Scimitar was too risky, and its manufacturing is different than any other club. Nothing in the head is cast. We don’t pour molten metal into a mold and glue it together with plastic like every other golf club on the market today. It wasbarelyaccepted by the PGA as a legal club?—”
“But the professional golferscanuse it in PGA Tour events?” he asked, checking to make sure.
“Oh yeah, its coefficient of restitution is compliant, but it tookan extra monthfor them to approve it. Three extra rounds of testing. Joe didn’t like the uncertainty.”
“Joedoesn’t own the company anymore.” And Kingston needed to stop talking right there.
“Idon’t like the uncertainty,” she said.
“You don’t own the company, either.”
Sometimes, an owner has to roll the dice to make gains.
Arvind, the tall, lanky guy whose arms moved like flopping ropes under his white coverall passed them on his way out of the lab, striding for the anteroom to change out of his gear.
He nodded at them.
Kingston and Nicole nodded back.
Arvind left.
And Nicole still stood in the hallway with her arms folded in front of her like a locked computer while Kingston tried password after password, trying to get her to open up. He said, “Those clubs are truly the next step in golf technology.”
“Maybe. Sure.”
The little tech who’d talked to him about metallic alloys on the club faces bounced by on her toes, her papery coveralls whispering as she walked past them, said, “See you tomorrow!” to Nicole.
Kingston said, “Those were definitelysome clubs.”
“They definitely were,” Nicole said.
This wasn’t working in the slightest. “Can I talk to youprivately?”
Yet another white paper-swathed technician—how many techs did Sidewinder employ?—walked past them and left the lab.
Nicole watched them walk out the door to the garbing room, and two other people shoved their coveralls in the waste bin and left, heading toward the stairs. “I don’t know if this is a good time.”
Because everyone was leaving, and she would be alone with Kingston in her office.
Yeah, Nicole Lamb would probably pick the bear rather than sequester herself with him in an out-of-the-way office as other Sidewinder workers left the building for the night.
Logical, really. He was just some guy who, for all she knew, had passed a cursory employment background check that was probably skewed toward finding financial crimes, not violent ones.
Thus, he did the crinkly thing with his eyes again and joked, “I don’t know if I’m comfortable being alone with you in your office. You aren’t going to run me through with one of your swords, are you?”
