TERMS OF ATTRACTION

CHAPTER 5: VALUE

"Good morning," Max greeted cheerfully, leaning hip-first against the kitchen counter with a silver spoon sticking out of his mouth.

Simon grunted an unenthusiastic response, his sleep-deprived eyes tracking the rhythmic motion of Max's jaw. He walked up to the counter and picked up the cardboard cereal box, trying to process whose food Max was so happily chunking down his throat.

"Are you eating my food?" Simon asked, his voice dangerously flat.

"Well, I didn't exactly bring groceries with me, and as established, I'm currently capital-deficient for breakfast," Max replied unbothered, swallowing another massive bite. "But I promise to reimburse you with interest by the end of the month. Just put it all on my tab."

"Your tab? I'm not a bartender," Simon said, setting the box back down with a sharp thud. "Move."

Max carefully adjusted himself out of the way, raising his hands slightly as Simon walked past him into the kitchen zone.

"Where is my quiche?" Simon's voice suddenly echoed from across the open space. He was staring into the empty microwave, his posture stiffening by the second.

Max gulped heavily.

Slowly and dangerously, Simon turned his head from the appliance to face Max.

"I had a late-night craving," Max offered, his hand tightening around his bowl. He gulped again, this time with nothing in his mouth. "I was hungry and... I have to admit, your culinary skills are impressive. It was incredibly tasty."

"I planned on having that for breakfast. You just outright murdered that thought."

"Murder is a pretty strong word," Max tried a sheepish, nervous smile. Honestly, the unyielding glare behind Simon’s glasses was becoming genuinely terrifying.

Simon let out a low grunt that sounded suspiciously like a lion's growl.

"Put it on my tab...?" Max whispered, his smile turning brittle.

Simon snatched a heavy metal serving spoon from the drying rack. Without a word, he began a slow, deliberate march straight toward Max.

"Oh, s**t," Max muttered, his eyes widening. "Death by a spoon? Really? You don't have to do this, Simon! It was just a quiche!"

Simon didn't slow down. Panicking, Max threw his hands up in defense, violently flinching away. The motion sent his bowl tilting backward, spilling milk and a colorful avalanche of soggy cereal all over his pristine designer shirt.

Max kept his eyes squeezed shut for three agonizing seconds, waiting for the impact of the serving spoon. When nothing happened, he slowly opened one eye.

Simon was standing right in front of him, looking completely unbothered. He didn't even acknowledge the mess. Instead, he calmly reached around Max, picked up the box of cereal and the milk carton, and poured himself a bowl.

"Clean up this mess," Simon said coldly.

He left the kitchen area, walking into the wide, spacious living room. He sat down on the long sofa, set his newly poured bowl onto the coffee table, and flipped open his laptop without a second glance.

Max just stood frozen by the counter, a stupid, stunned smile plastered on his face as a solitary piece of soggy cereal slid slowly down his cheek, detached, and fell onto the floor.

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"Alright then, I'll look through it," Max said, taking the file from Simon.

Simon didn't even acknowledge the comment. He simply handed the document over, turned on his heel, and immediately began walking toward the office exit.

"Hold on before you go," Max called out.

Simon stopped short, his hand resting on the heavy glass door. He took a slow, deep breath to steady his frayed patience before turning back around to face the CEO's desk. "Is there an issue with the implementation data, Mr. Sinclair? I double-checked the server parameters myself."

Max closed the folder, setting it down precisely on his mahogany desk. He leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his legs and weaving his fingers together. He looked completely immaculate in a new tailored suit, a stark contrast to the guy who had a piece of cereal sliding down his face three hours ago.

"The data is fine," Max said, his tone dropping into that smooth, commanding cadence he used to assert his corporate authority. "But we need to address our... operational transitions. Walking out of a briefing before I've officially dismissed you doesn't look good to the rest of the floor."

Simon raised an eyebrow, a subtle, mocking glint behind his glasses. "We have a signed agreement, Mr. Sinclair. From nine to five, you have my complete professional compliance. But efficiency dictates I return to my cubicle to execute the framework we discussed, rather than standing around for pleasantries. Unless you have a specific corporate task for me?"

Max’s jaw tightened slightly. He could feel Simon subtly throwing the boundaries of their roommate agreement right back in his face, using professional logic as a shield.

"Just making sure we're aligned," Max murmured, forcing a tight, confident smile. "You can go."

He pushed open the glass door and walked out, leaving Max staring at the closed door, realized that controlling his new landlord was going to be much harder than he thought.

"Well, he's definitely pissed," Max muttered to himself, watching the heavy glass office door settle into place.

Before he could dwell on it, a tentative knock sounded at the door. Britney stepped into the office, holding a notepad tightly against her chest. "Mr. Sinclair? You asked to see me?"

"Ah, Britney. Yes, come in. Take a seat," Max said, gesturing to the sleek leather chair opposite his desk.

Britney sat down cautiously, clearly bracing herself for another round of verbal demolition.

"I wanted to revisit the developer-advocate and influencer strategy you pitched during yesterday's meeting," Max began, leaning forward. "The core concept isn't entirely terrible. In fact, it has merit. But your delivery was unrefined. If you're going to pitch a community-led growth model to an executive board, you need to speak in metrics, not marketing buzzwords."

Britney blinked, caught completely off guard. "Oh. I... thank you, sir."

"Next time, you don't say 'partner with influencers.' You say 'leverage micro-influencers with verified developer-engagement rates exceeding five percent to build organic top-of-funnel awareness,'" Max explained, his voice smooth and authoritative. "We map their audience demographics against our target enterprise accounts. It transforms a superficial social media stunt into a high-ROI, localized acquisition channel. Do you see the difference?"

Britney nodded quickly, her pen flying across her notepad. "Data-driven community trust. Yes, sir. I understand."

"Good. Refine the proposal with those parameters and have it on my desk by Thursday," Max said, nodding toward the door. "Dismissed."

Britney smiled, visibly relieved, and stood up to leave. But as she turned toward the exit, her eyes caught on a piece of decor sitting on the side credenza. She stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw dropping slightly.

"Oh my gosh," Britney breathed, stepping closer to it. "Is that... a Lalique 'Tourbillons' vase? The clear, sculpted crystal with the frosted patina swirls?"

Max glanced over at the object. To him, it was just a heavy, old piece of glass with some weird abstract curves that he’d inherited when he took over the office. He wasn't big on old stuff; if it didn't have an engine or a screen, he barely noticed it.

"I have no idea," Max shrugged indifferently, turning back to his laptop. "It was already sitting there when I moved in. I was actually thinking about having facilities throw it out to make room for a monitor array."

"Throw it out?!" Britney looked horrified. "Mr. Sinclair, collectors hunt for these. The craftsmanship on the frosted relief work is iconic. It's incredibly valuable."

Max paused. His fingers hovered over his keyboard.

Valuable.

An idea instantly sparked in his mind.

Max slowly leaned back in his chair, a smooth, calculating smirk returning to his lips. He looked at Britney, his eyes gleaming.

"You know, Britney... I've never been a fan of keeping old clutter around the office," Max said, his voice dripping with sudden charm. "Since you appreciate it so much... would you happen to be interested in buying it off me?"