Bastard In Suit(17)

Forrest makes a face. “Good Lord, so now you’re going to screw all of us out of a deal, Jake. What is wrong with you?”

Jake makes a smug face. “I have morals, I have values, unlike some.”

“This isn’t about your ex-girlfriend, dude. Get it together,” Forrest whispers harshly.

The two glare at each other and I wonder just how much they talk to one another about things I’m not privy to. I wonder what they say about me…

But none of that matters. I have to find a way to keep this deal from falling apart.

And then it hits me. “What if we make him a counter offer?”

Jake’s eyes light up. “Now that I like. Make him hurt a little for a change.”

“Fine,” Forrest says, conceding at last. “Negotiate.”

I’m anxious but also a little excited.

Negotiating with Duke Kingston could go one of two ways—impress him or piss him off. I exhale a deep breath. We have no choice but to hope for the best.

Forrest rests his hand on my shoulder, all serious now. “You know we trust you, right?”

I nod.

But I also happen to know that they have no good reason to trust me. I’m under Duke Kingston’s spell and it will take a miracle for me not to bend to his every whim.





Chapter 9





“One point five million dollars.”

Duke’s mouth twitches. “Are you counter offering me?”

I stiffen my spine. “That’s pennies to you, Mr. Kingston, and you know it.”

The tension in the room thickens. “I didn’t get rich investing in shit,” he says, sneering.

“Exactly,” I say. My voice is on the verge of trembling. I force myself not to give in to weakness, hold my ground. “If the MicroTracker was truly shit, you would have kicked us out of here yesterday.”

“Perhaps I should have,” he fires back.

I almost respond--And you wouldn’t have brought me to orgasm in the storage room at Chicago’s swankiest restaurant.

But I keep my voice calm, pretend I’m not getting wet just thinking about last night. My fingers close in around my water glass. I squeeze until my knuckles turn white. “You want the product.”

He licks his lips and damn if it doesn’t turn me on. He pushes away from the conference table and stands. Starts to pace. “Nine hundred thousand.”

I shake my head. “One million and a four-year contract.”

Behind me, Jake breathes heavily out his mouth.

Duke stands at the window, his back facing us, feet spread about an inch apart. I admire the way his slacks cling to his muscular thighs. I’ve given those thighs a lot of consideration in the past few hours. Not to mention the rest of his formidable body.

“Kingston Industries only gives three year contracts.”

“Make an exception.”

He spins around to glare at me. I meet the challenge head on. “I don’t make exceptions,” he says, his eyes darkening.

“You know we have potential. We’re worth it.”

I’m worth it.

“I’d advise you to not get too cocky, Miss Locke.”

I lower my gaze, acknowledging the mistake. In a much softer, less aggressive voice, I say, “With the problems you’ve identified for the MicroTracker, we’ll need extra time to perfect it.”

“But I will maintain total control,” Duke says, staring at me, as if we’re negotiating another, separate deal at the same time.

My adrenaline spikes. “Well, of course. The product…everything…would belong to you.”

“Damn straight,” Duke says. He runs a hand through his hair. “One million dollars and a four-year contract to work on the project, $100,000 per year each. That’s my final offer and it runs out in…” He glances at the expensive-looking watch on his right wrist. “One minute.”

“Take the deal,” Forrest whispers.

It’s close to everything we’ve ever asked for, but there’s one piece missing. I stand taller, and clear my throat. “One additional caveat…”

Duke’s expression goes dark, almost sinister.

“We want a cut of the royalties. At least five percent.”

Duke shakes his head. “Forget it.”

Not a chance. This is one way to ensure we are recognized in some part for our innovation. “If the device is as useless as you say, you won’t need to worry about annual royalty checks.”

His scowl falters and I know I’ve got him. Duke Kingston plays impressive hard ball, but even he’s got an Achilles heel—he enjoys a good negotiation. “Three percent,” he says. “Total.”

“For life?”

He grunts. “Sure. Whatever. But the paperwork gets done now.”