Page 37 of Feel It in the Air

“Whoa there, killer, it’s not that exciting.” He lets go of my wrist, and I instantly miss the feel of him. The cool air that surrounds my skin taunts me, a stark reminder of just how good his touch felt.

“Sure it is. Field trips are always fun.”

Sitting back in his chair, he studies me for a second. I can feel the weight of his gaze, so I busy myself with tidying up my desk, trying to do anything other than focus on it. And how I want to be doing the exact same thing.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Why intellectual property? What is it about all this that is so…exciting?”

Oh, that’s easy…

“Literally everything you explained all evening,” I say with a shrug. I push back my chair, standing up to stretch a bit. I gather our trash, walking it over to the bigger receptacle by the copy machine in the middle of the bullpen. “The only thing we really own is our ideas, and protecting those is important. Just like you grew up with the Hayes history, I grew up watching my grandfather run his own business, with his own recipes. His IP was on display every day. Him sharing it with the world.”

I walk back toward Gus, who stands to let me back inside to my chair, but instead I opt to lean against the front of my desk, stretching my legs in front of me. He joins me, mimicking my posture.

“When we were old enough to start helping out at Papa Duck’s, David and I realized that he was really good at the day-to-day stuff, and I was better at the big picture things. So we created a plan. He took over the running of the restaurant, and I went on to get my MBA to be able to help better execute said bigger picture things. Like trademarking Papa Duck’s, and protecting all of the recipes. While I was at Sulonen, it became clear to me that I was a lot more passionate about making sure that someone’s IP is protected than putting money in their pockets.”

“How long did it take to copyright all his recipes?”

“You can’t copyright recipes,” I say, looking over at him.

“What?”

I shake my head. “Recipes are basically a list of ingredients, so it’s ‘information.’ Now, if the process itself is special, you could potentially copyright the list of steps, but that’s a hard sell. So, in the case of ‘secret ingredient’ type items, you lock down that information and make sure it’s considered trade secret and people are under NDAs and that it’s protected in other ways. That’s why David was so weird about Dolly wanting the hush puppy recipe.”

Gus blinks hard, his perplexed look morphing his features.

“But what about Coke? That’s copyrighted.”

“Nope. The Coke recipe is the world’s best-kept secret, that’s for sure. But there isn’t an actual copyright on it. If you were to reverse engineer it, and figure out what it is, you’d be free to use it all you wanted. You can’t call it Coke, because that’s trademarked and you’d be in for a world of hurt then, but you’re not technically violating any copyright laws by using the recipe. I don’t recommend doing any of that though. Leave the almighty Coke alone, please.”

Gus laughs, nudging me with his shoulder. “You really love this stuff, don’t you?”

“I do.” I nudge him back. “It’s fun. And being a part of Hayes, where there is such a rich history, paired with a whole future full of new ideas, it’s an IP nerd’s wet dream.”

I stop, realizing what I said only after the words tumble out of my mouth. Well, that was inappropriate.

“You’re mine,” Gus mutters. It’s barely audible, but I hear it.

That was also inappropriate. But I liked it. A lot.

We both freeze, the tension of the moment building with each breath. My heart rate slows, each beat heavier than the last, waiting for him to say something. Do something. Anything.

I want to move but can’t, my whole body frozen. Nothing but a thundering pulse and mind that can only think of one thing. And that one thing is something that can’t happen.

Kissing Gus Hayes.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Gus says. His voice is rough, like it’s full of gravel, sending a zing through me like I’ve never felt before.

Holy shit…

“That makes two of us,” I whisper.

“But it would be unprofessional.”

“Yes.”