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Pete
Holy fucking Christ.
Of course that’s Darian Strong over there, sitting with his arms draped over two blondie bimbos.
Only Darian would bring two of his party girls to a business negotiation.
“Peter Silver,” Darian says, as he turns around and gets out of his char. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question, asshole,” I snarl.
I can’t help it.
This guy is a joke. He’s always been a joke. Anything and everything about him screams amateur.
“Why I’m here is none of your fucking business,” Darian snarls back.
“Actually, it is,” Max Kleeberger says. “You see Mr. Strong like I said I invited Mr. Silver here because I think that it's important you realize that yours is not the only offer I’m entertaining.”
“Are you seriously considering doing business with this joker?” I ask Max, incredulous. “That’s why you invited me here tonight? To use me as leverage against this clown?”
Max Kleeberger is also a character. You heard of being easy on the eyes?
This guy is positively fucking hard on the eyes. The kind that makes you go blind.
But this is Manhattan. Where having money makes you hot.
If that’s actually the case, then I am motherfucking smoking. But I don’t need a fat bank account to know I have game. The women that pass through my life can tell you that.
It’s just that I’ve never had time for a woman in my life.
Not the kind that I’d have to be paying attention to. That I’d have to compromise for. Buy gifts for and remember birthdays for.
A woman that I’d fall in love with or share my life with would have to make spending time with her worth more to me than building up my business.
And no one, man or woman, has ever been able to do that for me. Sure, I’ve fucked a bunch of women. But it wasn’t anything more than a fling. Maybe they wanted more. Who knows. I made it clear to them from the beginning that I couldn’t be that guy. I couldn’t offer them that.
Unlike Darian Strong here who offers the women everything and maybe even delivers but then shows them with his insane lifestyle that it's not all that it's cracked up to be.
“If you go into business with Peter Silver, you’re looking for one of the most boring deals in your life,” Darian says sitting back down. “He’s got no imagination. He’s got no excitement.”
“I guess blowing tons of money on stupid accessories in your buildings is imagination?” I ask back.
“Listen, the tenants fucking love it, Peter. What do you even do? Build warehouses?”
It’s true.
I worked hard after college to build up my bread and butter real estate portfolio doing deals that weren’t sexy. They weren’t flashy. Like warehouses in Queens and apartment blocks in Brooklyn. I did parking lots in New Jersey when Darian was putting the touches on his hotel on Fifth Avenue.
But you know what? I built myself a stable source of monthly income that let me leverage that into billions of dollars worth of properties.
“You can put lipstick on shit, Darian,” I say. “But its still shiny fucking shit.”
“You’re shiny shit, asshole!” Darian snarls again.
“Gentlemen, please,” Max interjects. “I brought you here because its in my best interests to. Each of you knows what you would do with my plot of land. Darian Strong would probably build high end condos and hotels. Peter Silver would probably have office towers. I would like to involved in either.”
I turn to look at Max.
