A Not So Meet Cute(13)
Kelsey: Eeeww. Are you drinking from it?
Lottie: God, no. I’m not ready to contract syphilis. It’s just a prop.
Kelsey: A prop? I’m sorry, are you in a movie I don’t know about?
Lottie: Not yet, but I did apply to some service that gathers extras for TV and film. You can make $40 a day. Score.
Kelsey: You know, I never thought I’d see you like this, but . . . wow.
Lottie: What’s that supposed to mean?
Kelsey: You’re excited about the possibility of making $40 a day, while perusing the streets for possible single, rich men, in a neighborhood you don’t belong in. CALL KEN!
Lottie: OVER MY DEAD BODY. I can feel it, Kels. This is it for me. Today, my life is going to change, even if it means I have to stay out here all day, walking up and down these damn streets. This is my out.
Kelsey: When you come home, don’t be surprised when there’s an intervention set up. Because this is a new low for you.
Lottie: I’m going to make you eat your words. Just watch!
Chapter Three
HUXLEY
JP presses his fingers to his temples. “Hold the fuck on. Let me get this straight.” He looks up at me. “You ran into Dave Toney on the street and told him you were engaged to a girl from Georgia and that she’s pregnant?”
I wet my lips. “That would be correct.”
We’re sitting on my front porch, beers in hand, as I break the news to my brothers that I not only fucked up, but I ROYALLY fucked up. I didn’t tell them yesterday after I saw Dave on the street, because honestly, I needed a second to process what the hell I’d gotten myself into. Now that I’ve had more than twenty-four hours to think about it, I realize that, yes, I’m going to need some assistance from my brothers to get me out of this one.
Breaker rests his beer on the armrest of his chair and asks, “What the hell were you thinking?”
I shrug. “I saw an opportunity, and without thinking, I took it.”
“Claiming your non-existent fiancée is pregnant with your child isn’t an opportunity, that’s a big fucking mistake. Dude, you have to have dinner with them in three days.”
I grip my hair and pull on it. “I know. Fuck, what am I going to do?”
“Uh, tell him the truth, that you’re a liar,” JP says.
“Because that’s going to secure the deal.” I roll my eyes. “I can’t do that. If I tell him I lied, our reputation is going to be tarnished. No one will want to work with us.”
“You couldn’t have thought about that before you went and made up a fake baby and fiancée?” Breaker asks. “Shit, man.”
Yeah, I fucking know.
I couldn’t sleep last night, because all I kept thinking about was how the hell I was going to get myself out of this situation. Honestly, I have no idea what came over me.
The property, yes, could be a huge profit for us, especially with what I’ve lined up idea-wise, but it’s not as if this deal will make or break the company. I think there’s just a part of me that needs to get what I can’t have. And that, right now, is those properties. I have my eyes set on them, and apparently, I’ll do just about anything to secure them.
Even if it means putting our business on the line.
And that made me feel sick to my stomach at three o’clock this morning. My brothers and I have built Cane Enterprises into the conglomerate it is today with a lot of hard work, a lot of right moves, and a lot of reinvesting.
That one little mistake yesterday—it could cost us all that hard work, especially if word gets around.
“Do you have any friends that are single women?” Breaker asks.
“I barely have time to hang out with you two; do you really think I have time to nurture a friendship with a woman?”
“Hey.” Breaker holds up his hands. “Don’t get snarky with me. You’re the one who came up with this great fucking idea.”
Sighing, I stand from my chair and set down my beer.
“What are you doing?” JP asks.
“Going for a walk. I need to clear my head.”
“Fine,” Breaker says, standing as well. “I’m going to order food while you do that. And you know what? I’m getting fucking ice cream too, because this is one of those ice cream moments.”
“Cookies and cream, dude. I’ve been craving it,” JP says as they both go into the house.
I jog down the few steps from my porch to my sidewalk and head out toward the street. I use the door in the guard gate, rather than having to open the entire gate, and then turn right.
It’s just past six. I came home early, because I couldn’t stand sitting at the office any longer than I had to today, and it’s because on my computer screen, in big bold letters, was an e-vite to Dave Toney’s house for dinner with the missus. Yup . . . the missus.
It was a bleeding reminder of how I lost my damn mind yesterday. At the age of thirty-five, you’d think I’d have the ability to stay more . . . calm, but that wasn’t the case. The pressure got to me.
Maybe it’s because I feel the need to be the best. Turning thirty-five has made me realize that I’m still young and have so much potential, and if I continue to make the deals I’m making, we could easily become the youngest billionaires in the business.