A Not So Meet Cute(3)

“That shit shouldn’t matter.” I slam my finger into the armrest of my plush leather chair. “This is business, not some goddamn parade of nurturing friendships and coddling one another.”

“I think he missed something in business school,” JP says to Breaker. “Because wasn’t fostering business relationships an entire course?” His sarcasm is grating on my nerves.

“I believe it was,” Breaker says.

“I went in there and kissed his ass—what more does he want?”

“Did you wear lipstick? Not sure his girlfriend would appreciate finding another pair of lips on her man’s ass cheeks.” Breaker smirks.

“I hate you. I really fucking hate you.”

Breaker lets out a bark of a laugh while JP says, “Hate to say it, but . . . we told you so, bro. Dave Toney doesn’t work with just anyone. He’s a different breed in this city. Many have tried to break into the vast amount of real estate he owns; many have failed. Why did you think you’d be any different?”

“Because we’re Cane Enterprises,” I shout. “Everyone wants to fucking work with us. Because we have the largest real estate portfolio in Los Angeles. Because we can turn a broken-down building into a million-dollar business in a year. We know what the fuck we’re doing, and Dave Toney, although successful, has some dead pieces of land on his hands that’s hurting his business. He knows it, I fucking know it, and I want to take those pieces of land off his hands.”

JP grips his chin and asks, “What precisely did you say to him? I hope not that? Because, although your little speech made my nipples hard, I doubt he’d appreciate the tone.”

I roll my eyes. “I said something along those lines.”

“You realize Dave Toney is a prideful man, right?” Breaker asks. “If you insult him, he’s not going to want to work with you.”

“I didn’t insult him,” I shout. “I was trying to get on an even playing field, you know, let him see that I’m a pretty normal guy.”

Both of my brothers scoff.

“I am a normal guy.”

JP and Breaker exchange glances and then both lean forward, and I know what’s coming: a classic come-to-Jesus moment. They like to perform them on me from time to time.

“You know we love you, right?” Breaker asks. And so it begins.

“We’re here for you, whenever you need us,” JP adds.

I drag my hand over my face. “Just get the fuck on with it.”

“You’re not normal. You’re anything but normal. None of us are. We live in Beverly Hills, are constantly invited to premieres and celebrity gatherings, and have been in the headlines on Page Six many times. There’s nothing normal about us. Dave Toney, now . . . he’s normal.”

“How the fuck so?” I ask. “Because he doesn’t get invited to celebrity after-parties?”

Breaker shakes his head. “No, because he’s down-to-earth. Approachable. You could easily grab a beer with him in a bar and not feel the least bit intimidated. You’re the exact opposite. You’re flashy.”

“I’m not flashy.”

JP nods at my watch. “Nice Movado—is it new?”

I glance down at it. “Got it last week—” I raise my eyes to meet my brothers’ knowing looks. “Am I not allowed to spend my hard-earned money?”

“You are,” JP says. “The way you live your life is completely acceptable. The house, the car . . . the watch, all earned and rightfully so, but if you want to connect with Dave Toney, then you’re going to have to get on a different level. And that doesn’t mean dressing down, because he’ll see right through that. He already knows you’re a flashy guy. But he needs to see you in a different light.”

“Ooo, I like that,” Breaker says. “A different light. That’s what he needs.” He taps his chin. “But what would that light be?”

Irritated, I get up from my chair and grab my suit jacket from where I tossed it. “While you two morons think about it, I’m going to grab lunch.”

“If only Toney could see this moment, where Huxley Cane doesn’t ask his assistant to grab him lunch but, like a mere peasant, walks the streets of Los Angeles to fetch his own food,” JP says.

I slip on my jacket, despite the heat outside. Ignoring them, I cross toward my door.

“Could you grab us something?” Breaker calls out.

Sighing, I call back, “Text me what you want from the deli.”

“Pickles. All the goddamn pickles,” JP yells as I make my way down the office hallway to the elevator. Luckily, the doors slide open for me, so I step in, press the lobby button, and lean against the wall, hands stuffed in my pants pockets.

Get on a different level. I don’t even know what that means. And I know I’m a businessman who’s made deals with people I’ve gotten along with, but I’ve also made deals with people I absolutely despise. The difference between me and Dave Toney—I don’t give a fuck who takes my money or who I sell to. Business is business, and if it’s a good deal, I’m going to take it.

I offered Dave a fucking good-as-shit deal today, better than what he deserves, if I’m honest. And instead of shaking my hand and accepting it, he sat back in his office chair, scratched the side of his cheek, and said, “I don’t know. I’m going to have to sit on this.”