Chapter 3 Favorite Parts
FAVORITE PARTS
Jack
Just as I’d suspected, they hadn’t asked to see The Wild One.
There’d been no need. Henry’s partner in business and love, Marquita, had proudly boasted about the windows that had nearly shattered in her apartment building when she’d used The Wild One last week.
I simply smiled and said, “I’m pleased that you were pleased.”
“Just a little bit,” she’d said with a smile, then planted a kiss on Henry’s pale cheek, one that suggested there’d be much more than kissing going on between them later tonight.
That was one of the perks, not surprisingly, about working in this line of business.
Not watching business associates make out, but rather, that the people I dealt with were sex-positive.
Plus, I was used to it with these two—they’d been friends of ours since I’d helped Casey start Joy Delivered. They were like family.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Marquita,” I said, because she’d battled a serious illness most of last year. “And The Wild One helps,” Marquita said with a bright smile, the color returning to her light brown complexion.
“And now there’s something else we need to talk about,” Henry began, steepling his fingers together, his tone shifting to serious as he motioned for someone to join us at the bar—a polished man in a tailored suit, and a silk tie that looked like it cost more than his hourly fee.
His wardrobe screamed lawyer. I tensed. Lawyers are fine and all, but their presence usually means some shit’s going down.
“Jack, I want to introduce you to Marquita’s brother, Leo Reyes. He’s also our attorney,” he said, and yup, nailed it. “We’ve run into an issue with a developer, who seems to have our clubs in his sights.”
“The wrecking ball’s sight,” Leo said, in a blunt, no-bullshit tone. “He’s selling it to the neighborhood like it’s going to make more housing available, but when I dug deeper into the proposal, it’s actually primarily going to be used for short-term rentals.”
My jaw ticked. Short-term rarely benefited the neighborhood. They usually only fattened the wallets of the developers.
“And if it goes through that would be bad not only for our business to lose those spaces, but then all our local partners who own shops and such in the neighborhood would lose the contracts we have with them too,” Marquita said, though I was clear on that point already.
I didn’t like those words. Not one bit. I preferred good for business, especially when it’s a business my sister runs, so I’d need to hear them out.
“And we’d love to know if you have any ideas for a strategy,” Henry added.
“Lay it on me,” I said, and a meeting about selling The Wild One quickly became something else entirely.
But in the end, the deal was signed.
The new product would have both prominent in-store and online placement, and I’d promised an extra shipment for Marquita and Henry’s personal stash.
The undecided part? How the hell we were going to counter this developer—Jared Conroy.
He was a former tech bro, who’d built his billions on apps that rotted the brains of young users.
Then, he switched from tech to real estate.
He had a rep—a ruthless one. He was known for his underhanded tactics, and unsavory approach.
Also, fuck him for giving guys whose names start with J a bad rep.
I knew plenty about strategy and tactics too.
I knew, too, that lots of people didn’t play by the rules.
And that sometimes business was a slimy, dirty battlefield.
I’d served my country for six years and I’d learned that there too.
But I didn’t like messy. I didn’t like problems that extended beyond the norm.
I didn’t like to bet on businesses that faced…
too many legal quandaries. This thing with Reyes, though—it was a matter of personal business.
I cared deeply about Henry; the man was a business partner, and had been through hell and back during the past year as his wife battled and beat breast cancer.
What pissed me off was the opponent’s tactics, and how he saw my friends’ successful business—their livelihood—as nothing more than a pesky obstacle to stealing the location. That was underhanded, and that didn’t sit well with me.
But whatever I decided to do, I’d do it with Casey on board.
The two of us were a team, and always had been, so I’d have to table Henry’s request until I spoke with Casey and laid it all out for her.
For now, I shoved thoughts of developers and shady tactics aside.
Henry and Marquita were off to a dinner meeting, and I was alone, so I settled in at the bar and ordered a scotch, scrolling through my phone as I waited for my drink.
I’d been planning on having a drink with my friend Nate tonight, but he had to work late on a last-minute deal.
We’d agreed to still meet tomorrow morning for a round of hoops before work.
That meant my agenda for the rest of the evening was simple—a quick drink, then I’d watch some of the New York Comets baseball game from the comfort of my living room.
Those twin activities would help me crash later because I sure could use a decent night’s sleep before the appointment that Casey had arranged for me tomorrow at two.
Just the thought of dealing with the shit that was in my head gave me an ulcer, but I knew Casey would kick my ass if I didn’t give it a shot.
Even if I wasn’t sure I was ready to start dating again.
She’d told me the charity event we were sponsoring next month for breast cancer research would be the perfect time to get back on the market, or at the very least, to slough off all my regret from the past. As if that were possible.
But Casey had her mind set. She was ready and eager to get me back on the scene, judging from the story link she’d just emailed me from some online listicle or another. The headline: New York City’s Most Eligible Bachelors.
Look! You’re on the list! ‘Sex toy mogul Jack Sullivan tops this year’s list of the city’s most eligible bachelors in business. Don’t you think he needs a new woman to mend his broken heart? Makes you just want to nab that man even more.’
I rolled my eyes and replied, The depth of the insight never fails to astound me, then turned my phone on silent.
I could do without the reminders tonight.
Reminders of anything. Of the woman I’d lost, of the fascination the gossip sites seemed to have with my dating or non-dating status—as the case had been for the past year—especially thanks to the growth trajectory of Joy Delivered and the subsequent attention to my other investments.
The novelty factor of my battery-operated business was real.
Call me old-fashioned, but the next time I got involved, I’d like it to be with someone who actually gave a shit about me, rather than the size of my portfolio.
Or with the absolutely stunning brunette who was walking past me at the bar.
The same one who’d caught my eye when she’d stepped into the elevator earlier in the evening.
Her hair was in a twist that showed off her neck.
She had a fantastic pair of legs, strong and muscular, a nice trim waist, and she was owning the fuck out of a buttoned-up-on-the-outside vibe with her blouse and pencil skirt.
I took a swallow of my scotch, wondering if she was buttoned up on the inside too.