The Billionaire's October Arrangement

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Simon

I was halfway through an email when my office door opened without a knock. I didn’t bother looking up because only one person at Montclair Development Group walked into my office as if he owned it. Which, technically, he did.

“If you’re here to tell me I’m working too much, save it,” I said, finishing my email.

My father walked over and dropped a folder onto my desk. “Los Angeles.”

I hit send and looked at him.

“What about it?”

“It’s a fucking disaster,” he said.

I picked up the folder and leaned back in my chair.

Montclair Residence, Los Angeles. Fifty-eight stories of glass, steel, and obscene amounts of money on Wilshire Boulevard.

We’d purchased the property three years ago, demolished the building that was there, and broke ground eighteen months later.

The residences were already sixty percent sold.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Pick something. Anything,” my father said. “Construction is twelve weeks behind.”

“What? How?”

“Oh, it gets better. That’s only the current estimate,” he said.

“Wait a second.” I shook my head. “The report I read last week said twelve days, not twelve weeks.”

I flipped through the pages and studied the revised construction schedules, costs, inspection notices, and enough red numbers to piss me off before I’d gotten through the first ten pages.

“We’re eleven million over budget?” I asked.

“Fourteen million,” my father said.

“This says eleven.” I pointed.

“That’s because that report is three days old.”

“What the fuck is Reynolds doing out there?” I shouted.

“Apparently, he’s lying to us. I spoke to Cambridge, and he told me that Reynolds has a drug problem and he hasn’t been around.

The construction crew has questions that only he can answer.

Three inspection deadlines were missed, and the electrical subcontractor walked off the job three weeks ago over a payment dispute. ”

“And why the hell am I just hearing about this now?” I asked.

“Because Reynolds was trying to hide everything. And another problem. Half the materials haven’t shown up, and Reynolds was too busy getting high to find out why.

I fired his ass last night when I found out that the penthouse buyers are threatening to walk because their completion dates have been pushed back twice now. ”

“How many penthouse buyers do we have?” My brows furrowed.

“Three of them, which equals just under thirty-two million in contracts.”

“Jesus Christ.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Now what? You fired my development director?” I stared at my father.

“Our development director.” He pointed at me.

“How bad is it over at the site?” I asked.

“Bad enough that someone needs to be there to babysit those motherfuckers,” he said. “You need to go to Los Angeles.”

“Me?” I pointed. “No way.” I shook my head. “I’m buried in work here. Send Carson.”

“He’s overseeing the Hudson Yards project.”

“Bennett?” I asked.

“He’s overseeing the Miami project.”

“As I said, Dad, I’m buried in work here.”

“And you have an executive team that can handle the work while you’re gone. It’s only for three months. You need to get your ass there and get things up and running and straightened out. I already booked your flight for tomorrow morning at nine a.m.”

“What the hell? No.”

“It’s not up for discussion, son. When I retire, you’ll be running this company on your own. Until then, you still report to me. I’m your boss, and when I tell you to do something, you’ll do it.”

“Why can’t you go?” I asked.

“Because Mary can’t take three months off from her charity work, and there’s no way I’m leaving for three months. You don’t have a life, so for you, it’s no big deal.”

“I have a life. What the hell are you talking about?” My brows furrowed.

“You know, Simon. Three months in Los Angeles might actually be good for you.”

“There is absolutely nothing good about spending three months babysitting a construction project.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “Look at it this way. You’ll fly three thousand miles across the country and live exactly the same way you do here. You’ll work fourteen hours, eat dinner at your desk, then screw whichever woman catches your attention before going back to work the next morning.”

“I don’t screw whichever woman catches my attention.” My brows furrowed. “I have standards.”

“I’m relieved.” He rolled his eyes. “My son has standards.”

“And why are we discussing my sex life?”

“Because you don’t have anything else to discuss.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.” I pointed at him.

“Name one thing in your life that doesn’t involve this company or a woman whose last name you don’t know.” His brow raised.

I stared at him.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

“I’m not playing this game, Dad.”

“You’re thirty-two years old, son. You need to be in a relationship.”

“Now I know you’ve lost your fucking mind,” I said.

“I’m dead serious, son.”

“So am I.”

“Would it kill you to date someone longer than a week?”

“Probably.” I nodded.

He stared at me for a moment and headed toward the door. “Keep me updated. I’ll see you in three months.” He walked out.

“Sonia, get in here,” I shouted.

“Yes, Simon?” She stepped into my office.

“Cancel everything after tomorrow.”

“Everything?” She frowned.

“For the next three months,” I said.

“Uh, are you going somewhere?” she asked.

“Apparently, I’m moving to fucking Los Angeles.”