Chapter 6 #3
“Every time you insult my work, I dislike you even more,” I confess honestly. Even if this cake doesn’t reflect my abilities, it was still made by my own hands. When I try a bite of the cake, floral notes explode in my mouth, blanketing the senses.
The cake is essentially potpourri .
Those rose buds definitely steeped in the water for too long.
“It’s indulgent,” I insist.
“Take another bite,” challenges Luke.
“Gladly.”
I force another swallow down.
“Your best work?”
Rather subtly, I cough into my hand. The flavor is sticking to my throat. “Seems unfair to rank it.”
“Right. Moving on. Roy Duncan lacks tact, but he has excellent business acumen. Will you come to this conference when I meet...the white whale? ”
“No.” I shake my head. “Largely because I still have no clue what is going on, and I can’t support anything you ask me to do blindly.”
“While I can’t give you specifics, you have my word that what I’m trying to achieve isn’t nefarious.”
So he understands too. That his company is known for being bad. But can I really trust his good word about this mysterious big deal? That it’s not like that?
Whatever Luke is trying to do with his company is high stakes.
I’ll be participating—no, stamping my approval on whatever takeover Luke is trying to pull off.
And given the track record of Abbot Industries, that can mean anything.
People losing jobs…destruction of the environment… building a mega monopoly…
Luke crosses his arms. ”What will make you change your mind?”
Unspoken is the give me your price part.
My first instinct is to decline him now and forever. That would serve his superiority complex a satisfying blow to the knees. However, I also recognize the opportunity for what it is. Leverage. I shouldn’t let it go to waste. Not when I’ve been the one at a disadvantage for so long.
“First off,” I say. “You might believe in Mr. Duncan, but I don’t want this pressure on me to make a big deal of yours go through.”
“You would have no work to do, you’ll merely be?—”
“—evidence that you aren’t a robot who shuts down in a closet at the end of the night and that other humans are willing to tolerate your presence not because they are getting paid for it but out of real friendship sentimentality.
Are you really so terrible that Mr. Duncan met me and immediately thought I was needed to make you—I don’t know— serviceable ? ”
He catches the familiar barb. I know he does because his mouth twitches.
“Look,” says Luke. “Let’s stop pretending. What do you want from me to make this happen?”
“Open access to your kitchen for my personal cooking.”
It comes out of my mouth and as soon as it does, I recognize how much I do want that.
If I move on to the following round of the competition, the next challenge can come up anywhere.
And it would be of distinct advantage to compete with all the facilities of Luke’s kitchen instead of the busted, half-operating cooking space my own shoddy apartment provides.
But is Luke going to ask why I need his kitchen?
“Fine.”
Apparently not.
“As long as it doesn’t interfere with your normal tasks as my meal-prep chef,” says Luke, reminding me of my position in the hierarchy of his home. “I’m okay with it.”
“Great. As a warning, that means I might be here for longer and odder hours.”
“That’s fine.”
“Also, I want another raise. Twenty percent.”
“Fifteen and don’t bother negotiating for more.”
His words are flat and final, reminding me that while I may have the upper hand right now, my opponent is powerful and highly skilled at getting what he wants.
I reluctantly nod.
Luke sighs. “Good. Then will you—and I can’t believe I am saying this and truly want to skewer myself upon a sharp instrument—come to the conference and pretend to be my friend?”
I…
No.
The voice is from my conscience. It…objects? I wonder why when I almost have everything I can want from Luke. Then a phrase flits through my mind.
At what cost?
I still have no idea what his deal is about. The mystery of it unfurls before me like a shadow full of cackling dangers . What if I actually help unleash something unforgivable upon the world?
It feels like a melodramatic concern, but it is not.
Men like him play chess on a board where stakes are worth more than money. Behind their deals are the faces of real people that are impacted. And I can’t ignore that truth because Luke dangles very appealing bait on the hook for me.
“What’s the hold-up?” he asks, visibly losing patience.
This is going to be very awkward to admit.
“I…ah…need to know you are a good person.”
“I am a good person.”
“No”— this is so cringe— “I need to know that in my heart.”
Luke’s mouth twitches harder. He looks like he is holding back aggressive laughter but is trying hard to hide it because he doesn’t want any of this to go sideways for him.
“If you can’t tell me what exactly this deal is about,” I say, “then I need to believe in you instead. Which I don’t currently. Unfortunately.” My shoulders slump. “I’m sorry but I don’t think I can actually agree,” I say, and then, softly to myself, “Shit.”
Grief works its way through me. It pokes places inside me that I didn’t know had burgeoned with hope. It’s as if pulling off the contest challenge today—even barely—had sparked new resistance. For a very long time, I had truly felt there was a legitimate way forward to getting ahead in my career.
“I’m sorry—” I try again.
“Don’t be,” says Luke, not sounding bothered in the least. “The conference is in a few months. By then, I can prove to you I am a good person so that won’t be an issue.” He stretches his arms out on both sides. “Either way, you can have my kitchen and the raise. No strings attached.”
The smugness on his face soars to the loftiest heights. It says, see? I am a good and generous benefactor.
I frown. Is he seriously that confident?
“No strings attached?”
“No strings attached,” he repeats.
I don’t believe I am hearing this.
“Okay,” I say finally. “If you want to risk it, fine.”
That satisfies him enough that he stops leaning towards me.
We exchange a few more barbs back and forth.
I also stomach a few more bites of the chiffon cake to prove a point and because it is wasteful to throw all of it away, and then I take my leave.
Satisfied and feeling curious as to what Luke Abbot can possibly do to prove to me that he is a passable human being worthy of friendship in the next few months.
Likely not much.
But hey, I’ve got his kitchen and a modicum bit more money, which means all my dinners don’t have to consist of rice and beans.
That’s a win, I decide, whistling my way home for once.