Starting From the Top (Starting from 5)

And let’s be honest, that kiss was a fluke. Nothing to overanalyze or think twice about. The fact that we could joke about it was a good sign. I’d learned to trust my instincts over the years. It was a spur-of-the-moment idea that had come out of left field, but I wouldn’t have thought to ask Johnny about guitar lessons for no reason at all.

Parker needed…something. Music might help, and at this point, it couldn’t hurt.

Real estate would always be hot in this town. Sure, entertainment, tourism, and tech industries ranked high too, but LA was all about location, location, location. Moguls wanted to rule their empires from modern skyscrapers or from contemporary cliffside estates overlooking the Pacific. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. I made a killing selling office space and high-end homes for years. And then I lost it all in my divorce.

Well, not everything. I’d had just enough to buy Vibes. One nightclub wasn’t going to ensure my financial freedom. In fact, it probably would have sucked me dry if I hadn’t formed an unlikely business partnership with two savvy gay best friends from Palm Springs.

Darren and Harry were great for my bank account but hell on my nerves. I popped an antacid and leaned back in my office chair, willing my pulse to slow when Darren sashayed into the conference room wearing oversized sunglasses and a bright-pink scarf. His well-tailored charcoal suit accentuated his lean frame and the hint of silver at his temples in his otherwise strawberry blond hair. He was a self-proclaimed queen who watched Downton Abbey reruns daily to perfect his British accent. And yes, he spoke in an odd half-British, half-American lilt. Why? I had no fucking clue. He was weird. But cool.

“God, the traffic on Sunset was hideous,” he proclaimed, flouncing theatrically into the chair beside Harry. “Why on earth are we here? The desert is so much nicer.”

“Business is here, baby. You know the drill. And by the way, you’re late. Again.” Harry spared his friend a brief glance over the rim of his reading glasses before tapping a message on his cell.

Harry was Darren’s polar opposite. Other than being roughly the same height and age…six feet tall and sixtysomething years old, they had nothing in common. Harry was an uber-masculine man with short gray hair, a thick build, and a no-nonsense manner who wore Levi’s with black or white polo shirts…never color. Darren teased him mercilessly whenever he got an opening. I wondered what he’d make of Johnny’s goth ensemble or his—

“Why are you smiling?” Darren pulled his laptop from his Louis Vuitton computer bag, primly lifting the top as if it were the lid of a treasure chest.

“I’m not smiling,” I said.

“Yes, you are. I want to hear all about it before we dive into numbers. I knew you’d like Thaniel. So handsome,” Darren sighed dreamily.

“What the fuck kind of name is Thaniel? Sounds like half his name got cut off on his birth certificate, and he never bothered fixing it,” Harry griped, then glanced my way. “Did you get my email?”

“Yeah. We have an investor?” I asked. “I was hoping to—”

“That’s ridiculous,” Darren interrupted. “I personally love unique variations of older names. Thaniel is mysterious. Na-thaniel is my cousin Lucy’s third husband. He’s a tax attorney from Dallas, and the poor soul couldn’t be more boring if he tried. The most exciting thing about him is his boot collection. Snakeskin, red leather…”

Harry held up his hand. “Whoa! How much caffeine have you had?”

“A lot,” Darren admitted sheepishly.

“I thought so.” Harry pointed at his computer screen meaningfully. “Can we talk numbers here? Nobody cares about the guy with half a fuckin’ name.”

“He’s hung like a horse, Harry,” Darren singsonged, perching his reading glasses on the end of his nose.

“And how would you know that?” Harry challenged.

Okay…wow.

See? This was my life. Total fucking chaos.

I shared three businesses and over a hundred employees with two crazy partners who acted more like an old married couple than best friends. They were almost as exhausting as my ex-wife and her revolving team of lawyers, although admittedly more entertaining. No wonder I bought super-sized bottles of Tums and daydreamed about being on a quiet beach with a pile of murder mysteries.

Thank God for my kids and my dog.

“Gentlemen, can we please get to business?” I griped, swiveling to face Harry. “What did McMillan say?”

Harry smirked. “They’re on board.”

“Really? That’s amazing.”

“It is,” Darren chimed in. “And totally worth a trip to the city of lost angels just to see your expression! You look shocked. Ye of little faith! Didn’t you think I’d charm the socks off those suits?”

“I—yeah, I just assumed there would be some negotiating involved.”

“There is,” Harry confirmed. He pulled up a graph on his computer and angled the screen toward me. “They agreed to invest a fifty-one percent interest in the new development downtown. I’m sure they’ll come up with a list of terms and conditions, but the overall impression was favorable.”