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“You already owe me six,” Tate ricocheted back. “I’m keeping your secrets, drafting your contracts, firing assholes who mistreat your precious Dylan. Next, you’ll ask me to wear a pencil skirt and bend over your executive desk.”
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and slammed my teeth together. “What do you want?” He knew he had me against the wall. Knew I was going to give him whatever the hell he wanted. Now all I could do was hear what I was about to lose.
“I want twenty-five percent of your shares in App-date.”
Motherfucker.
My whole body was shaking, and I was sweating, cursing the very day I met this asshole. He’d wanted his hands on this app since the night at Casablancas when he tried to outbid Bruce. Tate was simply biding his time. And as always, he’d succeeded.
Bruce groaned. “Don’t do it, son.”
I turned to him. “Then you lend me your plane.”
“I would.” Bruce gave me a panicked look. “But it’s in Dallas. It can’t fly out of there.”
Dammit. He was right.
“Fifteen percent,” I bargained into the phone.
“Twenty-eight,” Tate countered, a hint of cheerfulness slicing through his unbearably smooth tone. “Every single time you try to negotiate, I’ll up the ante.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” I spat out.
“No,” Tate said. “I don’t waste my precious humor on people I don’t want to fuck.”
“Do you waste your humor on people you do want to fuck?” I asked doubtfully.
“Good point. I never developed one. Might attract unwarranted affection,” Tate muttered. “That’s a risk I can’t take. So do we have a deal?”
“We’re keeping it at twenty-five, and you are giving me the option to purchase it back for the current rate.”
“0.2 percent rate, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Considering there were triple-digit millions on the line, 0.2 percent was atrocious, but I knew I couldn’t get anything more from him. “Fine. I’ll text you the name of the airport.”
“Text it to Gia.” Gia was his PA. “I’m entirely disinterested in doing more admin than you’ve already assigned me.” He hung up.
That left me with one thing to sort out: a car to take me to Irvine.
I glanced out the window. It was pouring harder than before, the wind shrieking and whining, pounding on the windows like a soul-sucking ghost. I shook my head. What the hell was wrong with this state? It was as hot as sweaty balls yesterday.
“Did you just…” Bruce pointed at my phone, then at me, tilting his head sideways in confusion.
“Did I just what?” I barked impatiently, searching through car rentals online on my phone. Everything was closed.
“Hand over twenty-five percent of your shares to that devil?”
I looked up from my phone, dead-ass serious. “I need to get to New York before that concert starts.”
“Fine. Take my car.” He pushed his hand into his front pocket, rummaging for his keys and tossing them into my hands.
I caught them midair. It was a Ram. Less likely to blow in the wind. Silver linings and all.
“But I have to warn you, Coltridge. There’s a good chance you won’t make it to the airport in one piece.”
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
RHYLAND