Chapter 17 Derek #2
“I don’t plan to charge for this treatment,” Jack cuts in. “Any profits would be marginal.”
“That’s fine.” I wave him off. “Half-half ownership of the patent, as well as the right for use in the development of our own products for Salinger Tech then. We will make our own profits down the line.”
My proposal is crazy, I know. There is also no guarantee that we will succeed. The technology we are proposing doesn’t even exist yet, it’s all new, all experimental, all theoretical. But I’m willing to risk it. A week ago, maybe I wouldn’t have. But now?
I clasp my thigh. It’s Daniel’s fault, I blame my insanity on him.
I’ve gone mad because of his damn paintings and soft lips, but, honestly, I don’t care.
It makes me feel alive in a way that I can’t resist. It makes me want to grasp the hope that lies just beyond my reach, and Jack and Emily Keller are serving it to me on a silver platter.
“I want it put into writing that you won’t take on projects from the military,” Jack states, his tone serious. “I don’t want the technology we develop to be weaponized.”
He’s seen through me, or maybe he’s just as good at the game of being rich and powerful.
A genius, like I said, even if he rarely ever is in the public’s eye.
I would’ve done it—sold the tech to militaries, governments, you name it, but he anticipated it.
I glance at Emily, finding her watching me.
Two geniuses then, not one, I miscalculated…
and as a result, it seems I played right into their hands.
I’m impressed.
“Deal,” I state and stand up.
We shake hands, then Emily takes out a preliminary agreement from her bag, handing it over to me so I can sign it. I skim through but don’t bother to read it in full—for this to happen, they are interested in working with me as much as I am interested in working with them.
“We should be able to finalize things by the end of next month,” Emily says, tucking away their copy of the agreement. Her smile reminds me of that of Daniel, the genuineness of it pulling at my heart.
“You two live down in Estacada, right?” I ask, following them out of the room. “One of the commuter towns near Portland.”
“We do,” she chirps. “It’s a lovely place and where we used to live before the accident.”
I do know about it, the car crash that paralyzed her from the waist down and awakened her brother’s genius.
“I can’t say I’ve been there or heard about it.
” I pause, imagining what a town like that would look like.
“Don’t you get bored? Surely there isn’t much to do once you are done with work for the day? ”
Jack chuckles, pressing the elevator button. “We both pride ourselves as gardening enthusiasts. My husband got us hooked, so there’s usually plenty to do around the house or at his garden center.” He preens, sweetness sliding into his expression.
Ah, he’s still completely in love with his husband, even if they’ve been together for years.
It’s in the way he said it, in the way his gaze morphed into a distant thing that’s not really here with me anymore.
Is he unable to resist the thoughts in his head, just like I find it hard to shut out Daniel.
Is that it? Is what I am feeling the same?
I can’t ask him, we don’t have that kind of relationship, but it doesn’t stop me from wondering.
I fold my arms behind my back as the elevator arrives and the two of them step inside. “Thank you for your time, Jack, Emily. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“Good luck with your Board, Derek. I feel like you’ll need it,” Jack tosses over a shit-eating grin that no business partner I’ve had in my six years as the CEO of Salinger Tech has ever allowed themselves to show me.
I don’t look forward to getting cross-questioned by my Board, but I’ve got this. Only I don’t expect it to go as badly as it does even if they eventually come around. My ecstatic mood is ruined, the buzz is erased so that the indifference I am so intimately acquainted with slips back into place.
I hate this.
“Mr. Salinger?” Jared comes by my office with a cup of coffee just as I am about to go make myself one.
My savior. “Good job today. Perhaps you can step out for a bit? Have a walk maybe or get a sugar fix?” He tilts back the tablet he’s holding.
“You have an online meeting with the German, but I can reschedule that for tomorrow.”
That’s actually not a bad idea. I’m not really needed in the office anymore, so I might as well enjoy the privilege of being rich.
A walk, or maybe a glass of whiskey before I go see Daniel would do me good.
I’d go straight away, but he said he’d be painting and I don’t want to infringe on that.
Knowing him, I’m his reward. “Do that. And move everything from the morning to the afternoon.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Somehow, I end up at the gallery. I don’t even know how I got here, but that’s not important. The better question is why did I come here exactly?
I know the answer, but I am pretending not to because Daniel embodies everything that I hate.
Because I can’t stand art, and yet I can’t stand not to have his in front of my eyes.
It’s a paradox, an outcome dictated by the things my parents instilled in me, my beliefs.
Daniel… he has what I could never have, his life is not empty like mine, his passion is a blazing inferno.
I want it and I don’t want it at the same time, and thus I’m stuck in some kind of mental limbo, trying and failing to do the right thing.
Which is what exactly? It’s all subjective, all dictated by the specific circumstances.
In reality, there is no right or wrong, no correct outcomes, no wrong turns.
It’s all an exercise in philosophy, a lesson in mental gymnastics.
And yet still, being near Daniel invalidates that.
It makes me see the way my actions could affect others, the results, the consequences.
If I could come out on top, but not ruin someone else in the process, why shouldn’t I do that?
“Derek, what are you doing?” Adam snaps me out of my thoughts. I twist my head, meeting his furious gaze. He’s red-faced and panting, as if he’s run to get here. “Why the hell weren’t you in the office? I told you we were having dinner with my parents.”
Did he? I vaguely remember him mentioning it.
“It slipped my mind,” I try, giving him a fake smile as I run my hand through my hair.
He crosses his arms, visibly pissed off. “They’ve been sat at the restaurant for twenty minutes, waiting for us, and you are here doing what exactly? Staring at dumb art?”
Adam, like me, has this canny ability to be right about most things.
Art is dumb, I’ve believed that since I was old enough to know that my time was better spent learning how to run a business than playing with a brush.
Like most kids, I did, at one point, have aspirations to create the worlds I could imagine in my head, to put my ideas into a shape that others could appreciate just as much as my mind did.
I gave up on that altogether though, years ago, and like Adam, I see no magic in it anymore, just a way to make money off rich brats who think they are the next Picasso.
Until Daniel’s paintings reignited something long lost inside of me.
“We can go if you are done complaining,” I tell him. “No need to make your parents and the media wait longer than they’ve already waited.”
He rolls his eyes, annoyed that I called him out, but starts walking anyway.
“I’ve never seen you like this. You are seriously obsessed with this artist,” he accuses, tossing a glare my way over one shoulder.
“I thought you’d get over him after you fucked, but it’s only gotten worse.
And why are his painting taking up so much valuable space when we could display something that will actually sell? ”
Okay, maybe it’s time I confessed. Not to Adam, I don’t think that’s a good idea, but to myself and to whatever nonexistent deity might be listening.
That thought I had a while back about not wanting Daniel’s paintings to sell so I can snatch them at the end?
That’s gotten, perhaps, a little out of hand.
You see, we tend to do online auctions for most of our pieces, where interested parties can bid.
We designate a starting price, say $40000, and then we leave it to them to bump it up as high as possible.
It’s done in a transparent way at a set time every week, so we, the gallery, can’t rig the bidding.
Simple, right? But do you know what’s even simpler?
Setting the price of an unknown artist’s works high enough so most connoisseurs of art will be discouraged.
After all, who wants to flounder a painting from an artist that no one knows about yet?
It nets nothing. It is not a foolproof solution, of course, which is where my contingency plan comes in, namely Jared’s third cousin, Magdalena, who has a fantastic eye for quality art by unknown artists.
Yes, that’s how much I want those paintings hanging in my penthouse. I’m not sure how Adam would take to that, but quite honestly, I don’t give a damn either way. We’re going our separate ways soon enough, but I think there is no point in stirring the pot unnecessary.
“It’s gotten some traction,” I say vaguely, not wanting to get into an argument right before a public appearance. We have to make it believable, and tension of this kind has its way of making itself known no matter how careful we are.
“Derek.” Adam comes to a stop, spinning around to face me with his hands planted on his hips. Tonight, he’s wearing a pastel pink dress shirt with a pair of yellow pants and a white fur coat. “Is he blackmailing you with something?” he grinds out, then snorts. “That would be the day, wouldn’t it?”
My jaw drops. Fuck, imagine that. Little, cute, innocent, submissive Daniel blackmailing me? My dick rears its head. Shit, there is something seriously wrong with me.
“He’s not… I don’t think.” Unless you count the way I can’t stop thinking about him and the fact that I won’t be able to sleep with anyone else after tasting him. But he’s not doing it intentionally. It’s not part of some grand plan that he has.
Right?
“You are clearly more than just infatuated. Yet you haven’t insisted we make our breakup official.” He hums, tapping his fingers against his elbow. “Don’t tell me you are using us as some sick way to make him desperate for you.”
Adam is way too smart sometimes. “It’s none of your business.”
He flails his arms. “You are right. People like us have to play dirty or the good things in life will forever stay out of our reach. But let me give you a piece of advice”—he pauses, holding the car’s door open—“if you truly care about that man, don’t build your relationship on the basis of lies and deception. It will bite you in the ass.”
I hate unsolicited advice, and Adam knows that. “You are awfully chatty today.”
“It’s not every day you get to witness the fall of a titan, is it?”
I blow air out of my nose. “Nobody is falling, Adam. I’m the one in control. Always.”
“Uh-huh. Whatever you say. Starting next week, you aren’t my problem anymore. Good luck.”
The dinner with Adam’s parents goes well. There are cameras, some reporters too, the usual. I manage to eat some food despite the nerves and anticipation in my stomach, and once we’ve paraded ourselves enough for the night, I rush to Daniel’s place.
The moment I step through the door, it’s like I’m home, his presence both calming and titillating. As instructed, he’s wearing nothing but a ribbon around his already leaking cock as he awaits with spread legs for me on the couch.
I dive right in, desperate for his taste, needing it like my lungs need air.