Page 14 of Written with Regret (The Regret Duet 1)
“Look, Lance. Ian and I both wish you the best of luck. But your evaluation is bullshit and you know it. Two hundred million for twenty percent is the best I can do. If you have another investor on the hook willing to do three for twenty, then as a businessman and friend…” God, I was full of bullshit. I rolled my eyes at myself as I buttoned the top button on my suit jacket. “I highly suggest you take it. But, unfortunately, we’ve both reached our bottom lines. And they don’t match. It’s time we stop wasting time and move on.” Straightening my tie, I glanced down at my watch. She was going to be pissed I was late. This would not bode well for the party later. “I need to go. Have a good da—”
“Two fifty and twenty-one percent,” he rushed out before I had the chance to hang up.
I froze, a slow grin curling my lips. The fact that he’d upped the percentage told me this deal was more than just him taking on a new investor. He needed cash—and fast. Why? I didn’t know, but Ian would take a hard look at his financials before the deal was finalized, so I didn’t hesitate before countering with, “Two fifty and twenty-five.”
He let out a string of cuss words. “We’ll discuss it over a drink this afternoon.”
“Nope. My day’s packed.”
“Don’t bullshit me. It’s a Saturday.”
“And yet here I am on the phone with you.”
“Today, Caven. If you’re going to fuck me this hard, the least you can do is buy me a drink first.”
I laughed and peeked around the corner. She was already at the table, sipping on orange juice in a wine glass, a plate of untouched pastries sitting in the middle. I was right. She was pissed. But I really needed to seal this deal before word got out and he actually found someone to give him the three hundred million he probably deserved.
I jumped out of view when her head popped up.
This was going to be a clusterfuck. But I did have to pick up a few things before the party. Surely I could squeeze in one drink without it being considered work.
“One drink. And it has to be near me.”
“You’ve lost your damn mind if you think I’m driving to Jersey today.”
It was only a forty-five-minute commute to the city. If I could do it every damn day, this guy could do it once.
I was pointedly silent.
“Okay, okay. Fine. Two fifty. Twenty-five percent and I’ll drive my ass to Jersey. However, I need you to bring a gun because if I catch the suburb bug and start looking at houses while I’m there, I need you to kill me immediately.”
Victory sang in my veins. “Noted. I’ll text you the address.” I didn’t give him the chance to get another word out before I hit the end button.
I typed out a quick message to Ian before shoving my cell in my pocket. Then, drawing in a deep breath, I patted down the inside of my jacket to make sure the black velvet box was still inside and prepared to face the music.
“Rosie. My baby,” I purred as I exited the hallway. She was easily the most beautiful thing I had ever and would ever see, even when her angry, green glare landed on me with the attitude of a scorned woman in her twenties.
I shot her a wink as I made my way to the table. When I got close, I reached for one of the muffins.
She slid the plate away. “You’re late.”
“Yeah. I know. I’m sorry.” I straightened the lapels on my navy-blue suit.
While I was in the shower, she’d slipped a formal handwritten—in crayon—invitation under the door, inviting me to her royal birthday breakfast. Or at least that was what I’d thought it said. It was really just her name, a birthday cake, and a stick figure drawing of the two of us holding hands. As I was drying off, she’d yelled, “I’m hungry, so dress like a prince!” through the door before I heard her feet scurrying away on the wood floor. This was the second year of princess birthday breakfast, so I’d thankfully prepared with chocolate chip muffins and pink-sprinkle donuts. Ya know, the breakfast of royalty everywhere.
I stopped halfway to my chair and gave her a once-over. “Wow, you look incredible.”
Her hair was a messy nest of red waves, a silver crown precariously perched atop her head, and her baby-blue ballgown was straight out of Cinderella, complete with elbow-length gloves and plastic gemstone bracelets.
She harrumphed and looked away, begrudgingly muttering, “Nice tie.”
I toyed with the end of it. “Yeah? You like it?” It was the most hideous monstrosity I’d ever seen. Bright yellow with slopes of brown on the top and bottom, it was a giant silk banana. No prince would ever be caught dead in it. But she’d bought it for me when Ian had taken her shopping for Father’s Day, so I wore it when I didn’t have to leave the house. “Mind if I sit down, your highness?”
