Chapter 11
Dexter
Bullish
Progress.
About fucking time, too. We’ve been chasing this deal for months. It took weeks to even get a reply from his team, let alone set up talks
The only thing that bothers me is his mention of partners
Hopefully, he means ordinary real estate goons and not something shadier.
That’s the part that almost scuttled this before it got off the ground. Archer wasn’t sure we should pursue it because of Haute’s repetava darntere And, you know, the possible mob ties.
Waking up with horse heads in our beds would be unpleasant.
Then again, there’s been nothing implicating him in any dirty dealings for over ten years. His holdings have grown in the usual boring ways, whom any weird surprises, steady and occasionally stumbling like the juggernaut he is.
I’ll just have to hope my stick up the ass big brother doesn’t have a point. Still, if there is anything dubious here…
No, 1 brush off the thought.
He’s selling property. We’re buying and that’s where it ends.
Sure, he’ll probably negotiate a small ongoing cut of the profits for turning over such a magnificent slice of KC real estate, but that’s expected.
It’s a sweet deal, Simple. And we’ll have the lawyers‘ fingerprints all over it.
There won’t be room for any unexpected surprises, conventional or otherwise.
If he does shady business, he’s got his fingers in a thousand pies for that, and it won’t be the Mill. Not when he’s offered a continuing stake in the property if he goes ahead with the deal.
He licks his fingers loudly like he’s reading my mind. Fuck, okay.
Now he’s just doing indecent slurping like wants to turn my stomach.
“You know, I wasn’t sure about you,” he says, “but I think I’m feeling better about this.”
Finally.
“Glad to hear it,” I say. “I really think this could be mutually beneficial for you and Higher Ends-”
“I wasn’t done,” he snaps.
I ball my fists under the table and take a deep breath.
Yeah, if he was anyone else, I’d be out the door by now, but we need this deal.
My pride can wait.
Even though there’s nothing I’d like better than to punch him in his smarmy face for holding me in suspense like a greedy hog and eating like one too.
“It’s good to experiment at my age. The only thing worse than making mistakes is being stagnant. It’s true in business and truer in life,” he continues.
Goddamn, he better still be talking about the deal. The last thing I need is some kind of unhinged man–to-man chat. Maybe we should’ve sent Archer after all.
Anyone would be better at this than me. Even my little brother, Patton, who’s a notorious wild card.
11.5%
Chapter 11
Haute stares at the pastries–what’s left of them, anyway. I’m sure I bought enough to feed twenty people and he’s reduced them to crumbs.
“Anyway, yes, I think we might have a future, Rory.” He looks at me slowly like he knows I’m already aware he’s about to ask for something ridiculous. “Especially on one condition–you make these delights part of the new property.”
“These delights-” My brain stutters and my mouth clamps shut. He cannot be fucking serious.
Right?
Then again, when has the man ever cracked a joke? Or even smiled, minus the times he’s delighting in someone’s suffering?
He smiled at the baker girl, though. I noticed that.
And I inwardly cringe because his enormous appetites likely don’t stop at food.
No doubt he thought she was cute–though she won’t be sweet enough for his tastes. Not if she gives him the same passive–aggressive treatment she gave me, and I’m sure she was holding back.
“Rory, Rory. Don’t tell me you’re about to disappoint me,” he says when I hesitate too long. That dead–eyed glare is harder than nails.
Shit, think fast.
“I don’t believe in disappointing our partners,” I tell him. Back to business, because that’s all I know. Even if this is strange, unfamiliar territory and the summer heat must be creeping in through the air–conditioned building with the sweat rolling down the back of my neck. “Whatever you propose, I’m sure we can make it happen.”
He holds my gaze a second too long, reminding me that he wields all the power here. He’s also not buying a single word I’m saying.
Hurry, hurry, Think.
“Are you psychic, Mr. Haute?” I blather, with no clear idea what I’m going to say next. All I know is I can’t blow this deal over a few goddamned cupcakes. “It just so happens we’re finalizing plans to have a full complement of Sugar Bowl desserts–plus an on–demand menu- added to all our Kansas City properties.”
Fuck.
My mouth is moving, but it can’t comprehend what I’m sentencing myself to.
Now I’ll have to work with that awful woman again and tell her we need more of her baking. After telling her how much I loathe sugar and making it clear this was a one–time bit of insanity.
Haute smiles broadly.
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Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Dexter
