Chapter 4
“Why would you attack the son of the company with a bat?” Evelyn barks into the phone.
Camille rubs her temple, regretting sharing that story. “I told you, I thought he was a robber or an assassin, I don’t know.”
“Then you run away. You don’t run after the guy. Where’s your sense of self-preservation? Not to mention if you actually would have hurt him.”
“It’s fine,” Camille assures her. “If anything, I think Leah was impressed by the initiative.”
“I hope you’re right,” Evelyn groans, the anger in her voice cooling. “We can’t afford another crummy deal. We need to get this ball rolling before we have to start paying my dad back for the loan.”
Evelyn really was the best friend anyone could hope for. When she came up with the plans for Oxygen Recycler, Evelyn didn’t hesitate to offer her help. It was Evelyn’s parents who gave them the funding, and it was Evelyn’s father’s connections that linked them up with a manufacturer who made her invention a reality.
After unbuttoning her pants, stepping out of them out on the bedroom floor, she collapses backwards on the bed. “Enough about me,” she sighs, stretching. “Did you find a decent replacement?”
“Sucked,” Evelyn says, the sound of a faucet drowning out her voice. “…only two called me back,” as she moves away from the water, her voice grows louder. “One was no longer looking for a job, and the second was a dude who sounded like he was smoking. Right after he agreed to come in tomorrow at nine for an interview, he asked if he had to pass a drug test and then proceeded to cough up a lung right in my ear.”
Camille rolls over, grabbing a pillow to prop herself up. “What do you think he was smoking?”
“Is it bad if I’m hoping it was pot?”
“Not at all. That’s what I’d put my money on, but why not cigarettes?” Camille says, glancing at the blinds. She should’ve left the windows open so she could see the sunrise in the morning.
“That didn’t even come to mind,” she yawns. “Guess I’m that worn out,” Evelyn says over the running water. “I’ll let you know tomorrow after he takes a drug test. Look, I’m tired of smelling like Mexican food.”
“So you aren’t coming in the morning,” Camille states, reading between the lines. If she didn’t sound so tired, she’d give her a hard time about leaving her high and dry again, pun intended. “Let me ask you something. Did you know that this was a weekend trip?”
“Yeah, it was in the email they sent us with the plane tickets.”
Camille shuts her eyes. She’s not going to give herself a hard time. Today has already made her feel like enough of an idiot. Camille reaches for the remote off the nightstand.
“Alright, I’ll hold the fort down. Call me in the morning after you hire the pothead.”
“Goodnight,” Evelyn says over the running water; Camille can hear her smiling.
“Night.”
She sets her phone down next to her and raises the blinds. Camille stops them a few feet from the ceiling, offering a ten-foot view of the night sky overlooking Los Angeles.
In her head, she plays the way Leah’s son looked down at her when he said, “it was a pleasure to meet you,” over and over. Camille stares out at the twinkling city lights until she can’t hold her eyes open any longer. Her dreams of beautiful views with pools quickly take a turn for the worse when her mind replays the Toronto meeting.
“We worked hard for this,” Evelyn says in the fourteenth-floor conference room inside the Flexinburg Group building, her words more for Camille than herself. “They are going to walk in here, and we’re going to blow them away.”
The conglomerate, Flexinburg Group, is situated on the eastern side of Toronto, Ontario, and is made up of five subsidiaries. The Flexinburg Group began as a modest media manufacturer, broadening its sights to just about every money-making facet in the greater Canada and United States territories. The Lichtenstein brothers are one of the newest partners. They spent the last decade focusing primarily on the medical side of manufacturing and distribution, with over three decades of experience between the two of them.
“What if I say something stupid?” Camille asks, staring at the engraving on the conference room’s glass door. Be great or go home. She was intimidated by it when the assistant brought them to the room, but now she tries to draw strength from it.
Camille wishes she could have half of Evelyn’s confidence. It helped that Evelyn was born to parents with established careers in real estate. Camille’s parents weren’t even married when they found out they were expecting. Everything her parents owned, they worked hard to earn. Her mother’s cancer diagnosis took a lot out of them, mentally, physically, and financially. All of that suffering, just for them to lose her in the end.
Evelyn was right about one thing: she did work hard. Camille put herself through nursing school. She accepted a full-time job that landed her with the idea that became Oxygen Recycler. But in the end, she had Evelyn to thank for making the idea in her head a reality. She was the one from the savvy business family with the money and connections that landed them in Toronto. It was Evelyn’s efforts that brought them to the big leagues.
“You’re going to be fine,” Evelyn tells her. “They called us, remember? No one begged them to fly us up here. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I have all of the numbers memorized and expected sales based off of the interest we’ve had with the prototypes we sent out. There’s nothing they can throw at us—I’m prepared for anything.”
Camille takes a deep breath, glancing at Evelyn, who’s staring at the glass door. Camille recognizes her expression. It’s the same look she had when Camille first went to her with the idea. She only gets that look when she’s focused on something. When the wheels are turning, people tend to think she’s zoned out when in reality she’s zoned in.
Camille quickly spent the ten thousand Evelyn’s father gave them to create the first Oxygen Recycler prototype. The self-cycling oxygen machine used the air around it to process and store an easily portable, six-pound cylinder. The majority of Camille’s patients were renting third-party oxygen machines that required religious tank exchanges meaning her patients needed to keep track of their oxygen use and call when they were getting low.
Evelyn used the same expression when Camille came to her, out of money and feeling hopeless.
Less than a year later, the licensing and product were ready to go, with several major hospitals and nursing homes in the greater Dallas area participating in the Oxygen Recycler trial phase. The results were five out of five stars with an emphasis on ease of use. Now all their newly formed company, Integrity Heights, L.L.C needed was the right people to believe in them.
A tall woman in a deep red pencil skirt and billowy black blouse swings the door open.
“You must be Ms. Lee,” she says to them as she reaches out for a handshake, her eyes going to Camille. “I’m Gwendolyn Ashton. You can call me Gwen.”
“Nice to meet you,” Camille smiles, giving her hand a brief shake.
“And you must be Ms. Sykes.”
Evelyn looks up, coming out of her trance to shake Gwen’s hand.
“I’m so happy to meet you both,” Gwen says. “I wanted to come in before Derrick to let you know that I was blown away by what you’ve managed to achieve. We get people just trying to get their foot in the door with little more than an idea, but to see your prototype making waves in Dallas, and two women entrepreneurs at that…” Gwen shakes her head, searching for the words. “It’s great to see,” she says finally.
“Thank you,” Camille says. The woman’s excitement is contagious enough that her nerves subside. “We couldn’t stop jumping up and down when we created the first functioning prototype.” She looks over at Evelyn, expecting her to be just as giddy, but she frowns across the table at Gwen as if she’d just insulted them rather than complimented.
“Who’s Derrick?” Evelyn asks.
“Derrick Paul,” Gwen says, losing a little of her vigor, “he’s the associate who will be meeting with you today.”
Evelyn’s frown deepens. “But our meeting is with the Lichtenstein brothers.”
“Oh, well, good for you,” Gwen says, her brow raising. “They only join in when it’s a serious deal on the table. When I sent your info to Derrick, I hoped it would turn into something.” She leans in, placing her hands on the table. “Between you and me,” she says quietly, “I’ve been here for years, and it’s rarely ladies they bring in. I mentioned it to a colleague of mine once,” she straightens, pursing her lips in annoyance, “he told me that it’s not in a women’s disposition to be an entrepreneur.” A smirk spreads across her face. “But you two sitting here proves him wrong.”
“He sounds like a jerk,” Evelyn says.
“He is.”
Gwen turns as the door behind her opens, and a young man wearing a tan suit enters. He’s tall with sandy blond hair sweeping across his forehead. Camille can’t help wonder his age. He looks barely old enough to buy alcohol, much less be in an office of this caliber.
“Gwen,” he jolts, giving her a double take, “are you sitting in?”
“No,” she replies, stepping to the side. “I saw they were coming in today and popped in to introduce myself.” Her expression is firm, waiting for him to connect the dots. When the look on his face doesn’t change, she adds, “because I’m the one who sent you their information.”
“That’s right,” he nods, waving his briefcase.
“Ladies,” Gwen says, turning to Camille and Evelyn, “this is Derrick Paul,” she waves a hand in Camille’s direction. “Derrick, this is Camille Lee.”
Camille stands as Derrick moves around the conference table to shake her hand. It’s a firm handshake, but she’s surprised by how small his hand is in hers.
“The inventor,” he says, dipping his chin at her. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here,” Camille says, catching sight of Evelyn scrutinizing his face.
“And this is Evelyn Sykes,” Gwen continues. Evelyn plasters a tight grin on her face as Derrick takes her hand.
He gives her a toothy grin. “Pleased to meet you.”
Evelyn grits her teeth. Camille isn’t sure if it’s because they aren’t meeting with the Lichtenstein brothers like they were led to believe or if it’s the guy’s babyface, but she can tell Evelyn is struggling.
She eventually gets out, “Pleasure’s mine.”
“Shall we, ladies?” Derrick declares.
They sit down as Gwen heads for the door.
“Why don’t you join us?” he offers, seeing her about to leave.
She pauses. “You sure?”
“I don’t see why not. Play your cards right, and you’ll be heading your own meetings soon enough,” he says, straightening in his chair.
He misses the expression that crosses Gwen’s face. Camille pulls her lower lip in between her teeth, wondering if he’s been at the company as long as Gwen, who’s probably in her late-thirties. Derrick places his briefcase on the table, clicking it open as Gwen takes the seat across from Evelyn. Camille sets her bag down on the floor between her and Evelyn’s chairs, itching to show off her newest project.
The biggest issue start-up companies have in the medical field when it comes to new tech is that they are often one-hit wonders. If they are lucky enough to be that. Integrity Heights, however, has bigger plans than simply filling a need in the at-home oxygen department. They’ve already started on Camille’s next big idea, targeting the needs of diabetics who require frequent blood sugar monitoring. This meeting will be their first opportunity to prove that Integrity Heights is worth investing in for more than simply the Oxygen Recycler once they’ve made a deal. Gwen and Derrick will be the first to lay eyes on her newest invention as well, outside of her father, Evelyn’s parents, and their friends Jasmin and Gretchen. Granted, it still had a good year of testing before it was ready for market, but they could get it there sooner with the Flexinburg Group’s backing.
“First,” Derrick starts, withdrawing a sleek pen from inside his jacket pocket and placing a packet of papers face down in front of him, “I’d like to thank you both for coming up here to our little piece of paradise. I know those flights can be tedious.” He pauses, expecting a response.
When Camille sees Evelyn pressing her lips together in a hard line, she sighs. “It was fine,” she lies. They were both seated in the middle seats on the middle row, putting them as far away from the windows as you could get. Derrick looks at Evelyn and smirks.
“The silent type, I like that. Let’s get down to business.” He fiddles with his pen. “The Flexinburg Group is one of the leading corporations in the medical field. We have state-of-the-art distribution centers and an expert marketing team.” He flips the packet over, sliding it across the table to them.
Evelyn holds the packet up between them.
“Keep in mind,” he notes, watching them looking over the cover page, “this is a mock of what our sales team is putting together as we speak.”
Camille’s mouth slowly opens as she reads the headline over the photo of a modelesque elderly couple wearing fluffy bathrobes in a spa, beaming at one another.
It’s time to just breathe. From the makers of HydroCare and Essence of Life comes Oxy. The next generation of elite oxygen therapy.
Evelyn pulls the paper closer, examining the image. “When did you have time to have a photoshoot with our product?”
Camille stares at the picture. Sure enough, beside the pampered couple is her machine sitting on the floor next to the wall. Evelyn flips to the next page, which has a similar photo with mountains as a backdrop, the Oxygen Recycler sitting precariously on the rough terrain. The third page is a pie chart of where they plan to market–social media and doctor’s office demonstrations mostly.
“Ah, yes,” Derrick chuckles, “the miracles of photoshop. I guarantee we have the best in the business to sell to—”
“The rich,” Evelyn says before he can finish.
Camille can feel her cheeks flush from Evelyn’s tone, but she’s right. She hates the mockup too.
“Have you read our mission statement?” Evelyn asks, looking between Gwen, who’s straining to see the mockup from across the table, and Derrick. “Because this,” she shoves the packet across the table, “is precisely the kind of thing we don’t want.”
Derrick shifts in his chair, glancing at Gwen, whose back stiffens.
“We have several advertising options,” she says, “depending on the target audience. What we want is to…garner interest, to educate those needing reliable, affordable,” she cuts her eyes at Derrick, who nods along, “at-home oxygen delivery.”
“My apologies, ladies,” Derrick says, giving them a mournful smile, “I simply wanted to show you how quickly our team can work to give your creation the limelight it deserves. How about I show you what you came here for.”
He goes to his suitcase, pulling out a thin booklet with a clear cover sheet. Lichtenstein Brothers proposal: Integrity Heights, L.L.C.
“This is what we are willing to offer you, along with an impressive royalty deal that we usually don’t offer for products that don’t have a proven sales history.”
He hands the booklet over to the women, giving Gwen a confident nod. She nods back, though less enthusiastically. Camille and Evelyn read the bold print on the cover sheet of the booklet.
“Half a million,” Camille murmurs, reading the terms for before and after the total buyout. Five hundred thousand dollars for the invention, intellectual property, rights, licenses, and prototypes. One and a half percent royalty for twenty-four months.
“That’s right,” Derrick beams. “It’s an impressive offer.”
Evelyn remains silent, opening the booklet.
“I brought my lucky pen,” Derrick proclaims, holding up the dark wood pen with bronze accents for them to see. “Everyone who’s used it has gone on to become successful entrepreneurs.”
He sets the pen down in front of Evelyn and Camille. Camille’s chest tightens as Evelyn picks it up, not as if she’s about to sign it but as if she were about to stab someone with it. Thankfully, Evelyn flips the pen around in her hand, using its tip to read over the second page. She pauses, rereading a section near the bottom of the page. Evelyn lifts her head from the booklet, cutting her eyes at Derrick and Gwen.
“Successful business owners without a business,” she scoffs, sliding the booklet in front of Camille, pointing at a small paragraph toward the bottom of the page.
“What’s this?” Camille asks, reading where Integrity Heights is listed along with Oxygen Recycler.
“They want all of it,” Evelyn stresses, sitting back in her chair, “your invention and our company. Is there a non-compete clause too?” Evelyn stares hard at Derrick.
Gwen turns to him. When he doesn’t answer straight away, she turns back to them, lifting her chin. “It’s usually at the end,” she says, eyeing the booklet in Camille’s hands with the same distaste as Evelyn.
Derrick glares at her. Camille flips through to the last page with Evelyn looking over her shoulder. Sure enough, there it is. By signing the contract, they agree to not own or work for any companies whose past, present, or future dealings mirror in any way the Flexinburg Group or its subsidiaries for a term of six years.
“Six years,” Evelyn murmurs.
“Six years,” Camille repeats.
“That’s a deal,” Derrick assures them with a shrug, “considering it’s a standard to require ten years.”
“A deal for whom?” Evelyn asks, so faintly that Camille barely catches it.
Gwen says nothing, shaking her head faintly. She lowers her gaze to stare down at the table. It takes all Camille has to not cry at this joke of an offer. It’s a deal alright, a deal for the Lichtenstein brothers and the Flexinburg Group. No wonder they made them partners. To hell with not having a proven sales record. They’re stealing technology from people for pennies on the dollar.
Camille shakes her head, laying the booklet on the table. “Our company is more than the Oxygen Recycler. We have plans for an entire line of products.” She reaches down for her bag, but Evelyn grips her wrist, looking at her with the same sadness that’s welling up inside of Camille.
“This has been a waste of our time,” Evelyn states surprisingly gently. “Don’t waste their time showing them something they aren’t willing to pay a fair price for.”
“Look,” Derrick insists, matching Evelyn’s soft tone, “if we expected this merger to raise the dial on our stocks, we’d be looking at an offer that reflected that, but, in this climate, we know it’s not going to be a top seller. I get it. This is hard to hear, but if it’s just the non-compete that’s an issue—”
Evelyn glares at him. “Where do I even begin?” The gentleness in her voice is gone. She lets go of Camille’s hand, giving him her full attention. “We did not fly up here to sell our company. If you even bothered to read the package I put together for you, then you would know that.”
Evelyn pushes her chair back to stand when Gwen stops her. “Evelyn, wait,” she glances uncomfortably at Derrick before looking back at the women. “I understand that the Oxygen Recycler is your baby. We didn’t bring you all the way out here to insult you. Let us know what number you think is fair, and we can go from there.”
“Five and a half million,” Evelyn says without hesitation, “ten percent royalty with no expiration date, and one-year non-compete.”
Camille’s jaw drops.
Gwen turns to Derrick. “Why aren’t you writing this down?”
Derrick reaches for his suitcase and stops, meeting Gwen’s gaze. “I can’t go to them with terms like that.” He takes a deep breath. “Look, I only have the authorization to offer you eight-hundred thousand for the…” he glances at Gwen.
Gwen blinks at him. “Oxygen Recycler.”
Camille lets out a low cackle, lifting her chin to the ceiling. “He doesn’t even know the name.”
Evelyn shakes her head in disappointment as she rises to her feet. “He has no clue what you’ve created. I’m done.” She looks down at Camille. “You ready to go?”
Camille stands, her grip tight on her bag. Derrick gapes at them. Gwen’s lower lip wrinkles, eying Derrick and looking more annoyed with him than surprised that they’re walking out. She goes to the door, opening it for them as they exit.
“It really was nice to meet you both,” she emphasizes.
“Thanks,” Camille murmurs. Evelyn stays silent ahead of her.