Tangled (The Tangled Series)(16)

My father explains that Saul Anderson called to say he would be coming to town ahead of schedule. As in tomorrow night.

Lots of businessmen do this. Push meetings up at the last minute. It’s a test. To see if you’re prepared. To see if you can handle the unexpected. Lucky for me—I am and I can.

And then we begin. I insist on ladies first.

I watch Kate’s presentation like a kid watches a gift under the tree on Christmas Eve. She doesn’t know that, of course. My face is the very definition of bored indifference. On the inside, though, I can’t wait to see what she’s got.

And I’m not disappointed. Don’t tell anyone I said this—I’ll deny it until death—but Kate Brooks is pretty f*cking incredible. Almost as good as me.

Almost.

She’s direct, clear, and persuasive as hell. The investment plans she lays out are unique and imaginative. And destined to make a shitload of money. Her only weakness is that she’s new. She doesn’t have the connections to necessarily make what she’s proposing happen. Like I’ve said before, part of this business—a big part—is having the inside track. The hidden info and dirty secrets that outsiders can’t get to. So although Kate’s ideas are strong, they’re not altogether viable. Not a slam-dunk.

Then it’s my turn.

My proposals, on the other hand, are rock f*cking solid. The companies and investments I outline are well known and secure. Granted, my projected profits aren’t as high as Kate’s, but they’re certain. Dependable. Safe.

Once I’m done, I sit beside Kate on the couch. See us there? Kate’s hands are folded neatly in her lap, her back straight, a sure, satisfied smile on her lips. I lean back on the couch, my stance relaxed, my own confident smile a mirror image of hers.

For those of you out there who think I’m a shit heel? Watch carefully. You’re going to love this part.

My father clears his throat, and I can read the excited gleam in his eyes. He rubs his hands together and smiles. “I knew my instincts were right on this one. I can’t tell you how impressed I am with what you’ve come up with. And I think it’s obvious who should move forward with Anderson.”

Simultaneously, Kate and I smirk at each other, gloating triumph written all over our faces.

Wait for it…

“Both of you.”

Irony’s really a bite in the ass, isn’t it?

Our eyes turn to my father, and the grins drop from our faces faster than an Acme safe in a Road Runner cartoon. Our shocked voices speak at the same time.

“What?”

“Excuse me?”

“With your artistic flair for investing, Kate, and your concrete know-how, Drew, you two will be perfect together. An unbeatable team. You can both work on the account. When he signs with us, you can share him—the workload and the bonuses—fifty-fifty.”

Share him?

Share him?

Has the old man lost his freaking mind? Would I ask him to share something he’s worked his ass off for? Would he let someone else drive his 1962 cherry Mustang convertible? Would he open his bedroom door and let some other guy screw his wife?

Okay, that was too far. I take it back—considering his wife is my mother. Forget I ever referred to my mother and screwing in the same sentence. That’s just…wrong. On so many levels.

But for the love of God, tell me you see my point.

My father must have finally looked at our faces, because he asks, “That’s not a problem, is it?”

I open my mouth to tell him what a major goddamn problem it is. But Kate beats me to the punch.

“No, Mr. Evans, of course not. No problem at all.”

“Wonderful!” He claps his hands together and stands. “I’ve got tee off in an hour, so I’ll leave you two to it. You’ve got until tomorrow night to coordinate your proposals. Anderson will be at La Fontana at seven.”

And then he looks me dead in the face. “I know you won’t let me down, Andrew.”

Shit.

I don’t care if you’re sixty, when a parent uses your full name, it pretty much sucks all the argument right out of you.

“No, sir, I won’t.”

And with that, he’s out the door. Leaving Kate and I sitting on the couch, our expressions dazed, like survivors of a nuclear blast.

“‘No, Mr. Evans, of course not,’” I whine. “Could you be any more of a kiss-ass?”

She hisses, “Shut up, Andrew.” Then she sighs. “What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

“Well, you could do the noble thing and bow out.” Yeah—like that’ll happen.

“In your dreams.”

I smirk. “Actually my dreams involve you bending over something…not bowing.”

She makes a disgusted sound. “Could you be any more of a pig?”

“I was kidding. Why do you have to be so f*cking serious all the time? You should learn how to take a joke.”

“I can take a joke,” she tells me, sounding insulted.

“Yeah? When?”

“When it’s not being delivered by a childish jackass who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

“I am not childish.”

God’s gift on the other hand? My record speaks for itself.

“Oh, bite me.”