Page 20 of Bastard In A Suit

Chapter 8

Eight hundred thousand dollars.

That’s the amount of money Duke Kingston has offered to buy us out of our company. It’s more money than I’ve dreamed of—a drop in the bucket for a billionaire, to be sure—and yet, something doesn’t sit right.

Duke levels me with a look of cool annoyance. “Is there a problem?”

Heat crawls up the side of my neck. I’m sure he can see through me, somehow knows that I fell asleep thinking about him fucking me. I lick my lips and force myself to look away from his scrutiny. “The potential for this product is enormous.”

“It’s a generous offer,” he counters.

Not if he knew the scope of the project. The trouble is, he didn’t listen to our revised pitch, and that’s not something I’m willing to admit to Jake and Forrest. “It’s state of the art technology.”

The mogul tilts his head. “It’s inadequate.”

His silver tie shimmers in the sunlight that streams through the boardroom windows. The heat is stifling. I use a folded piece of paper to fan myself, but it’s pointless. Being in the same room as Duke turns me so claustrophobic I can scarcely breathe.

“It has room for improvement,” Forrest says.

Duke lifts his gaze. “It’s a complete…”

“Failure?” I cut in, throwing his words back at him.

His stare penetrates me, putting me in my place. “Yes.”

I refuse to weaken. “Then why offer eight hundred thousand dollars?”

Forrest kicks me under the table. I know he’s keen to take the money and run. But eight hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money, even for a man like Duke Kingston, and there must be something about the product that intrigues him enough to want to buy us out. That leaves us with room for negotiation.

As long as I don’t blow it.

“And if we’re not willing to let the product go for that amount of money?” I challenge.

“On the chance someone else might offer higher?” Duke’s expression hardens. “That would be foolish. I must stress that this is a one-time deal. I highly doubt you’ll find a better offer.”

It’s true Kingston Industries is one of the top tech companies in Chicago, perhaps the whole United States. But he isn’t the only potential investor and I’m not convinced his competitors wouldn’t make a similar—or better—deal. Especially if they know that someone else is into it.

Jake clears his throat. He’s looking quite worse for wear this morning, unshaven, blood-shot eyes, and I have half a mind to ask him just how late he was up drinking his sorrows away last night.

But I can’t exactly claim to be pure as snow at the moment either, so I sit silently as Jake asks his question.

“What are your intentions for the device?” Jake half-croaks.

“Strip it down,” Duke says.

Jake’s face pales. “Strip it down? You mean roll back all the work we did to make it what it is?”

“Eventually it could be a useful product,” Duke says, completely dismissing the look of horror in Jake’s eyes.

“There’s no one that knows it better than us,” I say, an attempt to divert the conversation before Jake gets emotional. Showing weakness isn’t the way to impress Duke—I know that first hand. “If we agreed to a buy-out, who would work on the device?”

Another kick comes at me from under the table.

I ignore it and focus on Duke. He strokes his beard, as if contemplating. My heart races. Selling the MicroTracker outright isn’t a perfect scenario, but for three college grads, it should be a dream come true. Problem is, I’m not ready to let control of the product go.

“What if you hired us to work on the project?” I say, my voice sounding strangely confident in my own ears.

Duke whips his head to me. I’m wearing a soft, V-neck sweater.