The older witch didn’t look hot, though, and was probably using a charm to keep himself cool. She’d heard the workers call him the Ice Man, and she thought he had better be careful lest the magic he used become obvious and break the silence. Seeing both men stomping toward her, she couldn’t help but wonder how many missing people were really unfortunate deaths needed to preserve the silence when some witch or vampire made a mistake.
Squinting, she brushed her hair back and tried to look professional in her slacks and white dress shirt. Kal, at least, was dressed appropriately for the field, his jeans worn and casual, and his lightweight shirt open at the neck. There was a bandanna in his pocket to mop up his sweat, and it was obvious that he’d been inspecting Saladan’s fields for most of the day; the dust was thick on his boots and had turned his fair, almost translucently white hair to brown. His quirky smile made her wonder if Kal might be responsible for Saladan’s bad mood.
Why not? Kal sure irritates me, she thought as she stepped from the field to the parking lot and wisps of her hair rose in the radiating heat. But even as she thought it, she flexed her hand, remembering how he had eased the sting of her sensory burn last Friday. She hadn’t expected that. It didn’t make up for anything he’d done to her as a kid. Neither had the coffee and dessert in his hotel room.
“Dr. Cambri!” Saladan called even before they closed the gap between them. “Did you get my memo concerning the modifications I want to next year’s crop? Those hairs must be removed. They’re getting into the workings of the washing machinery and causing trouble.”
She pulled herself straighter, halting where she was to force him to keep going. He was trying to weasel out of the final payment owed to Global Genetics. Again. “That’s why I recommended the wider screens, Mr. Saladan.”
His long face tight, Saladan halted before her, a breath of coolness continuing its momentum and washing briefly over her. She held her breath, not liking the reek of cigarette smoke that came with it, barely hiding the scent of redwood. “I wouldn’t need to retool my machines if you would retool your tomato. I don’t like the hairs in everything.”
Kal ducked his head, that same mischievous glint in his eye that she remembered from school when he looked up. That it wasn’t at her expense was an odd feeling. “I’ve been trying to explain,” Kal said dryly. “Removing the hairs would damage the drought resistance that’s making it so successful in Africa.”
Saladan smiled insincerely, clearly not liking their united front. “I spent a fortune on this product, and by God, it’s going to be exactly what I want. I don’t like tiny hair filaments in my ketchup, and neither do my buyers.”
Trisk exhaled, not caring that Saladan heard her exasperation. “Mr. Saladan,” she started patiently, “I have tweaked the organism per the original agreement to your specifications. No more modifications are allowed under the current contract. You have an entire year of profits already in the bank that say you’re satisfied with the product as is,” she continued, voice rising to drown out Saladan’s coming protest. “If you like, I can arrange a meeting with Rick. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to draw up a new contract for additional modifications not covered by the original agreement.”
“Bullshit,” Saladan swore, but the crass, unbusinesslike word didn’t faze her as he clearly intended it to. “I asked for a sterile cultivar, and I didn’t get that. If you can’t give me what I want, you’ve failed to provide the promised modifications and the contract is nullified.”
The Goddess save me from cheating businessmen, she thought.
“Every organism has limitations, Mr. Saladan,” Kal said, and Trisk raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Those hairs are what make the T4 Angel tomato grow to such an amazing size without the cost of additional supports. Change that, and you remove the very traits that make your product both exclusive and desirable.”
Which is a nice argument, but it won’t matter to the lawyers, Trisk thought, wondering what Kal’s game was. He’d been knocking on her door all this week, asking her to clarify things about her tomato and Daniel’s virus that he already knew the answer to, but to defend her smacked of a plan within a plan.
“The GMO oversight committee has already ruled that self-seeding won’t lower your profits in the commercial market or significantly impact sales in the private sector,” she said. “No one starts their own tomatoes from overwintered seeds, and certainly not the farms and commercial outlets you’re selling to. I’m sorry, Mr. Saladan, but if you’re trying to get out of paying Global Genetics your final installment to secure your right to the T4 Angel tomato patent, you’d better get your lawyers working a different angle, because my organism is perfect.”
Saladan looked at her over his sunglasses. That move had bothered her once, but after she’d seen a demon do it, it had lost much of its punch. “I’m sick of uppity women where they shouldn’t be,” the man said suddenly, and Trisk’s jaw dropped for an instant before she caught her mental balance. “Trying to do a man’s job when they should be at home.”
“To greet you at the door with a martini and bear your young,” Trisk said dryly, her anger carefully hidden. “Such an outdated philosophy makes you charmingly quaint, Mr. Saladan.”
“That was uncalled for,” Kal said to Saladan, shocking her more than the gender slur had. “Dr. Cambri is one of the top genetic engineers in her field. That she’s a woman doesn’t impact her qualifications.”