He and David had dinner with a west coast firm that had come out mostly for the networking. Beverly Hills houses. Rodeo Drive studios. Nice, but nothing we do on a regular basis. Lois & Bachman were so successful because they were niched to the point that nobody else could compete with them. When a man worked for the #1 go-to agency for selling skyscrapers (and not just the units within them,) it was a tough racket to beat.
Now Roger Prescott thinks I’m going to pay him to let me have Lana Losers on my team. He knew that’s what Roger was after. How could he think of anything else while having dinner with Californian brokers who couldn’t stop talking about the time difference? Ken could hardly pretend to care. He was going to return to his condo at the end of the evening, anyway. Perks to living in New York, where everything happens.
As soon as they shook the Californians, David suggested they wind down with a few cocktails at the hotel bar. A busy place, to be sure. Everyone coming in from out of town for the conference was staying in that hotel, and the bar was the most convenient place to get drinks, schmooze, and pretend that the night really was young. Like David Bachman, who downed two shots within two minutes. The man was twenty-five and ready to party, whether it was an appropriate place to party or not.
Sometimes Ken forgot he wasn’t that much older than guys like David. I may only be twenty-eight, but I’m almost the oldest of four rich assholes. His brother Travis was only ten months older than him. Ken grew up with a work ethic and a respect for business so ingrained within him that the idea of being as emotionally immature as Mama’s Boy David seemed preposterous. They felt at least ten years apart, not a mere three.
Then he went to a hotel bar, sat down at a small table to have a drink, and looked over to see a lonely blond woman nursing a martini. All maturity went out the window after that.
“Man, isn’t that Lana Losers?” David asked, nodding in Lana’s direction. She hadn’t noticed them. She didn’t notice anything but the TV playing the NBA finals. The Spurs were up over the Nets, something everyone in Ken’s office would be pissing and moaning about come the following week. “Can you believe a woman like that is kicking ass in this gig?”
“I can, actually.” Ken had a whisky highball to keep him company. He always preferred the stronger, earthier spirits after a long day, conferences or no. “We men underestimate women like ‘that’ every day.” Lana shifted on her stool, crossing one slender leg over the other, black heels dangling from her dainty feet. She stood up straight when she wasn’t hunched over her Blackberry. Occasionally a man slowed down behind her, either to check out her ass, hit on her, or both. Lana brushed them all off with a wave of her hand, as if bidding a bee to get the fuck away from her. More than one of those guys wandered off mumbling about what a bitch she was. She has to be, doesn’t she? Nobody takes her seriously, I bet. They were probably like Ken – practically slobbering over her. At least he could rein it in and treat her like a human being when they interacted.
Not that he wanted to, mind.
“Still, when was the last time a woman kicked that much ass? No wonder she works for Roger Prescott. That guy is so queer he probably lets her get away with everything.”
“What does that mean?”
David sheepishly looked away. Either he was embarrassed or those shots were touching his cheeks already. “You know what I mean, man.”
“No, unfortunately.” They may have only been three years apart, but Ken too often felt like an uncle to this young man. Which was silly, because he already had three nieces and nephews among his brothers. Meanwhile, Ken couldn’t carve out the time in a day to even date, let alone think about kids. As a son in his family, that was sacrilegious… as he was reminded during every family gathering. “I can guarantee Ms. Losers has a hard enough time already. She probably doesn’t need either you or me flirting with her.”
“Hmm? So you fancy her?”
Yeah, the whisky was starting to hit. Or maybe that was Lana’s radiance making Ken feel so much warmer. “What red-blooded heterosexual man wouldn’t fancy her? I’m just not a slob about it. You shouldn’t be, either.”