CONFLICT OF INTERESTS

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CHAPTER 9: CLEAN ACCOUNTS

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At eight in the morning, the conference room on the top floor of the resort smelled of freshly brewed coffee and suffocating formality. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sea looked calm beneath the morning sun, in stark contrast to the silent storm occupying the table.
Boom entered first. He was wearing an impeccable navy-blue suit and a high-collared shirt that strategically covered every inch of his throat and collarbone. His posture was upright and elegant, although deep in his dark eyes lingered a trace of exhaustion that only Smart knew how to decipher.
Smart entered one step behind him. He wore a double-breasted black suit, his cuffs fastened with silver cufflinks, and his gaze was so cold and sharp that it seemed capable of cutting through the air. When they took their seats beside each other, Smart's shoulder brushed against Boom's; neither of them moved away.
Phukhao was already at the head of the table, looking relaxed, wearing a broad, confident smile that widened even further the moment he saw Boom.
—Good morning, gentlemen —Phukhao greeted them, resting his elbows on the table and leaning slightly forward, almost completely ignoring Smart as he fixed his gaze on Boom—. I hope you got some rest, Boom. Dinner last night went on longer than expected, but every minute was worth it. Your vision for streaming distribution is brilliant.
Smart showed no visible reaction, but his fingers tightened around the fountain pen with measured force.
Boom held Phukhao's gaze with a professional, calculating smile, without a trace of the vulnerability of the early morning.
—Rest comes second when there are numbers on the table, Phukhao —Boom replied in a calm, distant tone—. And speaking of numbers, I reviewed the addenda you mentioned last night regarding exclusive distribution rights in the eastern region.
Phukhao nodded approvingly, sliding a folder toward the center of the table.
—As I told Boom during dinner, my fund is prepared to release the remaining capital today, provided that my firm retains control over the editorial decisions for international releases. It's a non-negotiable clause to protect our investment.
Silence settled over the room. The lawyers on both sides held their breath.
Smart placed the pen on the table with a sharp tap that echoed authoritatively throughout the room. He leaned forward, fixing his dark eyes directly on Phukhao.
—That clause is not only unacceptable; it is completely off the table —Smart declared in a deep, measured, cutting voice that froze the investor's smile—. The Chisanupong-Raveewit partnership retains one hundred percent control over creative and distribution decisions. Your fund provides liquidity and receives the agreed return percentage stipulated in clause four. Nothing more.
Phukhao frowned, losing some of his arrogant composure, and looked at Boom for support.
—Boom, last night we agreed that we could be flexible on this. If you won't give up control, the deal falls apart. I'm not signing a twenty-million check blindly.
Boom interlaced his fingers on the table and looked directly into Phukhao's eyes without hesitation.
—Last night, I listened to your position out of professional courtesy, Phukhao —Boom said with impeccable coldness, disarming the investor—. But Smart is right. Our production structure is closed. If your condition for investing is to interfere with the leadership of this firm, you're free to walk away from this table.
Phukhao froze, his gaze shifting between the two men. The impenetrable understanding between Smart and Boom was an absolute wall; there was no crack for him to slip through, neither in business nor in their personal lives.
Clenching his jaw with wounded pride, Phukhao realized he had no room to maneuver. The project was far too lucrative to walk away from.
—Fine —Phukhao growled through clenched teeth, picking up his pen—. We keep the original terms of clause four. Draft the final addendum.
Forty minutes later, with the signatures in place and the legal advisors having left the room, Smart and Boom were alone once again.
Boom let out a long sigh, leaning back against the leather chair and loosening the collar of his shirt slightly. He glanced sideways at Smart, one eyebrow raised, wearing that familiar, biting half-smile.
—Happy, Director? I just saved you fifty percent of the editorial control.
Smart slowly stood, walked around the table, and stopped directly behind Boom's chair. He placed one firm hand on the backrest and leaned forward with the other, brushing his thumb along Boom's jaw, exactly where the high collar concealed the marks of his teeth.
—I never doubted your loyalty to the company, Raveewit —Smart murmured against his ear, his voice low and filled with absolute possessiveness—. But next time an investor tries to invade my territory, I won't wait until dinner is over to come looking for you.
Boom tilted his head back, meeting Smart's dark eyes above him, and smiled genuinely, surrendering to the touch.
—Make sure the car is ready, partner.