Chapter 30
Dexter
Forrest Haute might be a ruthless iron–fisted magnate with dubious connections to the underworld and a proclivity for clogging his arteries, but if you’ve managed to impress him, you know it.
He’s a little too appreciative, if you ask me.
For fuck’s sake, how excited can a man get over lemon cheesecake? It’s certainly not because it’s the newest specialty item on the Sugar Bowl’s menu. I’m confident I could’ve shipped him any of their delicacies and gotten the same reaction.
“Thanks again for sending the box of goodies,” he says cheerfully. “And all the way to Florida, too. How generous.”
“No problem. I promised you a sugar fix and I delivered.” I press my pen tip against the desk, clicking my frustration.
“Yes, yes, the Sugar Bowl, you lucky lad.” Haute makes an obscene noise. “You sure hit the jackpot with her. She’s a lovely young woman, and the sweets she makes–wow–even lovelier.”
Fucking hell.
I can’t even tell if he’s having lewd thoughts about my ‘fiancée,‘ but hot rage sweeps through my blood anyway.
The man is disgusting.
If this deal didn’t depend on playing nice with a pig, I’d have told him and his weird fantasies to fuck off long ago.
“Yeah. She’s a dream,” I offer, checking the clock. Fifteen minutes till she arrives, and if I’m not off this call by then, I’m going to murder someone. “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss today?”
“Just called to say thank you, really.” Right. Twenty minutes of thank yous and detailing what I sent as though I didn’t send the damn box myself. “I wasn’t sure, you know, whether you’d be amenable to my terms…”
“Well, I hate to disappoint.”
“I can see that. I’m not disappointed, Rory. In fact, I appreciate the effort you’ve put in. As for the Sugar Bowl–ifl may say something, Rory, man to man-”
Oh hell, here we go.
“That place is something special. I’m a bit of a foodie–if you can believe that–and it’s painfully rare to find a gem that lives up to its hype.” There’s a serious edge to Haute’s voice. My God, I can’t believe he’s getting emotional over pastries when just the other day, he was digging his heels in about reviewing the paperwork and getting everything signed and ready to go. “My point is, don’t let it slip through your fingers.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say glumly, leaning back in my chair and pinching my nose. Twelve minutes till
Chapter 30
arrives. “The deal’s moving forward then, I take it?”
“Onward and upward. No looking back,” he agrees. “I’ll see you soon, Rory.”
“I can’t wait.”
Finally free, I set the phone down and switch off my computer.
It’s late now and most of the office has already headed home. It’s just me in this enormous building, the deepening evening shadows reflecting back my own inner state of mind.
Oddly, knowing she’s coming makes me scrutinize my surroundings.
The imposing and glossy black desk for meeting clients when only a more formal setting will do. The fake potted plants my receptionist insisted on. Some bullshit about making the place feel more inviting.
It’s a professional setting. Perfect for meeting Juniper Winkley without any more screaming or tears or mutual desire to claw each other to pieces.
After our last meeting, a man needs boundaries.
I won’t have her turning up at my house again, sitting on my sofa, sipping champagne and sassing me like we skipped straight past the fake wedding to being an old married couple.
This is less intimate, yes, but for a business arrangement, it’ll do–and this time there’s no champagne.
Even if sitting and drinking it with her wasn’t total agony.
I shove the thought away and review the notes I’ve just made. The more prepared I am before she arrives, the sooner we can get this over with and the less worry I’ll have about blowing up our progress.
She’s terribly good at unraveling my discipline.
When the door pops open, I glance at the clock. Eight minutes till she’s due.
“You’re early,” I say, turning to look at her and-“Patton?”
“Who else were you expecting?” He grins a little too widely for his face.
“Fuck off.”
“Don’t tell me it was your sugar baby. Is she meeting you today?” He looks up at the clock and back at me, his head uilted “Damn. No wonder you look so nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” I snarl back, rolling my eyes.
Really, I’m not–I don’t give a flying fuck what she thinks about me as long as we’re both on board with convincing
Haute.
“You sure? I can crank up the A/C for you–looks like you’re sweating, Bro.”
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“Did you barge in to talk business or what?” I demand, my eyes cutting through him.
“Nah, where’s the fun in that? I came to make sure you aren’t blowing too much smoke up your own ass before you meet the girl.”
“Alright, that’s it–out!” I shove my chair back and he holds out both hands.
“Just kidding. I actually came to talk about the future.” “Like hell.”
“Look, you might be in charge of the Holy Grail deal to end all deals, but I’ve got some other stuff in the works I thought we could hash out.” He sits across the sofa, stretching his legs out. “I even typed up the plans. I know how much you love long boring reams of paper.”
“Bastard.” I snatch the sheaf of paper he’s holding out to me. And goddamn, color me surprised, because he’s gone and done this properly, including the floor plans of his proposed changes, cost breakdowns, even an index in his report.
Little Pat, actually doing things by the book instead of just jacking off and leaving someone else to clean up the mess.
“Impressed?” He raises his eyebrows and smirks at me. “I can work sometimes, you know.”
“Sometimes,“I bite off, fixing a stare.
“Easy, man. I’m not the idiot who got engaged to some pretty little baker girl so you could gamble with our biggest project
“Cut the crap, Pat. Why are you really here?” I toss the paperwork on my desk. I can review it later. Four minutes till she’s supposed to arrive, and seeing as we’ve made a deal that she won’t be late, I can’t imagine she’ll be considerate enough to wait for Patton to show himself out. “This isn’t a real engagement and you know it.”
“Real or not, it must be intense.” He brushes something off his thighs. “Never seen you so flustered, Brother.”
“I’ll show you flustered in about ten seconds.”
“Hey, Archer said no fighting in the office. Let’s take it to the parking lot.”
“And I said my office, my rules.” I raise my eyebrows. Three minutes till she’s due. “Is that what you want? A few missing teeth for your trouble?”
“Bastard,” he grumbles. “You’re just waving your dick because you know I’d win.”
“Because I win everything else.” I point at the door, which is thankfully still Juniper–free. “Go on, out.”
“But my plans for the condos-”
Tll review them tomorrow morning and we’ll discuss them in the next meeting.”
“So formal, Bro. You’re starting to sound like Archer.” He makes a gagging sound, slinging his arm over the back of
the sofa and making no move to leave. Dickhead knows exactly what he’s doing. “For the record, I came here to have
a meeting. But I guess if you gave me a real reason why you’re busy… His eyes light up. “Unless it’s a date.”
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“Are you done?”
“Dex, if it is a date-” His gaze crawls down my suit. “Man, you need to work on your vibe. This shit does not scream
fun or-”
There’s my limit.
Without suffering one more word of his shit, I stride over and grab him, the tic, hauling him upright.
“Out of my office, Patton. Right fucking now.”
