The lawyers grow still. Leontine bites her lip. I primped her, primed her and then stuck in the knife; now it's lecherous fuckface to the rescue. She doesn't trust me yet, but she wants to.
With prompting, Carson briefly outlines our legal strategy. A venture like SilentWitn3ss—a small, wearable video camera that allows users to upload their videos direct to YouTube, with or without editing—is both a voyeur's triumph and a lawyer's worst nightmare. They're far from the first company to invent such a device, but they're the first with balls big enough to deliberately market the surveillance angle to the general public. The internet is full of social justice idiots clasping their pearls for this shit. I could pay another company to develop something similar, but that takes time—my most limited resource.
There are things Carson doesn't mention, like how I fully intend to have the tech developed into a cell phone app, complete with its own social network. Screw YouTube—I want Instagram for news. I want footage of the biggest events uploaded to my site as they happen, and I want exclusive rights to every pixel. Now that is interesting.
"I like this idea of the everyman—or woman—making the news," I tell Leontine. I'm using my most earnest of tones, the kind I used to pull out for psychiatrists as a kid. "And I like the idea of levelling with them. Collaborating."
"Sounds to me like you mean exploiting," she counters.
"I work with news. Everything I do involves exploitation, Miss Reeves. My channels, newspapers and websites decide what is worthy of a front-end slot or a front page; we tell people what they want to hear and reap the advertising benefits. We do this because we're not a charity, and we can't run on magic beans." For the first time, I sit back, my hands still firmly on the table—right there with my offer. "But I'm not a hundred percent convinced that we always get it right. Your product offers a way for us to gauge people's interest in various areas of news, something more reliable than click-through rates or angry comments on the internet. I like the organic nature of it and I want to see where it goes."
Honesty. It soars through the air like a bullet and burrows its way between her carefully lifted breasts. How thoughtful of her to come dressed for assault. I watch her brows twitch, the slight hitch in her breath; there's nothing more satisfying than the moment interest melts into the first stirrings of trust. It's like music. Like an orgasm.
God, I could watch Leontine Reeves wonder if she should trust me all fucking day.
I allow myself a hint of a grin—something I haven't offered since my grand entrance. She follows the curve of my lips, practically leans toward them, and then the light in her eyes fades to murky disgust; she hates herself for it.
"So you see," I say, "we're well-placed to help each other."
"I'd want to keep our offices downtown," she muses.
Her lawyers nod along with her, their eyes like saucers.
"Of course."
"And full creative control."
"Standard." My grin spreads just a centimetre wider. An ache stirs in the flesh of my cheeks; my body's personal brand of pleasure in pain. "I think you'll find me to be very reasonable."
"I don't...Look. Mr Lore." She fixes her smoky gaze on me.
"Yes?"
"I started this company to empower people. People with no other means to help themselves, no money to buy their way out of things or power to seek representation. It's at the core of SilentWitn3ss and everything we stand for. I can't compromise on that."
"And I would never ask you to."
"Then..." She takes a deep breath. Exhales, disturbing the wisps of hair that frame her face. Looks over at her team, who all chew their lips in anticipation. "We'd be interested to see a contract."
"Fabulous. Carson, how soon can we have that ready?"
He shrugs. "Forty-eight hours?"
"Does that sound palatable, Miss Reeves?"
She allows me a small smile. "I can live with that."
"As can I. Now, if you'll excuse me—" I get to my feet, "I'm afraid I have some pressing business to attend to. But I'm thrilled that you came in today, and I can't wait to see what the future holds for us all. Thank you, Miss Reeves."
She takes my hand again, shakes it with a little more conviction. "Thanks for your time."
"Always a pleasure." Three seconds of eye contact. It's all that I need to make her pupils swell; she's like a fucking button-eyed doll.
My exit is just as smooth as the entrance; quiet, determined and paced by measured steps.
"That went better than I thought," says Tuija as she catches me in the hall.
"You thought I'd fail?"
She shrugs. "From what I heard, I guessed she'd be harder to crack."
"Nobody's cracked. Yet."
"She's like putty in your hands. Like taking candy from a baby." She navigates around a pot plant. "Like other clichés I haven't thought of yet, but probably will later when I'm in the bathtub or something."
We reach the end of the corridor near the TV department, turn, and then from the corner of my eye, I spot Leontine and her team leaving the board room.