Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“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.
“Guys, 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, but Patton does, letting his chair fall back on the floor again with a loud squeal of the wheels.
“So,” he prompts. “How bad was it?”
“What can I say? You guys were right.” I spread my hands. “Haute 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.”
“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.