Page 3 of Building Romance
Max: I’m serious.
Me: OK, Professor Max.
Max: I sort of like that. (questioning emoji)
Me: On that note, I’m going to bed.
Max: Goodnight, my little entrepreneur.
Me: Goodnight, Professor Max.
I toss my phone on my nightstand and grab my e-reader. I look at the links Max has texted and download two of the books he recommends. I mean, it can’t hurt to learn. And if it means I find a way to crush McDowell’s, then it’ll be worth it.
CHAPTER TWO
Fletch
Dalton and Spencer stare at me as if I’m an idiot child that just won the spelling bee. To be fair, they often stare at me like this, and I suppose I’ve brought it upon myself.
“Dad, you can’t be serious,” Spencer says not breaking eye contact with me.
I’m both pissed off and also shocked. My father has just announced that he’s decided to put me in charge of our latest store opening. Me. Am I capable? Yes. Am I an expected choice? Hell, yes.
Being the youngest of three brothers, the first two being very type A, makes me the family fuckup. It probably doesn’t help that I spent most of my teens and twenties doing exactly that…fucking up. I slept with way too many women; I jaunted off to places like Ibiza on the family jet whenever I felt like attending a rave; and then there was the time I maybe dropped forty thousand on renting a private island for all of my frat brothers and me for spring break. That last one made the news and not in a good way.
So, yes, I’ve spent the last six-plus years trying to redeem myself, but I’ve dug such a deep hole, I’m not sure any of my family take me seriously…until now.
I turn to look at our dad. Edward McDowell is an icon in the coffee world. He runs one of the largest coffee and café companies not just in our country but in approximately ten other countries. He normally has an entire division of the company that works on finding real estate, acquiring real estate, and then building the café. So, why he wants me to lead that team for our latest acquisition, I haven’t a clue.
“Are you serious?” I ask, reiterating Spencer’s question.
“Yes.” His single word echoes around his office. Dalton smirks at me and I glare back at him. Dalton is the oldest. He’s forty, divorced with one kid, a little boy named Timothy. I love his son. He’s the coolest kid I know. Dalton can be a bit of an asshole. He’s in line to take over the family company. I both love and hate him. He’s brilliant, but unforgiving and stubborn as hell.
“Dad, we have a division that handles that,” Spencer points out. Spencer is the middle child. He likes things neat and orderly. He’s only three years older than me, but he might as well be one hundred. He takes life way too seriously. Where I was the wild party child, he was the closet nerd. He spent his childhood locked in the family library and participating in every club and sport at the elite private academy we attended. He’s never been married and seldom dates. He does hook up with plenty of women, but nothing serious. To be fair, he had a very serious girlfriend who slept with what used to be his best friend, and his best friend’s old brother, and half of his soccer team. That was in college, and the man has never been the same.
“Spencer, I’ve made my decision. There will not be a discussion. Louis is taking a leave of absence to be home with his wife while she goes through chemotherapy, and I’m assigning Fletcher to lead them,” he says and steeples his fingers. That’s Dad’s tell that the conversation is over. Fucking fantastic.
I look up at the building as I stand on the sidewalk. The operations team has already signed a lease for the property, so at least I don’t have to find us a location. But we haven’t started any of the construction yet. I unlock the door and walk inside.
And, I immediately regret that decision. This place is a total dump. What the hell were they thinking? They want to open in less than four months. There’s no fucking way.
I pull my phone out and call Dalton.
“This is a mess. Who am I blaming?” I ask him as I walk through the space. The building is stripped on the interior but there are boxes and construction supplies everywhere. No one is working, and from the look of it, we need the general contractor to have a crew here around the clock.
“Rich’s team chose the location. And Frank’s team bid out the contract. Why? What’s wrong with it? Dad said it’s a great location,” Dalton asks.
“Great? Has he even come to see it?” I inquire. It’s unusual for us to open a store in this city. We have our flagship store downtown and approximately ten others in the greater metro area. But real estate in this neighborhood seldom comes on the market. I can understand the draw. It’s a nice street, residential, and that means it’s full of customers that will drink our coffee and eat our baked goods.
“Nope. That’s your job, big guy. Best of luck,” Dalton says and I know that fucker is smirking. He is enjoying each and every moment of this.
“Fuck you. This place is a shithole. There’s no way we can have it ready in four months,” I protest.
“Make it happen, baby boy,” Dalton says, using the obnoxious nickname my mom has used for me, since birth.
“I should have taken that job offer to work in the food television industry. At least I’d be in a climate-controlled office right now,” I state as I unbutton my shirt and loosen my tie. The building’s air system is clearly not operable and it’s an unusually warm winter day.
“Guess so. Have fun, fucker. Dad picked that location for the neighborhood, not the building. You have your work cut out for you,” he says as he disconnects.
