I organized the sketches by color palette, then by project, then by some system that made no sense at all.
The silence stretched between us again. I forced my hands flat on the desk, pressing my palms against the cool wood.
“How did Jordan and Casey take the news about you wanting to sell?” I asked at length.
I’d finally responded to the texts he sent before my dinner with Dom, Enzo, and Finn just over a week ago. Sure, it was right before I’d headed to the airport to come back to Salt Lake, but it was more than what I usually did when feeling overwhelmed.
Oliver lifted a shoulder. “Better than I expected. Jordan seemed interested in the possibilities. Casey’s worried about creative control.” He paused. “Thanks for letting me tell them before you got back.”
“Yeah, well, it saved me from having to sit in the room pretending I’m totally fine with everything.”
Oliver huffed a laugh at my overly-blunt response. I wasn’t fine with anything, and I appreciated that he knew me well enough not to make me perform composure I didn’t feel. Three years of working on a corporate team together and seven years of partnership had taught him to read my stress signals, from the pen clicking and compulsive organizing, to the way I avoided eye contact when processing difficult information.
My desk phone rang, sharp and sudden in the quiet office, making us both jump. Oliver stood and moved to the chair across my desk.
I stared at it for another ring before hitting the button for the speaker phone, my mouth suddenly dry despite the ice water.
“This is Alex,” I kept my voice calm. “Oliver is here as well.”
“Alex! Oliver!” The voice was artificially cheerful, manufactured enthusiasm that made my skin crawl. “Glad we could make this work on short notice. How’s Salt Lake? I tell you, it just gets prettier here in Seattle every year. Lots of rain this winter, should be a cooler summer.”
I caught Oliver’s eye and resisted the urge to roll mine. Weather small talk was not a good sign.
“I know your time is valuable, so I’ll cut to the chase. We loved working with you on Legends of Heliox. And as you know, we’re looking at expansions and sequels.” My pen found its way back into my hand. “That said, we wondered if you’d be open to selling Catalyst and coming fully under the Titan name.”
The pen snapped in half.
I stared at Oliver, who looked equally stunned. This wasn’t a project discussion. This was an acquisition call.
After what felt like an eternity, Oliver cleared his throat. “Well, that’s certainly a surprise. What brought you to that decision?”
“It’s a great opportunity to integrate the team more fully,” his voice gained momentum, sliding into what was clearly a rehearsed pitch. “Think about the projects Catalyst could work on under Titan. We’re talking major franchises, bigger budgets,collaboration with award-winning studios.”
My brain kicked into defensive overdrive. “Wearean award-winning studio.”
“Of course! And imagine what you could accomplish with even bigger opportunities, more resources, industry recognition on a whole different scale.”
My vision narrowed like it always did when someone was dismissive of everything we’d built. Oliver noticed my white-knuckle grip on the broken pen and leaned forward slightly.
“That’s quite the generous offer,” he cut in, his voice carefully neutral. “Could we have some time to think about it?”
“Absolutely! Take all the time you need. This is a huge decision, and we want what’s best for the company,” the executive’s tone suggested he thought the answer was obvious. “I’ll set up time in a few weeks to go over some preliminary contracts.”
“Thank you for your time,” I managed through gritted teeth as Oliver stood and reached over to hang up.
The silence that followed felt deafening.
Oliver slipped his hands into his pockets, watching me carefully. “Well.”
“No.”
“We should at least see what they’re offering.”
I stood abruptly, the broken pen pieces scattering. “You know how this goes. They’ll acquire us, you’ll get your payout and retire, and within a year most of our people will be out of a job. That’s assuming they don’t just shut us down completely for the tax write-off, which wouldn’t even make sense because we are an incredibly successful studio, Oliver!”
My phone buzzed against my desk. Then again. I glanced at it without really seeing, my heart hammering.
“I get it. It’s scary,” Oliver’s voice was gentle but firm as he held his hands up, palms toward me. “I’m not asking you to say yes. I’m just saying let’s hear them out. You said you don’t have the moneyto buy me out, and we’ve got to come up with something.”
