Chapter 394 - 394: Meeting Successful?

The café Anthony chose was nothing like The Lanesborough.

Tucked between a bookshop and a closed tailor, it had mismatched chairs, cracked leather booths, and the smell of bacon that had been frying since the seventies. Anthony slid into a corner booth like he owned it. Kyle sat across from him, the Ferrari visible through the window.

"Best full English in London," Anthony said, handing Kyle a menu that was sticky in some places. "Trust me."

Kyle glanced at the menu. Eggs, sausage, bacon, black pudding, beans, grilled tomatoes, toast, tea.

"This is a heart attack on a plate," Kyle said with a raised brow, he expected somewhere far more fancy considering the nature of the meeting.

"That's the point," Anthony sounded so confident that Kyle had no other choice but to give in.

They ordered. Two full Englishes, two teas. Then Anthony folded his hands on the table, and his expression shifted—still warm, but sharper around the edges.

Professional mode engaged.

"So," Anthony said. "Pemberton Productions. BBC collaborations. Your company wants in. Let's talk numbers."

Kyle leaned back. "My company wants quality. Numbers come second."

"Everyone says that. Then they see the numbers and change their mind."

Kyle smiled. "I'm not everyone."

Anthony studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Let me lay it out. Pemberton has done eighteen BBC collaborations in the last decade—dramas, documentaries, two miniseries that went international. Our success rate is ninety-four percent. We deliver on time, under budget, and we don't cut corners."

"Impressive." Kyle was more impressed by the switch, the air around him was completely different now.

"It is." Anthony pulled out a tablet, swiped through a few screens, and slid it across the table. "Here's the standard proposal. Revenue split, licensing rights, creative control, distribution. Red is non-negotiable. Yellow is flexible. Green is whatever you want."

Kyle scanned the document. His eyes moved fast—total recall meant he didn't need to read twice. The numbers were good, not great but good.

"He's leaving room to negotiate..." Kyle thought to himself.

"You're testing me," Kyle said.

Anthony's eyebrow rose. "Testing you?"

"You gave me the standard proposal. The one you give to people who don't know what they're doing." Kyle pushed the tablet back. "Give me the real one."

A pause. Then Anthony laughed—quietly this time, not his usual boom. "You're sharp."

"I'm paying attention." Kyle loved the little back and forth but it showed Anthony was just as sharp despite his playful demeanor.

Anthony swiped to another document. "This is what we gave the BBC for their last joint venture. It's our best offer. I wasn't supposed to show it to you until the third meeting."

Kyle read it. Nodded. "This is better."

"It's our best," Anthony said.

"It's still not your actual best," Kyle said calmly.

Anthony's smile froze. "What do you mean?"

Kyle folded his arms. "You're a BBC collaborator. You've got the infrastructure, the talent, the connections. But your proposed profit margin on this deal is lower than your industry average. Which means you're holding back—either because you don't trust me yet, or because you're leaving room to negotiate down."

Anthony stared at him for a long moment. Then he set the tablet down.

"You read our financial disclosures?"

"I read everything."

Anthony let out a slow breath. "You're terrifying, you know that?"

Kyle shrugged. "I just want to get my money's worth. I don't need to squeeze you. But I'm not going to leave value on the table either."

"So what do you want?"

Kyle thought for a moment. "Same revenue split as the BBC deal. But I want first look at any future BBC collaborations for the next two years. Right of first refusal."

Anthony blinked. "That's… not standard."

"I'm not standard. That is why you're here,"

Anthony picked up his tea, took a long sip, and set the cup down. He looked at Kyle like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

"Right of first refusal is a big ask," Anthony said slowly. "It ties our hands."

"It also guarantees you a partner who's already vetted and funded. No shopping around. No last-minute deals falling through." Kyle leaned forward. "I'm not asking for exclusivity. Just the first chance to say yes or no. That's fair."

Anthony rubbed the back of his neck. His slicked-back hair had a strand falling loose. "I'll have to run it by legal."

"Of course." Kyle accepted this much was the standard.

"But between you and me?" Anthony lowered his voice. "I think we can make it work."

Kyle extended his hand. "Then we have a deal."

They shook. Firm and final.

The food arrived—two plates piled high, steam rising. Kyle picked up a fork and dug in. It was, as promised, excellent.

"So," Anthony said, mouth half-full of sausage, "you're rich. You read financial disclosures. You negotiate like a shark. How old are you, really?"

"Old enough."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting."

Anthony laughed. They ate in comfortable silence for a while. Then Kyle set down his fork.

"One more thing," Kyle said. "I want to make sure you come out of this looking good. If this deal works—and it will—your bosses should know you handled it."

Anthony paused mid-chew. "You're worried about my reputation?"

"I'm practical. A happy partner works harder. And you've been straight with me."

Anthony swallowed. He looked at Kyle with something like genuine warmth. "You're not what I expected."

"Neither are you."

Another pause. Then Anthony leaned back, crossing his arms.

"How would you feel about meeting my family?" Anthony offered.

Kyle blinked. "Your family?"

"My wife, my kids. They're coming into town this weekend. We usually do dinner on Sundays." Anthony shrugged, almost self-consciously. "I know it's weird. We just met. But you're in London alone, and my wife likes feeding people. Plus, I think she'd get a kick out of you."

Kyle was genuinely surprised. "He's inviting me to his home. After one business meeting."

"Anthony, that's—" Kyle wanted to speak but Anthony cut him off.

"You can say no. No pressure."

Kyle thought about it. His schedule was flexible. The search for Angelica could wait an evening. And there was something about Anthony's openness that felt… safe.

"Alright," Kyle said. "I'll come."

Anthony's face lit up. "Really?"

"Yeah. But I'm bringing dessert."

"Bring whatever you want. Just don't bring business." Anthony grinned. "Sunday, seven o'clock. I'll text you the address."

Kyle nodded, reaching for his tea.

"Sunday it is."