Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood

“Still don’t know what that means,” Tisha bristled.

“As I was going to explain, private equities are . . . groups of people with lots and lots of money and spare time. And instead of frolicking in their hard-earned cash Scrooge McDuck–style, or leaving it in savings accounts like the two of you—”

“Bold of you to assume I have savings,” Tisha muttered.

“—they use it to buy other companies.”

“And they bought Kline?” I asked.

“Nope. Kline hasn’t gone public—you can’t buy Kline’s stocks. But back when it was founded, it needed money to develop . . . ravioli? Is that what you guys do?”

“Food nanotechnology.”

“Sure. Let’s pretend that means something. Anyway, when Florence founded Kline, she got a big loan. But now, whoever gave her the money decided to sell that loan to Harkness.”

“Which means that now Kline owes the money to Harkness?”

“Correct. See, Rue, I knew you weren’t totally useless. My sister, on the other hand, never ceases to . . .” Nyota’s voice drifted as she frowned at her computer.

“What?” Tisha asked, alarmed. Nyota wasn’t the type to stop mid-insult. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m just reading up on Harkness. They’re well respected. Focused on midsize tech startups. I think they have a couple of science guys on the inside? They acquire promising companies, provide capital and support to grow them, sell them for a profit. Buying a loan seems a little out of their MO.”

Tisha’s fingers closed around my thigh, and I covered her hand with my palm. Physical comfort was rarely in my repertoire, but making exceptions for Tisha was no trouble. “So all Florence needs to do is pay back the loan to Harkness, and Harkness will be out of the picture?” I asked. Seemed simple enough. No need to involve monster.com.

“Uh . . . in the rainbow world you live in, maybe. Have fun frolicking with the unicorns, Rue. There’s no way Florence has the money.”

Tisha’s grip tightened. “Ny, what does it mean, in practice? Does it mean that they take control of the company?”

“Maybe. It’ll depend on the loan contract.”

I shook my head. “Florence would never let them do that.”

“Florence might not have a choice.” Nyota’s voice softened abruptly, and that—out of everything, that made the first tinges of fear hook into my stomach. “Depending on the terms of the agreement, Harkness might have the right to install a new CTO and seriously interfere in day-to-day operations.”

Asking what a CTO was wasn’t going to get me any closer to an Instagram follow, so I just said, “Okay. What’s the bottom line?”

“Harkness might end up being a nonissue. Or it might be the reason you need to find new jobs. Right now, it’s impossible to tell.”

Tisha’s “fuck” was a soft muttering. Florence, I thought, and my mouth felt dry. Where is Florence right now? How is Florence right now? “Thank you, Nyota,” I said. “This was very helpful.”

“Call me after today’s assembly—we’ll have a better idea by then.” It was nice of her, that we. “But it wouldn’t hurt to start sprucing up your CV, just in case. Austin is a great place for tech startups. Look around online, ask your nerd friends if they have leads. Do you guys have any friends, aside from each other?”

“I have Bruce.”

“Bruce is a cat, Tish.”

“And your point?”

They started bickering, and I tuned them out, trying to calculate the likelihood of Tisha and me finding another job together. One that would pay well and afford us the scientific freedom we currently had. Florence had even allowed me to—

A horrifying thought stabbed at me. “What about our personal projects? Employees’ patents?”

“Mm?” Nyota cocked her head. “Employees’ patents? For what?”

“In my case, a bio-nanocomposite that—”

“Uh-huh, hold the TED Talk.”

“It’s something that makes produce stay fresher. Longer.”

“Ah. I see.” She nodded in understanding, her eyes suddenly warmer, and I wondered what she knew. Tisha would never mention my history, but Nyota was observant and could very well have noticed on her own. After all, for years I’d spent every spare moment at their house, just to avoid returning to my own. “This is your project? Your patent? And you have an agreement that guarantees you ownership of this tech?”

“Yes. But if Kline changes hands—”

“As long as the agreement is in writing, you’re good.”

I remembered an email from Florence. Long words, small fonts, electronic signatures. Relief punched through me. Thank you, Florence.

“Guys, try not to sweat this too much, okay? Go to the assembly you’re probably already late for. Find out all you can and report back. And for the love of Justice Brown Jackson, update your damn CVs. You haven’t been a pet groomer since undergrad, Tish.”

“Get off my LinkedIn,” Tisha muttered, but she was flipping off an already blank screen. So she leaned back in her chair and settled for another subdued “fuck.”

I stared ahead and nodded. “Indeed.”