Chapter 6 #2
Still experiencing residual remorse about my dessert today, I beam my friendliest smile so as not to give Luke anything more to complain about. “I’m someone who has no idea what you mean by a white whale, but I’ve got a feeling you and Lu—ah, Mr. Abbot don’t share an interest in cetology.”
“Cetology—”
“Is a branch of marine mammal science that deals with whales, dolphins, and porpoises,” I answer, taking off my apron.
“And before you think me a snob, I got the word from a Jeopardy episode that I watched on my flight to Barcelona. Not that I am an aficionado of the show.” My voice lowers and warms as if I’m sharing a treasured secret.
“Actually, I was seated next to a fighting couple, so I kept invisible by staring at my screen regardless of what was on.”
“How informative, indeed. And generously open of you to share.” He studies me with curiosity. “And may I ask where you are from?”
“She’s from Mumbai,” interjects Luke. “If you want to retire to the living room, Mr. Duncan, I’ll pour us a drink and we can get comfortable.”
“Oh! I’m quite comfortable here.” Mr. Duncan steps closer to me. “Do you have any other trivia for us, Miss?—”
“Rita Singh. And I am afraid that was my strongest attempt at trying to impress an audience where I am outgunned. Especially a man of your stature.”
“What makes you think I’ve got stature?”
Now he’s suspicious. If I was to tell the truth, I would say that all his questions so far smell of a man used to commanding a lofty ego, but that isn’t a charming answer. So I continue playing into my fake-cheer persona.
“You’ve got power coming off you…” I answer dramatically with a wink, “…is what I would love to say, but it’s more so that you looked confused about sitting closely next to other people on a flight, so I figure you’ve never flown economy before. Am I right?”
Mr. Duncan grunts out a laugh. “Quite so.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch the way Luke looks disproportionally shocked at the noise.
“Do you fly economy often, Ms. Singh?”
“Always. Less pollution and easier on the wallet.”
“People in our circles don’t admit to these kinds of confessions.
That’s why I did not expect someone like you to be with Luke Abbot.
” Mr. Duncan turns to him. “And frankly, I didn’t expect to stay this long either.
What you’re attempting to do isn’t possible was going to be my quick and dirty answer to you tonight.
The white whale you want is big and moralistic.
They won’t touch a company they’ve called vultures sucking on the teat of humanity, drying the wells for anybody behind them, bartering on lies to fatten their coffers. ”
I blink.
Vultures. Teat of humanity. Lies to fatten their coffers.
It’s everything online critics have said about the Abbot Industries albeit in a more poetic way. I look to Luke, wondering at his reaction, at what he feels about his family’s business being so thoroughly besmirched. As the CEO, it must feel like a personal attack.
Luke meets Mr. Duncan’s gaze head on. He is focused with the kind of attention you give a loved one so they feel like they are the only one, or the kind you give an opponent to tell them they are respected enough to get everything from you in that moment.
I suppress a shiver, briefly wondering what it’s like to be on the other end of such intensity. For scientific purposes, of course.
I also wonder if Luke really is a cultural vulture.
It’s as if these past few weeks of being inside his apartment have made me forget about the business behind the man.
A highly stocked, most excellent kitchen, and the steady routine of meal prepping and baking have softened my reaction to the whole situation.
I’ve been bribed into complacency by nice things, forgetting certain parts of the outside world hate Abbot Industries and what they stand for.
“You said was ,” says Luke. “That it isn’t possible was going to be your answer. But I’m betting you are starting to see it. How serious I am about making this chess move.”
“Or I’ll come along for the ride because I want to watch you death-spiral,” says Mr. Duncan with an uncaring shrug.
“That’s fine. Pretend. As long as you are onboard. So tell me, will you be there?”
What is he trying to do? Who is the white whale? What are they talking about?
Mr. Duncan doesn’t answer Luke, but shocks me with a question.
“Ms. Singh, I am interested in your opinion. Do you think Luke Abbot is a bad person?”
It takes a silly amount of time to process what has been asked. And what I come up with isn’t eloquent.
“I mean—” I cough. “Ich?—”
Luke walks over to stand behind the kitchen island, our shoulders almost brushing. As if reminding me in the most dominant way possible, I approve your paychecks .
To Mr. Duncan, he says, “Of course she doesn’t believe that. She is here in my apartment willingly after all.”
“Correct,” I say. “I have not, in fact, been kidnapped.”
Coerced at times…yes. Kidnapped, not really.
Mr. Duncan looks between us. “So, what is the nature of your relationship?”
“I’m his—” I stop, wondering what to say.
Meal-prep chef plus hired baker after a bout of blackmail about a work visa and this illegal cake incident seems like a wrong answer.
“We’re quite close,” Luke says, answering for us. He smiles down at me with an expression that would show fangs if he possessed such sharp incisors.
“Definitely in proximity,” I say, stepping subtly on his foot. “Can’t get closer than this.”
“If you called us dear friends—” says Luke.
“I wouldn’t. It’s more complicated than that.”
An arm goes behind my back. He pinches the center of it.
I smack his arm away playfully .
“Rita can produce a glowing character witness if anyone requires it,” promises Luke.
“But I’m not much of a writer or a public speaker.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, darling, you can speak and write magnificently—” Luke must spot my clenched jaw or has realized the endearment was a step too much. “When you want to,” he adds quickly.
Mr. Duncan laughs, the sound resounding off the kitchen cupboards. “Are you two always like this?”
Luke looks like he’s trying to calculate the most beneficial answer.
I opt for honesty. “I don’t know why, but yes. At least, so far.”
“Good. I’ll give you some advice,” says Mr. Duncan.
“Ms. Singh is exactly the kind of person the white whale could react positively to. If she is there with you when you make contact with the family at the yearly conference, they might believe Luke Abbot is a better person than they suspected. Then maybe this merger isn’t completely impossible, but only ninety-five percent impossible. ”
Merger.
When two companies combine into one.
That is what they are talking about .
The dots are connecting in my head.
Abbot Industries seeks to take over or be joined by a white whale. Is white whale a code-name for a seller? Or a buyer? Who wants to deal with Abbot Industries? Can anyone on this planet afford to?
“Although it’s a pity you are not his wife,” says Mr. Duncan to me. “That would sell the story much better.”
“Or we can bump up the offer,” argues Luke. “Money talks. It always has.”
“Not to the white whale,” says Mr. Duncan.
Okay, the “white whale” is someone who hates Luke’s company, but also someone Luke wants to gain the favor for a merger to happen? And why is that behind the back of his investors?
Mr. Duncan continues. “As I said, they’ll only join if they believe their core values are matched with the buyer.
That is the uphill battle you climb, and don’t be mistaken, it is your Mount Everest. They won’t entertain any offer unless they believe in your moral character, which—to be blunt—I didn’t believe those optics could be salvageable until today, but Ms. Singh makes you appear nicer, somehow. ”
Me? What am I doing?
Mr. Duncan pulls out his phone. “But that’s enough talk. You heard my advice. Bring Ms. Singh if possible and I’ll be there too. Only because I’m interested to see where this goes.”
He gives me a small bow of acknowledgement. “Apologies if I spoke about you as if you weren’t in the room. I hope you’ll forgive me for any rudeness.”
“Sure.”
“Good. I’ll take my leave. And Luke?—”
“Yes?”
“Make sure your plans don’t leak. That kind of disaster would sink this.”
“Don’t worry about that. Now, I’ll walk you out.”
“Don’t bother. I know the way.”
Mr. Duncan leaves the kitchen. As the door shuts behind him, I slump onto a kitchen stool. Luke tucks his hands into his pockets, leans against the counter and swears vividly.
“And here I thought you were having fun,” I say.
“Yes, well—I would rather not leave business decisions of large magnitude up to frivolities like whether my meal chef thinks I’m a bad person or not.”
“You’ll note, I didn’t answer either way.”
“Noted. Now I need a way to relax and I’m feeling rather reckless, so I think I will inflict some of this sugar monstrosity on myself since we both know it won’t be served to any guests of mine.”
The chiffon cake. Crap . I had forgotten about it.
Luke goes and digs into a drawer for two forks, placing one of them in front of me, leaving the decision in my hands whether I will partake or not.
Does he see how nervous I’ve gotten? I think he already knows it’s bad, but what happens when he actually tastes it?
Should I wait and watch to see how he reacts?
I glance at the clock on the wall. Technically, the longer I stay out of my own apartment and away from Janice, the better.
Reaching over, I grab the fork. “For the record, I’d rather not be a bartering chip in your meetings, though I’m not surprised Mr. Duncan took a liking to me. Most people do.”
Luke tastes a forkful of the rose-bud infused chiffon cake. His nose wrinkles, and he immediately walks over to the sink and puts his fork away into the basin. “That was off-putting.”