Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Dexter
Guess who’s reached an entirely new level of abscene hemlation, previously unknown in human history?
That would be mo
I swear at the traffic ahead of me as I stomp on the gas. The Tesla leaps forward like it’s airborne, but for once that doesn’t put a smile on my face. Driving in downtown Kansas City on a bowy might but something anyone does for fun.
Of all the meetings to find, the one with Sweet Stuff just had to be it. I had no illusions walking into her shop,
I thought she might be reluctard, suspicions, stubborn as hell Whatever,
Not everyone wants to pretend to be in a fake relationship, and all because I planted my foot so deep down my throat it came out my own ass again.
Still, I thought the business would convince her it was worth it. A temporary inconvenience for a sizable payodt
Hell, it’s not like I want to date her, anyway. It’s a business arrangement like everything else.
But no. Miss Winkley has other plans.
She wants to let her poor shop sputter along in this brutal economy, I did some research before our chat. Judging by the fading reviews and low social media engagement, the Sugar Bowl has seen better days.
It’s not winning the rave reviews from food critics and travel guides like it did in the past.
Institution or not, it isn’t a place where people are beating down the door and begging this redheaded hellion to take their money.
All because she has her pride or some shit. I have mine, too.
And now that she’s gone and demolished my chances with Haute, it means there’s another meeting waiting. One where I have to own up to this wreck with my brothers.
Fucking hell.
I suck in a breath through my teeth and stab through the traffic clog to Lee’s Summit, just outside the city. It’s a sleek, modern office that looks like it belongs in Silicon Valley,
Of course, there’s still time for it to crumble around my ears. They’re waiting for me in the conference room like usual.
Archer sits at the head of the table with the familiar no nonsense stare he’s been practicing since the day he was born. And Patton is leaning back in his chair like he’s still in high school and farting off homework, sending me a mocking grin.
“There he is,” Patton says in the style of a baseball commentator. “The middle brother has returned, dragging his lazy ass in with bad news.”
Ah, hell.
Can we have one day where my little brother doesn’t read my face instantly?
I’m going to be in so much shit.
I slide into the third chair and shoot Patton the finger. “No one ever taught you how to behave in a meeting, huh?”
“I learned from the best,” he says with a shrug
“Garys, knock it off,” Archer growls. “Do you always have to bicker?”
I let a slow smile spread across my face, even though my insides feel like they’re ready to leap out of my mouth.
“We’re brothers,” I tell him. The annoyed look he gives back tells me he wishes he could forget. “That’s what we do best.”
Archer doesn’t grin, beat Patton does, letting his chair fall back on the floor again with a loud squeal of the wheels.
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“So,” he prompts. “How bad was it?”
“What can I say? You guys were right.” I spread my hands. “Ilaute really does have a sweet tooth.”
“Told you,” Patton says with a smirk. “The man eats like he’s running out of time.”
“With that much sugar in his system, he might be. I’d hate to be his doctor,” I say, stalling for time.
“Dex,” Archer clips. “Get on with it.”
I roll my eyes, mostly for show, as I choose my next words carefully. “Initially, the meeting went well. Excellent, really. He’s interested in talking to his partners and he seems keen on moving forward with the Mill on reasonable terms.
“But?” Archer stares at me blankly. “But?” I echo.
Patton tilts his chair again. “There’s always a but; otherwise, you’d have told us the good news immediately.”
I stare at him. Nobody would think Patton, of all people, would be intuitive as hell with his lazy smile and short fuse, but he’s got a knack for seeing right through any shit.
“Like I said, the guy’s a sugar addict,” I say. “You remember that sampler of sweet crap I arranged for him? He liked it so much he made providing the new property with an endless supply of baked goods an operating condition.”
“You’re fucking kidding.” Archer groans and drops his head in his hands. “Are we dealing with an imbecile? Did his partners break something in his head at some point?”
He’s not wrong.
Only, the imbecile is me.
“There’s more,” I say flatly, “and you guys won’t like it.” Archer glares at me.
I should be used to it after thirty years of dealing with his crap, but somehow, because it’s Archer, he still manages to pack a punch in every glare. I think it’s the thick dark eyebrows and the fact that his beard is just starting to go silver, shot with age.
“Stop beating around the goddamned bush and tell us,” he snaps.
I hold my hands up. “I am telling you. So, Haute wanted his pastries as part of the deal. I told him fine, and I also mentioned that I’m sort of“-oh fuck, here we go-“engaged to the Sugar Bowl owner.”
Silence.
For five whole seconds, maybe longer.
Probably a new record for the three of us.
Then Patton’s chair hits the ground so hard he flops against the table, a shit–eating grin spreading across his face. “Is she hot?”
“Screw you, Pat.” I ball up a piece of paper and toss it at him. “That’s not the problem here and you know it.”
Archer looks like he wants to tear my head off and hurl it at Patton. “Humor me. Exactly what the fuck was going through your head when
you decided to tell a crucial business prospect that you’re engaged to a woman you’ve met–how many times?”
I pinch my jaw. “Twice,” I bite off.
“What the–What made you think this was a good idea? Were you drunk?” Archer’s fist crashes down on the table.
“Look, I never said I thought it was a good idea–shut up, Patton. I know it was stupid. Terrible case of foot–in–mouth.”
“Did he buy it?” Patton asks between his rolling laughter. “Did Haute buy that you–Dexter Rory, the man without a beating heart–are engaged to a pastry chef?”
“She’s the store owner, and yes, as it happens, he did. Forrest Haute thinks with his stomach first and I think his gut was impressed.”
“Damn. She must be a total smokeshow,” Patton looks at Archer. “Wouldn’t be impressed otherwise.”
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“Goddammit, Pat. Enough,” Archer flares. “We need to find a way to neutralize this, not think about Haute jerking, off to this bakery chick
The absolute worst part is that Patton’s right
She was cute in that fluttery stubborn damned way of hers, and Haute smiled at her plenty,
Which means he thought she was easy on the eyes, too.
Which also means he should be the jealous one, and I shouldn’t be feeling the slightest hint of pins and needles in my blood over a woman who means jack shit to me.
What the hell?
“I think we know what we’ve gotta do,” Patton says, turning his grin on me, “You’ve got to double down, Bro. Make this girl want you.”
I wonder if I can make my brother burst into flames if I just stare at him long enough.
“Patton’s right,” Archer says, I do a double take, “You need to sort this fuckery out. We’re this close to the biggest deal this company has ever had. We can’t lose it now over you getting fucking tongue tied, Dex.” He frowns at the table. “The Mill could set us up permanently. It could keep Colt sleeping easy for life.”
Colton.
Archer’s son, my nephew, and the entire reason Archer’s so hard assed about life like the perfectionist asshole he is.
I can’t even hate it.
Colt’s a good kid and Archer’s a better single dad than having three parents.
“Just offer the girl a nice cut of the profits if she’ll play along,” Patton suggests. “She’s a businesswoman, right? She’ll know a good deal when she sees
it.”
“Out of your personal share,” Archer adds. “Seeing as you got us into this mess.”
Sure, asshole.
If only he didn’t think I was done. I bite my tongue hard enough to taste metal, tapping my fingers against the table.
One, two, three.
Here comes the cherry, the icing, and the whole goddamn filling on my cake of epic screwups.
“That’s the thing,” I say. “I already tried. I sat down with her less than an hour ago and offered her the deal of a lifetime on a silver platter. She looked at me like I was crazy and basically threw me out.”
Hell, maybe I am psychotic.
That would explain why I told Haute I was engaged to her in the first place, wouldn’t it?
I have a sudden blinding urge to ask our mother if there was ever a great uncle or distant cousin who lost his marbles.
Amazingly, having an unexpected brain disease almost feels easier than admitting how hard I fucked up.
Patton snorts before he can help himself.
“What? She didn’t take the bait?” he asks, ignoring Archer’s glare. “Did you kiss her? Play up your smolder? Promise her your share of the property when you divorce?”
“For fuck’s sake, Patton, shut it. This isn’t a joke,” Archer growls.
“No, but it’s pretty funny. Little Dex, falling down the abyss. From dateless wonder to getting rejected by some small–time bakery chick.”
“Thanks, prick. Your wisdom makes this so much better, knowing you’ve got my back,” I snarl.
“With this?” Patton raises his eyebrows. “Bro, you’re on your own.
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Archer’s right, this is your mess to clean up.”
“Ile isn’t wrong.” Archer takes a sip from the paper cup beside him. Water or vodka by the looks of it. I realize I need a drink too. “No excuses. I don’t care if you have to follow her home and camp outside her house with a wad of Benjamins until she’s convinced. I don’t give a shit what you do, Dex, but you make this right. We can’t lose Haute.”
Right, right. No big deal.
I’ll just persuade Miss Juniper Winkley to go along with a scheme she wants nothing to do with or we’re all collectively boned to the moon and back.
Yes, I can do that.
I just have to hope she won’t end up having me hauled off in handcuffs the next time I try to win her over.
