The Takeover, page 6
“Rainforest and Toggle have been flirting for a long time, but I’m so glad that we’re finally going to prom,” I say.
Dell claps, loudly. We all know where he stands. Imani, bless her, grins. I think I’m winning her over. This deal could be done by the end of the week.
“I have a question.” Nami. I take my eyes off her for one second and she is coming for me. I should’ve been watching her the whole time. She’s still holding her stylus like a dagger.
“Yes?” I flash her a smile. Her face twists in disgust as if I’ve just eaten a large cockroach.
“You say Toggle will get to ‘be Toggle’? How are you going to guarantee that?” Nami clearly hasn’t gotten the message that Toggle is in trouble.
“Well, you mean aside from being the most envied couple at prom?” I quip, and some in the room chuckle.
Nami doesn’t even crack a smile. Prom, clearly, is a sore spot. Who did she go with again? I’m trying to remember.
“Well, if I were seventeen, I’d be thrilled. But, you know, hashtag adulting.” She smiles at the table, a warm, blazing smile that blinds the room and temporarily steals anyone’s ability to think clearly. Amazing how she does that. She flicks a cascade of shiny black hair off her bare shoulder, a small gesture that I worry might become a boomerang loop forever in my brain.
A couple of chuckles escape from my people at the table. Mutiny! I glance at them and they all quiet down.
Now, Nami is talking tech. I heard she had a computer science degree and did some pretty mean programming herself out of college before she went to law school. She’s talking about how their code is amazing and innovative. She throws around Big Tech Words. And I realize she actually does understand them. Huh. Interesting. I have no idea what she’s talking about. I smile, though, like I do. I understand business. High concepts. What sells. I leave the mechanics to others.
Maureen, at the table with me, frowns, concerned, sending me a warning look through her clear glass frames. It’s her way of saying, Watch this one. Oh, I know.
“If Rainforest does interfere with our programmers, I think it’s a real possibility the best and brightest will leave.”
“We can find more,” Dell says, not knowing what he’s talking about. “The coding is irrelevant. Always has been.”
“That’s not true,” Nami protests, offended. “And code aside, I’m also concerned about the true interest of Rainforest in buying us. You have a reputation for … not playing fair.” She emphasizes the last words a little bit too much; I think she might mean me personally. “What assurances would we have that you’d try to keep staff after the sale?”
“We can add in clauses to the purchasing contract.”
“You and I know very well that even those are hard to enforce.”
This is the Namby who used to brutalize me in trig. This is absolutely not the Namby who once did the grapevine to Kesha’s “Tik Tok” in my backyard.
She taps on her tablet, and I fear she’s pulling up blackmail-level information. “And the labor … uh, disputes … that have been in the news don’t paint a rosy picture for your warehouse workers. There’s been a lot of bad press about how you treat your employees.”
I swallow. True. Word of no bathroom breaks and warehouses without AC or heat have been pretty damaging. Not our proudest moment, even I admit.
“We wouldn’t want to let you slash our employees’ benefits or time off.”
I stare at Nami, and she stares at me. For once, I know it’s not empty talk. Namby loves nothing more than to lecture wrongdoers. She volunteered to do it in our high school hallways. It’s as annoying now as it was then.
“We’re not a perfect company, but we’re looking to be better,” I say, worried I’m sounding like a serial cheater begging his long-suffering spouse to take him back. “Trust me, we’ve learned some tough lessons.”
“Trust you?” Nami almost snorts her derision. Imani raises an eyebrow. “After Rainforest’s takeover of Natural Foods?”
She. Is. Not. Letting. Up.
And it’s exactly what I’ve been looking for. Exactly the spark, the challenge that’s been missing from my life for years.
“Toggle isn’t Natural Foods.” Not yet, anyway.
There are murmurs of agreement around the table. Nami’s eyes turn into two solid lumps of coal. Her face gets so pinched, I worry she might lose circulation to her nose.
“And then … there’s the business about you selling your customers’ data.”
Well, now things are really getting awkward. We might have settled a lawsuit. Or two.
“Toggle has made a point of being open with our users about data. We don’t store it. We don’t collect it. How can we be sure that Rainforest plans to change that and just use us as one more tool to mine for more data?”
I’m about to deliver a nondescript, noncommittal response, when Imani jumps in.
“I do get those concerns. Valid points, Nami,” Imani begins.
Hell. I am so busy having fun sparring with Namby that I forgot about the real prize in the room: Imani. Brilliant move, Namby. Deflect and distract.
“Listen,” Dell says, jumping in. “Maybe we really need to understand what Rainforest can offer us.”
Dell nods at me. It’s officially time for the cartoon money bags. “Here’s what I know,” I say, opening my leather-bound legal pad in front of me. “We’re looking at a number in this range.” I write down two figures on a piece of paper, rip it off the top, fold it, and hand it to Dell.
He opens it and whistles. Then he passes it to Imani. She can’t keep the startled look from her face. Then the paper comes to Nami. She opens it. Do her fingers shake? I like to think so.
She glances at the number. I expect surprise, or even the glint of greed. Plenty of do-gooders have been waylaid by one too many zeros. But, to my surprise, Nami glares at the number as if it’s personally insulted her entire family.
“You can’t put a price on integrity,” she says, folding the paper up as if she couldn’t care less.
Could her holier-than-thou act be real? Until this moment, it hadn’t occurred to me she might actually walk the walk.
I can’t help it, I’m impressed.
More than impressed.
I might be a little turned on.
“Really?” Dell asks, skeptical. “That’s a fair offer. More than fair.” More than he expected. I know this.
“We built this company to be different from the rest, not to sell it to the very person—er, corporation—that’s going to make it like all the rest.” Nami stares at Imani as she says this.
I have to jump in, or I’ll lose her.
“Look, I’d be worried if you weren’t asking tough questions,” I start.
Imani glances at me, looking a little relieved. She’s not ready to throw her banner behind a side just yet, and I’ve made it so she doesn’t have to. That’s me, providing the out.
Easy. Except I glance at Nami, and her dark eyes burst into pure flame.
“How about all three of you come to Rainforest? You can see we’re more than our bad press. I’ll give you a personal tour, and you can ask me any question you’d like.”
Nami’s face goes ashen. Apparently, the thought of spending any time at all with me is her worst nightmare. I try not to take it personally.
“Nami? How does that sound?” Imani asks.
“Well…” Nami begins.
“She’ll do it,” Dell barks from the end of the table. “I mean, if you want to be a…” Dell stops himself just in time. “… a naysayer about it,” he manages, correcting himself. Good one, Dell. None of us knew what you were really thinking. “Then let’s just take a vote right now.”
Nami flicks him a look that would incinerate a smaller man. I’m also not impressed with Dell. Next, he’ll be talking about how a woman can’t be president because they’re emotional. Since, clearly, red-patchy-faced, furious Dell has all his emotions in check. I think if he loses this deal, he might start angry, toddler-tantrum crying, blubbering about his wealth and power being an inalienable right. I’ve seen it before. Yet, an hour later, he’ll still tell you with a straight face only men should have the nuclear launch codes.
Imani shifts uncomfortably. She doesn’t want to vote because her back’s against the wall. Nami clocks it, too. If there’s a vote right now, Nami might … I emphasize the might … lose.
“I’d rather … not vote today.” Imani looks pained. “Let’s go see their office. Okay?” Imani asks Nami this directly, and now she’s got no choice.
“Yes, of course,” Nami bites out, as if the words are cyanide capsules.
“Great,” I say, smiling once more. “Shall we connect on ConnectIn? So we can set up our calendars?”
It’s the very app she just rejected me on fifteen minutes ago. I might be gloating. Maybe. She can’t turn me down now and she knows it.
Got her.
I glance at her, and her gaze meets mine, and there’s no mirth in it. Her brown eyes glitter, like polished granite, and I am absolutely sure she is imagining a million ways to kill me, all of them painful and terribly slow. I just smile brighter. Because for the first time in a long time, I’m not bored.
Finally, a real adversary.
“Yes. Of course,” she counters through teeth lightly clenched. She looks down at her tablet and I’m surprised it’s not instantly incinerated. I get a little pinging notice on my phone. Well, will you look at that. A connection request from Nami Reid.
And … a message as well. What has the gorgeous goddess sent me? An apology, maybe?
Sorry I hate-stared at you all meeting? Or sorry I trashed your company? I do love apologies.
I click open the missive.
It’s a single poop emoji.
I swallow a laugh as I click Accept. It feels like we’re right back in high school with Nami sticking her tongue out at me from across the chem lab table.
The meeting ends then, and she turns on her heel and stalks out, literal steam flowing from her ears. I know she’ll have something terrible in store for retribution, and I kind of can’t wait. I watch her angry-walk back to her office, each long, lean stride making her wall of shiny ebony hair bounce hard against her perfect back.
SIX
Nami
Someone moved my office chair to the break room, and THIS IS NOT OKAY. My office chair is MY OWN PROPERTY, and not to be used by anyone else BUT ME. My chair is a HANS WEGNER ORIGINAL!!!
DELL OURANOS
PARTNER, CO-OWNER, BUSINESS INFLUENCER AND TRENDSETTER
#ALL-HANDS-ALERT CHANNEL
TOGGLE INTERNAL CHAT
Who’s Hans Wegner?
ARIE BERGER
CIO
Master of Danish Furniture Design! Father of the Danish Modernist Movement. A genius. His furniture is INCREDIBLY expensive. I bought this chair AT PRIVATE AUCTION. It SHOULD NOT be touched. EVER.
DELL OURANOS
PARTNER, CO-OWNER, BUSINESS INFLUENCER AND TRENDSETTER
I watch Jae pal around with Imani and Dell in his glass corner office, diagonal from mine, trying very, very hard to pretend like I don’t care. The other suits from Rainforest left, but Jae remained behind, tactically wooing Imani. Dell is right there with her, too. I’ve been debating going over there. I need to make sure she hears my argument. But I also know my argument will be more powerful if I can get her alone. I know I can convince her if I can get her out for a coffee, or a quick meal. Just the two of us. But with Dell and Jae there? No way.
Jae is poised to steal us away for a nice chunk of change, which would more than appease the board and investors. But given Rainforest’s reputation, it would be terrible for our people. Even if Rainforest’s powers that be grant them mercy and keep them, some might walk out on principle. Any way you look at it, Rainforest buying us will destroy everything that makes Toggle, Toggle. I can tell Jae cracks a joke because Imani laughs. I wish she’d told me this was in the works. Why didn’t she trust me with this? Did Dell wrap her into this from the start? Or did he go behind both our backs? I have so many questions.
Also, I can’t help thinking about the irony of my birthday wish. Artemis (or whomever) couldn’t have gotten this more wrong. Jae Lee is not my soulmate. He’s my hate mate.
Arie and Priya appear at my glass office door as I sit at my desk, trying to spy without looking like I’m spying. Dell is busy showing off his fancy office chair, and Jae is pretending to listen. Danish furniture designer. Blech.
“The news is bad, isn’t it?” Priya whispers. Even her blue hair, worn up in two pigtails, seems to vibrate with nervous energy.
“I’m afraid so,” I sigh. “They’re serious about buying us. Dell wants to sell. Imani’s on the fence.”
“You?” Arie asks, worried.
“Hard no.”
They both visibly relax. Priya exhales as she puts a hand over her heart. “Oh, thank God.”
“Did you tell Imani they’re data pirates?” Arie asks.
I nod.
“Our users will flip if we get bought by them,” Priya says. “They’re with us because they trust us not to mine their data!”
“I know.” I sigh.
“And, they’re probably just going to steal our AI, muscle out our competitors, and then fire us all, best case,” Jamal says, wheeling up to us. He stops and taps the arm of his wheelchair anxiously, eyeing Imani and Jae through the glass office walls.
“Or turn us into little Rainforest drones without free will, worst case,” Priya predicts. Priya and Jamal exchange an anxious glance.
“Those thoughts have crossed my mind.” I glare at Jae, but when Imani catches my eye, I flash her a bright white smile. “Imani says we should go visit with them. See if they’re as bad as we think. She thinks they might not be.”
“They are.” Arie sighs, flicking a nonexistent piece of lint off his brown plaid button-down. “You don’t negotiate with the Borg.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“If they buy us, does this mean we’ll all have to wear Depends?” Priya quips. “I hear they work everybody so hard, nobody gets a bathroom break.”
I laugh at that, but part of me knows it’s true. Rainforest is the company everybody loves to hate, but even I have Rainforest boxes waiting for me to open at home. We had to expect them to come for us. They come for everyone, eventually.
“Why does Rainforest even want us?” Arie asks. “They don’t even really do apps.”
“Not yet, anyway, but I think that’s on their list for world domination,” I say.
“But their code is trash,” Jamal adds.
“I know. I tried to explain that in the meeting.” I absently pick up a pen on my desk and twirl it between two fingers. “But Dell said it’s not about code.”
“Not about code?” Priya looks stricken. She glances down at her distressed T-shirt with I code and I know things in the Game of Thrones font. “Everything is code! They just want to steal ours because they can’t write their own. Plus, what does Dell know? He wouldn’t know Java from coffee beans.”
“Did Dell bring these guys in?” Jamal asks, suspicious.
“He’s enthusiastic about selling,” I say. “That’s all I know.”
Jamal scowls. “Of course the Grinch wants to sell to Rainforest.”
“This can’t stand,” Priya says, meeting Jamal’s gaze.
“You are one hundred percent right,” he says.
This might be the first time the two of them have agreed on anything.
“Don’t worry. I’m on this,” I reassure them all. I won’t let Rainforest gobble us up. I won’t let Jae lay off everyone who made Toggle great. Or betray our users, the people who supported us from day one. There is such a thing as what’s right. Jae never really understood that. He only ever went for What Was Best for Jae. Just like when he and his brothers won the talent show in their boy band routine, both senior and junior years, technically breaking the rules by having pyrotechnics on stage and by bribing the organizers to let them go last. People still talk about their performances. Nobody remembers now that I played Beethoven’s Sonata #9 on my violin, which, granted, was solemn and about fifteen minutes too long, and no one appreciated my finger work except my orchestra teacher.
Right then, Jae meets my gaze from across the room. I wish I had heat-ray vision, because then I could melt him from here. He doesn’t seem fazed. Per usual. My stomach tightens as he stands and Imani leads him out of the office. I pray they’re headed for the elevators. Instead, Imani seems to be leading him right to me.
“All right, back to work.” Arie shoos Jamal and Priya back to their desks. “Look alive,” Arie cautions me.
Hard not to feel alive when hate is coursing through every vein in my body. I scramble up from my desk and stand with Arie at the doorway, and then mentally kick myself because I look like I’ve shot to my feet to greet royalty. I should’ve remained seated. This is my office. Not his. Not yet.
Jae approaches with his perfect suit in his easy, long stride. He’s taller than I remember. Maybe he grew in college? That, or he’s wearing lifts. I glance at his long legs, his broader torso, and bigger shoulders. No lifts, I think. There’s just more … of him. More than I remember. Imani barely comes to his shoulder and Arie, too, must look up to meet his gaze. When did he get so tall? He flashes an easy smile, all charm, and my stomach flips.
Shit. He’s good-looking. My heart starts to pound harder. Jae’s always been … cute. Boy band cute. Classmates crushed on him all the time. But he’s a man now. A very seriously handsome man, who looks like he ought to be negotiating with spies in an action movie, or modeling designer men’s suits in some commercial. Though there’s no way that I can actually be attracted to Jae Lee. He’s the devil, I remind myself. A really, really well-dressed, tall, and broad and fit, chiseled, clean-shaven devil. Whose bright-white dimpled smile makes my stomach feel weird.
Arie steps closer to me for moral support.
“Nami,” Imani says smoothly, giving me an easy smile. “Just wanted to bring Jae by so you two could sync your calendars.”
“Sure. No problem.” I say this too tightly. I’m going to need to be a better actor than this. Plus, since when do we need to “sync” our electronic calendars face-to-face? That’s what calendar invites are for.
