The elevator dings and the doors open. I’m greeted by a wall with the firm’s long list of partners etched in some kind of tile. This is a big firm. Big translates to powerful, I tell myself. But I also worry about conflicts of interest. Out of every attorney on that wall, is there not one fan, or investor, in some Big Davis project? I turn left to walk toward the glass doors of the lobby. It doesn’t take long for me to discover that my parents are already in a conference room with Mr.Morris. Nor is it long before the receptionist leads me to the same room, another room of all glass, where I join them.
There are four people in attendance, not including me. My parents, a man I assume to be Mr.Morris, and a pretty blonde who reminds me of Jess. Everyone stands. My father hugs me, my mother gives me a nervous nod, and then the attention turns to the man, who shakes my hand. “Nick Morris,” he greets, confirming his identity before motioning to the Jess look-alike. I wonder if Nick knows her as such. A Jess look-alike. Is he as obsessed with her as most men, and could that workin our favor? “This is my associate, Erin Stanford,” he says, introducing the blonde.
Just like that, all the niceties are thankfully over.
I sit between my parents, directly across from Erin. Nick, Mr.Morris, is across from my father. “As I was telling your parents,” Mr.Morris starts, “Big Davis is the highest bidder on your father’s project by a substantial amount. He’s going to make your family quite wealthy.”
I’m prickly, a cactus type of personality I normally do not like but which I seem to resemble right now. “And then bury the patent, right?” I challenge, glancing at my father for confirmation as I repeat, “Right?”
Erin answers for the room. “Big Davis assures us that won’t happen. We’re working on the contractual terms.”
I glance over at her. I do not like her. She might resemble Jess in appearance, but she lacks her vibrating, confident presence. “Big Davis is not that easily agreeable or generous. There’s a catch. What is the catch?”
My mother leans forward and glances at me over my father. “Did you come just to be negative?”
Her opinion of my opinion is never high, and I really don’t care right now. My eyes go to Mr.Morris. “What’s the catch?” I repeat.
“Not really a catch,” he replies, confirming there is indeed a catch. “Big Davis simply thinks making the offering onLion’s Denwill make for good television ratings.”
“No.” My hand actually comes down on the conference table rather firmly, surprising everyone, including myself, but I am not done. “Absolutely not,” I add. “If this is allowed, Big Davis will humiliate my father and find a way to turn his invention into trash.”
“Mia!” my mother proclaims. “Are you serious right now?”
My attention rockets to my father. “You know I’m right,” I say softly.
Erin clears her throat. “We’ll have the offer in writing before the show takes place.”
My eyes are laser beams in her direction at this point. “Pardon me, Erin, or Ms.Stanford, but he’ll find a way to outsmart you.” I glance at Mr.Morris. “What’s the backup offer?”
“Nowhere near as high.”
“Does it allow his project to live on and not be shoved in a closet?”
“Yes, but—”
I turn to my father. “Take it,” I implore him. “Take it and run far away fromLion’s Den.”
My father surprises me by saying, “The money I’m being offered will set you up for life, honey.”
“How have you forgotten what happened on that show? How have you forgotten what that man did to you? Don’t even think about doing this for me. Please. I beg of you. Do not go onLion’s Den. Do not take Big Davis’s offer.”
“If it’s in writing—” my father begins.
“Please don’t do this. I am literally begging you.”
Mr.Morris clears his throat. “Mr.Anderson, may I speak with you one on one?”
I push to my feet. “I’ll leave and make this meeting easier for you, Mr.Morris, but I’m not done making my case with my parents.” I eye my father. “Don’t agree to anything yet.Please.”
He nods, and I walk toward the door. I don’t even remember the ride down the elevator. I don’t remember how I end up on the street, walking toward my home. My cellphone rings, and it’s Jess. I decline the call. I cannot talk to her right now. I push forward, walking faster, harder, heart pumping with exaggerated thunder in my chest. I’ve just reached the bookstore, and my loft, when my cellphone rings again, and this time it’s Kara.
I halt, drawing in a breath and accepting the call. “Hi,” I say, a bad feeling churning in my belly.
“How’d it go with your father?”
I ignore the question. “Do I still have my job?”
“Look, Mia—”
