So Not Meant to Be, page 23
“Yeah, it’s being dry-cleaned as we speak. I pick it up at noon.”
“You must show me pictures when I get back from my date,” she says as she releases my hand and walks over to the coffeemaker, grabbing herself a mug.
I can feel all the color completely drain out of my face, leaving me ashen, anguished … shook.
Date …
Fuck, she has that date set up with Dave Toney’s brother. I completely forgot about it. After the two nights we spent together, is she still going on that? Hell, a part of me thought that maybe she wouldn’t. That maybe she’d set him aside, give me a chance.
Evidently, that was a stupid assumption. What do you think, dickhead? You’re the one who has pushed that your time together is simply a short-term companionship. She wants long-term love. Fuck.
I grip the back of my neck, this new emotion bubbling up inside me, piercing my chest, constricting my lungs.
“Still, uh, still going on that date?” I stammer out, my mind whirling.
Oblivious to the multitude of emotions racing through me, she starts her coffee pod and turns toward me, her hands on the counter. “Yes, and I’m nervous. What should I wear?”
One of those hideous peasant dresses from Target.
Fuck!
Don’t wear anything, instead stay here with me.
Cancel the date.
See me … Kelsey.
Fucking see me.
But the confession is lost on my insecure tongue, and instead of voicing what I really want to tell her, I turn away and mumble, “What you’re wearing is fine.”
Why did I think she wasn’t going to go on that date? Maybe because the last two nights, things have almost felt like … we’ve been on dates. Yeah, I told her they were time spent with her short-term companion, but I still thought maybe she felt something, a connection.
Last night I wanted to show her a good time, I wanted to show her that we could have fun together, not just bicker. I wanted to show her I could be someone she could depend on. Someone who fulfills what she’s looking for.
The light touches.
The interesting conversation.
The self-deprecating stories.
I fucking tried last night, until Huxley called.
Fucking Huxley. I never should’ve answered the phone.
“I can’t wear this on a date,” Kelsey says as if I suggested the most preposterous thing ever. “It’s business attire.”
“Aren’t dates like business at first, though?” I ask as I finish stacking her plate with food. I don’t bother taking it over to the table, but leave it on the counter for her and head to the table with my plate.
“Uh, they aren’t for me. Not sure how you treat a date, but they’re supposed to be fun and exciting, a separate part of your day, something to look forward to. If I wear this outfit, I’ll just be reminded of work. Plus, I like wearing dresses on dates.”
She didn’t wear a dress when we went out.
Because it wasn’t a fucking date, you idiot.
Could’ve been, if you were able to actually tell her how you feel.
“I don’t want to be too fancy, though,” she continues, really driving what feels like a knife into my back. I know I have no right to feel this way, but I can’t control it. All I can think about is how this girl, whom I’ve crushed on for a bit now, is going out with someone else after I’ve attempted to show her how I could be someone she might like. “Get this, you’re going to laugh.” Doubtful. “He’s taking me to the Crab House. Can you believe that?”
Yes, I can.
Because the guy seems like a douche.
Because he’s not me.
Because he doesn’t fucking know you as I do.
He doesn’t know that you need someone to push you out of your comfort zone. He doesn’t know that you’re someone who would enjoy something like a drag show but would never go yourself. He doesn’t know that you’d appreciate a quiet walk along an empty boardwalk where you can appreciate the small things like a starry sky and the sound of your feet tapping along the old wood.
“But unlike when you and I had dinner there, I can’t possibly order a whole crab, snap the leg off in front of him, and wear a bib.”
“Why the hell not?” I ask.
“Because, with you, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t trying to impress you. I don’t want Derek thinking I’m some psycho who likes mutilating sea creatures. I mean, I’m not, but let’s be honest, I was sort of putting on a show when it came to snapping those legs. I wanted to startle you.”
Mission accomplished, but I also found it endearing. I liked it.
“I think I might just get a salad,” she continues.
“That’s bullshit,” I say under my breath.
“What?” she asks as she grabs her fresh coffee, puts a dab of milk and some sugar in it, and then brings her plate and mug to the table to join me.
“I said, that’s bullshit.” My tone has an edge to it now and I can see from the way she sits back, eyes on me, that she noticed as well.
“Wait, are you mad?”
Yes.
Irritated, as well.
Also, jealous.
Really fucking jealous.
“Just don’t try to be someone you’re not, is all.” No use starting a fight with her.
“I’m not,” she says, mildly insulted.
“You are if you don’t get a crab.”
“I like salads too, you know?”
“Then why didn’t you get a salad when we went to the Crab House?”
“Because I’m more comfortable around you,” she shoots back, and that confession nearly brings a smile to my face, only for it to be wiped away as she says, “I don’t expect you to understand this since you don’t dare date people. You only test-run them to make sure they’re good enough for your bed.”
Ouch.
And there it is, the way she truly sees me.
“Is that what you really think?” I ask.
“You’ve had one girlfriend, JP.”
“Because no one has been interesting enough for me to consider going any further than a few dates. I was just starting to get to know Genesis before the gala, but we hadn’t slept together. Hasn’t anyone ever told you quality versus quantity, Kelsey?” I stand from my chair, pick up my plate and coffee, and walk away. If I don’t now, I’ll say something I’ll regret.
“JP, wait. I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“It’s fine, Kelsey,” I call out. “Have a good date.” I close my door behind me and then slowly slide down it until I’m sitting on the floor. I set my plate and mug down and then grip my hair in my hands, pain ripping through me.
Fuck. I should just go tell her how I feel. I should tear through this door, disrupt her breakfast, and ask her to not go on the date, but to go to the Mayor’s Ball with me instead.
But I did already ask her … and she chose the date. I don’t think she’ll ever see me as someone she wants to know better.
I’m the guy who fucks around, not the settling type. And that’s a fucking painful realization.
Before I met Kelsey, she wasn’t wrong. As I said to her, though, I haven’t found someone I thought I wanted to spend more than a night or three with. There hasn’t been an intellectual, physical, or emotional connection. Unlike with Kelsey, where I feel all three. Even though I tease her, purposefully aggravate her—because she’s fun to fluster—I do respect her. And I want more. I do see her as someone I’d consider settling down with.
I’ve never had to try hard to get a woman to want me. And the first time I do, I’m rejected.
Can I change her mind? Or is it a lost cause?
“ARE YOU THERE?” Huxley asks as I sit in my car, staring out the window, listening to his annoying voice through the phone.
“Yes, I’m here,” I answer through a clenched jaw.
“Why do you sound short?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I’m in a goddamn tuxedo at this stupid Mayor’s Ball, where I have to not only speak with Regis about his stupid bullshit, but also suck up to the mayor.”
“This is to expand the business, JP.”
“Don’t you think we’ve expanded enough? Jesus Christ, Huxley, we can barely keep up with everything we have going on. You’re getting married, and you’re going to start a family. Do you really think starting more projects is a smart idea?”
“You thought it was a smart idea months ago, so why am I hearing differently now?”
“I actually didn’t say anything in that meeting, if you’d paid attention. You rattled on about new opportunities, Breaker nodded with dollar signs in his eyes, while I sat there, wondering why the fuck we were going to start something new when our plates were already full.”
“Then you should’ve spoken up. We’re not mind readers.”
“I have spoken up,” I shout into the phone, the better part of my cool completely gone. The irritation and annoyance of this morning erupt in one smooth punch to Huxley. “I’ve said shit to you before, but you never listen. You and Breaker never fucking listen. So here I am, sitting in my goddamn car, waiting to go into this ball to help accomplish your dreams, not mine.”
“For the company, JP. Not for me. For the company.”
“The company is you, and we’re just your minions along for the ride.”
“Where the fuck is all of this coming from? Did something happen up there?”
“Of course, that’s what you’d assume, that something would happen that would put me in this mood, right? It can’t possibly be how I actually feel.”
He’s silent for a second and then says, “I think you and I need to have a meeting.”
“Yeah, no fucking thank you,” I say before hanging up.
I press my fingers to my brow and take a deep, calming breath.
Chill, man.
It’s hard to chill when it feels like nothing is right. Absolutely nothing.
I don’t feel good in my own skin, like … I don’t belong here. Here I am chastising Kelsey for trying to be someone she’s not when I’m doing the same exact thing as her.
“Are you ready to get out, sir?” my driver asks me.
For a brief moment, I consider what would happen if I don’t go in there. If I don’t find Regis and put him in his place. If I don’t talk to the mayor about “our” plans. We’d have a tougher time winning bids on any more historic buildings. But that’s not that big of a deal in my opinion. But what about Kelsey? What kind of uphill battle will she have if Regis continues to undermine her? Why should I care?
Because you do.
Because you care about her.
Despite the fact that she’s on a date right now with another man, I still care about her.
And that’s the reason I’m opening my car door, buttoning my tuxedo jacket, and temporarily wiping away the anger in the pit of my stomach, ready to be unleashed.
I let my driver know I won’t be long, then stuff my phone in my pocket when I reach the front entrance. No need to hit up the red carpet. I’m not interested in that shit, not when I’m feeling so resentful. Huxley will bitch about it later, since he likes to have us show our faces at events like this, but if he wants it done his way, then next time, he can go.
I slip through the door after getting checked off the guest list and head straight to the massive bar at the back of the ballroom. I bypass the name-card table since I’m not staying for dinner, don’t bother shaking hands with the people milling about, and drop my hand on the edge of the bar and order two fingers of Scotch. Then I turn around and scan the crowd.
To an outsider, an event like this would seem so glamourous with the designer dresses and the well-pressed suits, but to me, it’s just another night in the elite world I live in. There’s nothing great that happens for humankind at these events. Instead, hands are shaken, deals are made, and enemies become frenemies for a moment in time as they fake interested expressions for the people around them.
The benefit of these events is for the people solely in this room, and no one else. The mayor isn’t here to formulate change, he’s here to shake hands with people who can help secure his vote. It’s sad, but that’s the way the world works, unfortunately.
“JP, didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” Regis says, standing next to me at the bar. He orders us both a Scotch and I let him. “Wasn’t sure you attended these events.”
Only when forced to.
Thankfully, Regis is making this easy on me, and I didn’t have to seek him out.
“When the mood strikes me, I’ll put on a tuxedo.”
The bartender hands each of us our drinks, and I slip a twenty-dollar bill into his tip jar before turning back around to face the gathering.
Time to get down to business.
“Heard you called Huxley.” I sip my drink. I keep my eyes ahead, making sure to give off the vibe that I’m not happy.
“I did,” Regis says, not even bothering to hide his arrogance. “I felt like the call needed to be made.”
I stick one hand in my pocket. “Why?”
“I felt like you were preoccupied with other things, not seeing the damage her ideas could have to the building.”
“And what exactly was I preoccupied with? Because, as I recall, I was present for that entire first meeting, and all I saw from you was misogynistic behavior that will not be tolerated.”
From the corner of my eye, I see him shift, and then he says, “You were preoccupied with her. I saw the way you stared at her mouth, got lost in her words, sided with her ideas.”
Insecurity constricts my throat. Is that fucking true? I don’t recall looking at her a certain way or paying attention to her more. Either way, it’s not his fucking place to make that kind of call.
Before answering, I take a sip of my Scotch and then turn toward him. He’s still facing the crowd and I speak very carefully, so he can hear everything clearly.
“You must be mistaken, Regis, because she’s a colleague, nothing more, and unlike some other men, I’m sure someone like you, I have the ability to keep my mind focused on the project and not the woman attempting to use her voice. What you might have seen as affection or one-sidedness toward Miss Gardner was merely the ability to listen attentively to an intelligent woman, a woman who’s a partner in our business.” I step a little closer. “Did you hear that? A partner. Do you know what being a partner with Cane Enterprises entails?”
I wait for him to answer, but all he does is swallow back his drink.
“Being a partner means we’ve vetted you. We’ve made sure that not only are you credible, but we have confidence in putting our name on your brand. Miss Gardner and her business, Sustainably Organized, is a partner. She’s fully trusted by all three of the Cane brothers. We’ve invested in her company to help our company, so any problem you might have with her is a problem with us. Do you understand that?”
He nods.
“And when working in the future with Miss Gardner, you will not only listen to her suggestions, but you will respect them.”
He nods again.
“Because if you don’t respect Miss Gardner, then your days working with Cane Enterprises are numbered.” I grip his shoulder and lighten my voice as I say, “Have a good evening, Regis.”
Asshole.
How the fuck did we end up working with him?
As I go to move past him, a large man in an all-black suit walks up to me. There’s an earpiece in his left ear, and there’s no doubt who he works for. “Mr. Cane, the mayor would like to have a conversation with you.”
Perfect. The sooner I can talk to him, the sooner I can get the hell out of here.
The guard walks me past the main ballroom and through a series of halls before opening a rather grand door to the mayor’s office.
“He’ll be with you shortly.” The door clicks shut behind me, and I take that moment to observe the room. It’s the mayor’s private office. I’ve been in here only one other time. I know there’s a secret door behind one of the bookshelves, and just like the Oval Office, there’s a door hidden by the seams in the wallpaper, an entrance only the mayor uses.
In the middle of the room is a large mahogany desk that has been used by every mayor of San Francisco for the last God-knows-how-many years, but the pictures on the credenza behind the desk, those are specific to the one and only Eugene Herbert, the current mayor of San Francisco.
The secret door slides open and Eugene walks through with a large smile on his face and a cigar in hand.
“JP Cane, I’m so glad you could make it.” Eugene comes up to me and takes my hand in his.
I offer him a solid shake and say, “Mr. Mayor, thank you for the invite. It’s always nice to catch up with everyone.” It’s painful how fake I’m acting right now.
“You can drop that Mr. Mayor crap.” He laughs and gestures to the seating area. I take a seat in a brown leather chair directly across from him. He leans over to the coffee table and opens a small box, offering me a cigar.
I hold up my hand. “I’m good.”
“Not sure I’ve ever seen you smoke, Cane.” He flicks open a wooden Zippo lighter and takes a few puffs of his cigar before it’s lit.
“Not my thing,” I say. “Never was able to get into it. Cough too much.”
Eugene smiles and blows a puff of smoke into the air. “Takes some stiff lungs to handle a good cigar. Although, I see you can handle a solid drink. What’s that? Brandy?”
“Scotch,” I answer. “My drink of choice as of late.”
“Ah, how’s business?”
“Good,” I answer. “Growing, as always.”
“I see that.” He leans forward and knocks his cigar on an ashtray. “May I suggest why you’re here?”
“Please,” I say.
“Word on the street is you acquired the Angelica Building.”
“That’s correct,” I answer, taking another sip of my Scotch.
“That was a very sought-after building, so I was surprised that a company based in Los Angeles won, given how many local companies were after it.”
“We lucked out.”
He nods his head. “What are your plans?”
“Currently, those are classified.”
