CHAPTER NINE

REAGAN

"You better have a good reason for this delay, Sells!' 

Alfred Huxley's jowls shook as he growled at me from across the long table in my conference room. Next to him, my buddy Ignacio smirked into his hand as he tried not to laugh. 

We had a term for guys like Huxley-- triple G: Greedy, gluttonous, and geriatric. 

In other words, old men born into old money who had no patience or flexibility for anything. 

"When have I ever unwisely invested your money, Hux?" I asked, keeping my voice friendly and calm. "The Cloverville development will continue. There are just some local concerns about its proximity to an organic farm so we're revisiting some location options." 

"Pay the fucking redneck farmer off!" Spittle flew from Huxley's mouth and narrowly missed Ignacio's sleeve. "I don't care if you flatten his whole damn corn field! This project will never get finished if you listen to every redneck local's bitching and moaning."

"You have to remember, Hux," I said, keeping my voice calm despite my temper simmering underneath the surface. "There is so much more investment opportunity in Cloverville. This development is just our first toe in the water. But at its heart, Cloverville is a small, farming community. We have to work with the locals and show that we're good for their community and their economy. Not some faceless corporation trying to make their next quick buck. They'll quite literally drive us out with pitchforks if they get even the smallest whiff of that."

Several of the other board members nodded in agreement, while Huxley and his fellow Triple-Gs remained tight-lipped and scowling.

Narrowly, the board voted in favor of exploring other locales for the development and I left the conference room feeling like a warrior who barely survived battle. At least I had a majority of people still on my side and the dissenters would likely keel over before construction was done anyway. 

"Yo," Ignacio called, clapping my shoulders as he caught up to me. "Drinks at La Borrachita?" 

"Fuck yes please," I groaned. "Listening to those old fuckers make me want to drown in tequila." 

Ignacio called an UberLUX to pick us up in front of my office building in the San Francisco financial district. A Porsche Cayenne pulled up right as we stepped out to the sidewalk and took us to the heart of the Mission District, San Francisco’s central hub of Latin culture and flavor. 

La Borrachita was a lively Mexican restaurant with an excellent rooftop bar and the best street tacos north of the border. I inhaled half of my margarita and first two tacos in the time it took for Ignacio to flirt in Spanish with the waitress and get her number, which took all of about two minutes. 

He was a handsome, charming bastard. Almost as much as me. The only difference was he had that Latin flair.

“So, since when is organic farming suddenly so near and dear to your heart?” he asked me once he finally settled into his food and drink. 

“Since the farmer waved a shotgun in my face and also fired it into the air to scare off the construction crew,” I replied.

“What?” he nearly choked on his margarita. “Good thing you didn’t bring that up at the meeting! But damn, maybe you should flatten his corn field.” 

“Her,” I corrected. “And she doesn’t grow corn. The fruit orchards were her biggest concern.” 

Ignacio stared at me like I grew a second head before a wide grin broke out on his face.

“I see,” he observed. “I think I know what this is about. She’s hot, eh?” 

I kept my expression blank but he must have seen it in my eyes. Ignacio knew how to read me. 

“I knew it!” He clapped his hands victoriously. “El Rey got himself a little reinita! 

I couldn’t help but grin to myself. 

“She makes me work for it, that’s for damn sure.”

“The right woman always does, man,” he grinned back. “But it’s so worth it.” 

I raised a suspicious eyebrow. When it came to our reputations with women, he made me look like a saint. The last thing I expected him to know about was the right woman. 

"Since when are you such an expert on true love?" I asked. 

"I'm Latino, man! It's in my blood." He grinned again. "I fall in love at least once a day. That waitress there? She's going to have my children, I swear." 

I rolled my eyes. I never could always tell when he was joking or being serious. It was true that he showed a lot more effort and romantic gestures toward his hookups than I ever did. Maybe that was just cultural differences or something I could stand to learn from. 

"This one is different," I mused. "She's tough as nails but fragile as a bird at the same time." 

"There you go getting poetic on me, Mr. Tough American Guy," he teased. "But seriously, all women are different. I know you're a late bloomer but it's about time you see that." 

"Fuck off," I said dryly, draining the rest of my margarita. 

"Oh hey!" Ignacio sat straight up like he had a sudden moment of clarity. "My parents' 40th anniversary is next weekend. They're throwing a huge party and making it a big fuckin' deal. You should come and bring your reinita!" 

"Something tells me she wouldn't be too keen," I muttered. The party would be a black-tie affair almost certainly. Ignacio's parents were loaded. They owned a number of luxury hotels and tourism companies through Mexico and Central America. 

Still, the image of Pepper in a floor-length evening gown with her hair and makeup done sent all the blood straight to my cock. She would be absolutely stunning and I'd feel like the biggest stud in the room if I had her on my arm. 

"You're good at negotiating, talk her into it." Ignacio urged. "And I'm dying to meet the woman who makes El Rey get up and work his big American ass." 

"They're called deadlifts, you skinny fucker," I shot back. "I make no promises but I'll ask her." 

I stared at my hands around my glass, unfamiliar with this feeling coming over me. The anxiety over needing to hear a yes, when she would likely tell me no.