Why these forms are public.
Before we build a prototype for anybody, we ask for a letter of intent. Most people have never heard of one, so they never think to send it — and that is exactly why this page exists. A letter of intent protects you: it puts on record, in writing, that both sides are serious before anybody spends real money or real hours.
The rest of the set is here for the same reason. These are the working documents of a small firm — the same shapes we use when we hire somebody to paint a wall or fix a computer. Nothing on this page requires a law degree to read.
A letter that says what you intend to do. That is the whole document.
A letter of intent is not a contract. It does not obligate anybody to build anything or buy anything. It says, in writing: we intend to do this, and here is the shape of it.
Why bother? Because the date matters. Once it is in writing, there is a timestamped record of who intended what, and when — before deposits, before prototype hours, before anybody's idea walks out the door. It protects the person sending it as much as the person receiving it.
Fill this in and the letter writes itself. Send it to us — or keep the format for your own deals.
Both promises in one document. This is the one we actually sign.
The C-NDA folds the two protections into a single agreement: confidentiality — neither side can talk about what it was shown — and non-circumvention — neither side can go for the other's idea, or route around the other to a contact it was introduced to. One signature covers both.
Seven years is the usual term around here. It could honestly say ten thousand and change nothing — the promise is the promise.
"We don't talk about your stuff. We can't go for your idea either."
An NDA gets used when a real conversation needs real details — the actual idea, the source code, the customer list, the numbers — before there is a contract in place. Around here it does two jobs: confidentiality says we can't talk about what you showed us, and non-circumvention says we can't run off and build it ourselves. That is the part people actually care about — I can't go for your idea.
This version is mutual: the same promise runs in both directions. That is the fair default when two businesses are evaluating each other. We usually sign for seven years — long enough that nobody has to think about it again.
You don't get to cut out the person who made the introduction.
Business runs on introductions. If we bring you to one of our specialists, suppliers, partners, or clients — or you bring us to yours — this agreement says neither side gets to route around the other and take the relationship direct. The person who made the connection stays in the deal they created.
For a two-man firm this one matters. We keep specialists around the firm instead of on payroll — the right tool when the job calls for it. Introducing you to that tool belt cannot come with an invitation to empty it. And when the "idea" is the thing being introduced, this is the clause that says it plainly: we can't go for it, and neither can you.
The open one. Paint my house. Fix your computer. Same shape.
Most service jobs are the same five questions: who is doing it, what exactly they are doing, how much it costs, when it happens, and what changes the deal. This is the generic two-party agreement for that — a client on one side, a contractor on the other, a job in the middle.
Use it for a website, a fence, a repair, a consulting gig — any straightforward job where one side performs work and the other side pays for it.
How to actually use these.
These are the plain-language working versions we use at a two-man firm. They are a starting point, not legal advice — we are builders, not your lawyer. On anything big enough to hurt, spend the hour and have your attorney read the final draft.