This conversation is already humiliating enough, and I don’t need to add to that humiliation.
Nope, I need to come up with an excuse. Something good.
Something that will require my attention in Los Angeles.
“I can’t go,” I say, as if it’s the most preposterous suggestion. “I have . . . things to do. Important things.” Christ, that’s not exactly what I was hoping to say, but then again, kind of drawing a blank here. I have no things. I basically sit on my ass waiting for my brothers to tell me what to do because that’s how much I despise this job. “Things that can’t be rescheduled.”
“What kind of things?” Breaker asks skeptically. He’s onto me.
“Important things,” I repeat.
“But what kind of important things? Give us an example.”
Huh . . .
Umm . . .
Mentally taps chin
What could be so important in my otherwise boring life that could prevent me from flying up to San Francisco with Kelsey?
Nothing.
Absolutely fucking nothing.
But that doesn’t prevent me from continuing the farce.
“Appointments,” I answer. Vagueness is the way to go. “The kind of appointments I don’t care to discuss in front of the ladies.”
There. That should work.
Man troubles.
It’s written in bro-code that when a man says he has an appointment he doesn’t want to discuss in front of the ladies, that it should be kept hush-hush and talked about later when feminine ears aren’t around.
“An appointment you don’t want to talk about in front of the ladies?” Breaker asks. “Like . . . are you having man troubles, dude?”
God, I hate him.
Now what the fuck do I say?
If I confirm I might be having man troubles, Kelsey and Lottie will ASSUME I have man troubles, and there’s nothing troubling about my manhood. Everything is in healthy, working order.
But if I say no, then that exposes me and I’ll have to go to San Francisco.
So . . . pride or giving in?
Save my self-image or spend two weeks in agony with Kelsey?
Fuck . . . this is a hard—
Pinning me with a stare, Huxley says, “Tell me right now something is wrong with your dick or you’re going to San Francisco.”
Shit.
Nothing is wrong with my dick.
I don’t want anyone thinking there’s something wrong with my dick because, yes, I’m shallow, thank you very much.
And Huxley fucking knows it.
“That’s what I thought. You’re going.”
Fuck.
So much for being able to think on my goddamn feet.
“You leave tonight. I had Karla call ahead to the penthouse. It’s already been cleaned and stocked with food.”
The penthouse?
No fucking way.
Okay, sure, I have to go to San Francisco, but the penthouse? Has he lost his goddamn mind?
“Do you really think the penthouse is necessary? A simple hotel room will do, don’t you think?”
“What’s the penthouse?” Kelsey asks.
“Housing the company owns,” Huxley answers. “And, yes, the penthouse is necessary. You will be much more comfortable there. We’ve already set up a car service, and Karla is working on scheduling meetings with our architect and contractors. If we’re sending you up there, we want to make the most of our time. The trip will last two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” I shout. “You want us to be up there for two weeks? I thought we just had a two-week limit to turn things in.” It shouldn’t take that long.
Huxley’s jaw ticks, his frustration coming to a boiling point as his forehead starts to turn a dangerous shade of red. He’s frustrated with me, but who the fuck cares? He wants me to be sharing a penthouse with Kelsey for two weeks, the one person I don’t want to be around? Is this some sort of scheme by the engaged couple to get two singles together? When have we ever forced two employees to share the penthouse before . . . for two weeks?
Never.
In a firm voice, Huxley says, “You will be there for two weeks. I expect to receive daily reports on all decisions. And while you’re up there, make sure you set up meetings with the mayor. You’re the media relations for this company, after all, JP, the face. Don’t forget it.”
As if he’d ever let me.
Pushing away from the table, I stand abruptly and ask, “When does the plane leave?”
“Six sharp. Don’t be late.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I move past everyone, straight out of the conference room, and toward my office.