Page 12 of Business vs. Pleasure

“I mean…kind of.” The same way everyone at a certain level of wealth heard about the follies of their class. Even the nouveau riche had learned the cautionary tale of the Mason family. “I, uh, your…yes.” He pulled himself together. “Purchasing the property, huh? You like the spa that much?”

August smirked. “Not the spa, the entire building.”

Bremmer’s jaw dropped. “Ex…cuse me?”

“My sister is interested in expanding our operations in Chicago,” August said, still idly flexing and pointing his toes. Squeak…squeak…squeak. “She sent me to do some scouting for an appropriate location.”

Ha. Elodie would sooner sell the company than let August have a hand in running it. He was gifted in a lot of ways, but he’d deliberately distanced himself from the business at a young age, forcing the onus of inheriting all that responsibility onto his sister. She’d accepted his decision, but she also stuck by it. He had less say in company strategy than Ricardo did these days, damn him and his well-reasoned opinions about shipping lanes in Panama.

Still, it was satisfying to see Bremmer swallow the lie without a second’s thought. “A proper location, huh? You know.” He sat on the bench just a little too close for comfort. “I own three floors of a building near here.”

“Eh.” August put on a little moue. “We’re not interested in being subletters.”

“No, no! That’s not what I’m thinking at all!” Bremmer’s dark eyes had brightened with excitement. “Listen, it’s clear we got off on the wrong foot, so let me introduce myself properly. I’m Jaxon Bremmer, the founder of Rebel AI. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

August didn’t even have to force the wince. “Oh yes, ouch. Yes.”

Bremmer was far from daunted. “Every great corporation has its ups and downs, we’re just getting ours out of the way early on. Our fundamentals are completely solid. Tell me.” He leaned in a bit. “What do you think of the idea of a strategic partnership between our companies?”

August laughed. “I’d say that topic is far too big for a Saturday afternoon in a spa.”

“What would you say to learning more on Monday afternoon in my office?”

“That’s no good, I’m afraid,” August said with a little sigh. “I’m leaving early Monday morning.” He needed to get Bremmer out of his professional circumstances, get him someplace where the possibility of collateral damage diminished.

God, it would be so easy to smash his head on the floor right now and let everyone think he slipped. But no, it had to look like a hit, preferably a shooty one.

Meh.

“Sunday, then, so I can get my board of advisors gathered and⁠—”

“My Sunday is already completely booked with meetings,” August interjected. “It’s a shame to work on the weekend, of course, but it turns out there are plenty of lovely men in this city who are willing to accommodate me.” He paused. “I mean, CEOs. Lovely CEOs. Not all of them are men; good thing, too, otherwise my husband might start wondering about all the time I’m spending away from him, poor thing.”

“Poor thing,” Bremmer echoed, his thoughts clearly going a thousand miles an hour.

“He’s the one who insisted I try out the spa here,” August went on, digging the decision knife in a little deeper. “Seeing as how it might become one of our company assets before long, it would be silly to purchase it if it didn’t meet expectations.”

“Right, of course.”

“And the restaurant here has a chef from Lyon. I adore French cuisine.”

Bremmer held up a hand. “You’re a busy guy, that’s clear. But I think we could really be onto something, the two of us.” He was practically salivating at the thought of reeling in August’s imaginary influence. “My building has a restaurant with two Michelin stars; they can make anything you want there. French, Italian, Japanese, whatever. What do you say to dinner there with me tonight? Give me a chance to make my case before you go somewhere else.”

He lowered his voice, probably in an effort to sound serious—possibly even menacing. So quaint. “As long as you’re bringing real money to the table, that is. I’m not interested in investors with less than a billion dollars, liquid, ready to go.”

“Just a billion?” August replied, blinking and tilting his head like a confused golden retriever. “I think you’ve misunderstood me, Mr. Bremmer.”

“Jaxon, please! And I⁠—”

“I’m not here to play, Mr. Bremmer. My sister has finally talked the board around to expanding our AI portfolio, but who knows how long that comity will last given the instability in the market? The money I’m talking about needs to be spent yesterday, and a billion dollars is barely enough to make coming to the table worth my while.”

It was like watching an old-style cartoon, the kind where dollar signs appeared in someone’s eyes as a “cha-ching” sound went off. “I think we’re speaking the same language,” Bremmer said. “Come to dinner with me tonight. I’ll have a proposal for you that will knock your socks off.”

“Mm, tempting,” August said. “But I want to make something very clear, Jaxon.” It was his turn to lean in. “If I walk in to dinner with you and end up being ambushed by a bunch of your staff, I’m going to be very, very annoyed. Got it?”

If anyone’s going to set up an ambush tonight, it’s me.

“And I’d like a table with a view,” he added with a grin. “Everyone raves about the New York City skyline, but Chicago has its charms.”