She needed to make some kind of progress at something or she was going to lose her mind.
Maybe another try at Ronaldo? This time telling him what he would be signing?
Brad sauntered toward his office but saw where her eyes were resting and paused. Then he continued on. But a few minutes after she sat down to confirm the printer’s proofs for the booth exhibitry, he pinged her on Slack. She and Luke exchanged a helpless glance before abandoning their email and trotting over to see what he wanted.
“I saw that speculative look you were casting Ronaldo,” Brad said as soon as the door had closed behind them. “Let’s be clear—this Deal we’ve got going? It’s exclusive.”
“That’s not part of the contract,” Luke started to say. “Requests afterwards are not binding.”
“Maybe it’s not, but the non-compete in her contract is,” Brad said pointedly. “And yours. Do you have a contract with us? Whatever. You two come as some kind of weird pair, but let’s be clear—I don’t need her.”
Morgan felt like she was going to throw up. “Are you firing me?”
“No,” Brad said, nearly rolling his eyes. “But I am telling you that there is only one person in this company I expect to be getting supernatural help.”
“I thought you liked Ronaldo,” she said, a little bitterly.
“He’s a good dude,” Brad said. “But if you want to keep the chain of command clear, it’s important there’s only one captain on the ship, you know?”
Luke’s eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me?”
“Threat is such a harsh word. It really brings down the vibe, you know?” Brad tossed his mini-basketball back and forth between one hand and the other. “But no, I’m threatening her. You just care, which is your strategic error.”
If only they’d gone to Ronaldo with an explanation first, instead of trying the stupid ‘terms and conditions’ play. If only it had worked. If Ronaldo had gotten a Deal, he couldn’t possibly have been as insufferable as Brad.
Oh.
Her eyes widened. “That’s why you care so much about the sign-up pages.”
Luke’s sigh of relief confirmed it. Except it still didn’t make any sense.
“You’re not as dumb as you look,” Brad said, cocking his head.
“You’re doing something with the terms and conditions,” she said slowly. But Luke knew that didn’t work, since they’d already tried it. Why was he upset?
“See, the human gets it. The problem with you hell types is that you’re still positively medieval. That contract hasn’t been updated since you signed the things with quills. What you need is someone with vision. And an MBA.”
“And that’s you.” Morgan said.
Brad smiled. “Opportunity is all about the right idea at the right time.”
Was there anything more dangerous than a tech bro with an opportunity? She’d need to be careful—CEOs didn’t have any obligation to explain themselves to junior employees. What might convince him to spill? “But why the switch to consumer?”
His eyes lit up. Ah, the power of mansplaining. “I thought of it while I was reading through your little contract.” He leaned back in his chair again. “You know, big company contracts get read by dozens of lawyers. People go through them with a fine-tooth comb. But consumer contracts? Who reads the T&C on their new device? People joke all the time about pledging away your firstborn child on one of those things.”
She suddenly felt like she was listening to this from very far away. Her feet were cold and Brad’s voice sounded like it was on the other side of a pane of glass. She couldn’t manage to feel anything at all. Yet the logistics part of her brain kept running. Morality aside, surelysomeonewould notice and then it would be a PR disaster. “We can’t buy people’s children for a kitchen appliance.”
“We can’t accept non-signatories’ souls at all. It’s non-binding,” Luke murmured as if it were an explanation.
“Relax,” Brad jumped to his feet, pacing. “We’re not going to be stealing babies. God, can you imagine the inventory issues? No, we’ll stay noncorporeal, much easier to scale. When this guy’s people get the soul, they don’t keep them all, do they?”
“Once we have title to the soul, it’s sold to third parties,” Luke said quietly. She didn’t dare look at him.
“See? Customers deed Zabloom their souls, we pass them on to Hell, demons securitize them. Souls-as-a-Service. I’d call it SaaS if the acronym weren’t claimed.” Brad grabbed an energy drink from the personal mini-fridge under his desk. “All for a fee, of course.”
“They have to know they’re consenting to a Deal,” Morgan said. “It won’t take if they don’t understand what they’ve done.”
“Understand? Or believe?” Brad smiled. “We tell them we’re buying their souls. Or rather, we tell them we’re buying a fraction of their soul. It’s hilarious, and we’ll make it up on volume. There’s a brand out there called Liquid Death. It’s literally water. People eat this shit up.”
