“If you have something productive to say or a well-thought-out question, I’ll be more than happy to be at your service. Anything other than that . . . just move along.”
“Mr. Edison will be right with you,” the receptionist says as we both take a seat on a terribly stiff couch.
Kelsey glances around, but I keep my eyes trained on my phone. “This place is . . . interesting,” Kelsey says. “Is that a chair in the shape of a hand over there?”
“Yup,” I say without having to look up. I know exactly which chair she’s talking about. I sat in it once and it was incredibly uncomfortable. “Edison believes he has a refined palate when it comes to interior design. When in fact, he has zero taste. Wait until you see his desk. It’s one giant Rubik’s Cube.”
“That’s . . . interesting.”
“One way to put it.”
The door that I know leads into Edison’s office opens, and the balding, tubby man waddles over to us. Dressed in a pair of brown-and-orange plaid shorts and a green suit jacket, he reads more like an absolute imbecile than a serious real estate agent. But he’s completed some important business deals for us, so we keep coming back, despite his eccentricities.
When he looks up and spots me, a large smile spans across his face. “JP Cane, you old bastard. How the hell are ya?”
He also has zero decorum.
Standing along with Kelsey, I walk up to him and shake his hand. “Edison, good to see you. I see you’re still unable to match a pair of slacks with a suit jacket.”
He lets out a boisterous laugh and says, “Not all of us want to be caught up in a sea of black suits. Some of us like to be memorable.”
“Memorable, indeed,” I say with a smile, internally hating myself.
This side of me? It’s the fake, business side. It’s the reason I’m the “face” of the company, because when push comes to shove, I can slap on a smile and lay on the charm. I have . . . charisma, and it has definitely been needed to clean up Huxley’s messes caused by his inability to mask his irritation. I’m the one clients and partners want to take out, because I know how to have a conversation that’s equal parts business and fun. And yet, Kelsey thinks I’m an asshole.
Holding his hand past me, Edison says, “You must be Kelsey Gardner.”
“Hello,” Kelsey says politely while shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Edison.”
“Edison is fine, dear. No need to add the mister in front of it. I’m sure JP could regale you with stories of how such a formal title would not suit me and my personality.”
“I could, but I’ll save you the embarrassment,” I say, patting him on the back.
“A kind man.” Edison gestures to his office. “Please, come in. Regis said he’d meet us at the Angelica.”
I place my hand on Kelsey’s lower back for some reason—who fucking knows why. I expect her to pull away, but when she doesn’t, I continue to guide her until we’re in his office.
And what an office it is. I’ve never seen anything like it. An interesting and bold combination of gaming and nerdery with posters of Zelda on one wall and the periodic table of elements on another. Walking into his office, you wouldn’t think a real estate agent—the top in the city, to be precise—worked here. Not that I’d expect him to have pictures of buildings lining his walls, but there’s a giant whisk—about three feet long—hanging behind his Rubik’s Cube desk. What’s with the whisk? Did he just like it and decide to hang it up? Is there sentimental value to the whisk? Did he win a whisking contest and that’s the prize?
In the sitting area, there is a set of purple armchairs and a polka-dot loveseat surrounding a coffee table fish tank . . . with no fish in it, but rather, floating eyeglasses. See what I’m talking about?
Weird-as-shit office.
I watch Kelsey as she takes in the space.
“Can I get you a drink?” Edison asks as he sits down in the chair closest to Kelsey. He watches her with delight as she continues to find new things about his office.
“I’m good,” Kelsey says after a few seconds.
“I’m good, as well,” I say.
“Edison, your office is so unique.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it,” I say, causing Edison to laugh. “More like a garage sale for misfits.”
“Hey now, you said you liked the Zelda poster,” Edison says with a pointed look.
I chuckle. “I did. The teenage boy in me was jealous when I saw it.”