“You are,” JP says. “The way you live your life is completely acceptable. The house, the car . . . the watch, all earned and rightfully so, but if you want to connect with Dave Toney, then you’re going to have to get on a different level. And that doesn’t mean dressing down, because he’ll see right through that. He already knows you’re a flashy guy. But he needs to see you in a different light.”

“Ooo, I like that,” Breaker says. “A different light. That’s what he needs.” He taps his chin. “But what would that light be?”

Irritated, I get up from my chair and grab my suit jacket from where I tossed it. “While you two morons think about it, I’m going to grab lunch.”

“If only Toney could see this moment, where Huxley Cane doesn’t ask his assistant to grab him lunch but, like a mere peasant, walks the streets of Los Angeles to fetch his own food,” JP says.

I slip on my jacket, despite the heat outside. Ignoring them, I cross toward my door.

“Could you grab us something?” Breaker calls out.

Sighing, I call back, “Text me what you want from the deli.”

“Pickles. All the goddamn pickles,” JP yells as I make my way down the office hallway to the elevator. Luckily, the doors slide open for me, so I step in, press the lobby button, and lean against the wall, hands stuffed in my pants pockets.

Get on a different level. I don’t even know what that means. And I know I’m a businessman who’s made deals with people I’ve gotten along with, but I’ve also made deals with people I absolutely despise. The difference between me and Dave Toney—I don’t give a fuck who takes my money or who I sell to. Business is business, and if it’s a good deal, I’m going to take it.

I offered Dave a fucking good-as-shit deal today, better than what he deserves, if I’m honest. And instead of shaking my hand and accepting it, he sat back in his office chair, scratched the side of his cheek, and said, “I don’t know. I’m going to have to sit on this.”

Sit on it.

Sit on my goddamn deal.

No one sits on my deals; they take them and thank Jesus Christ Himself for doing business with Cane Enterprises.

I push through the elevator doors when they part, weave my way through the busy lobby, and then head out of the office building toward the hole-in-the-wall deli that’s just down the road. Two blocks. I don’t usually send my assistant, Karla, to grab me food, because it makes me feel like an asshole—despite what people might think of me—and I also enjoy the second to get out and breathe some fresh air. Well, it’s LA, so fresh air is an overstatement. But it gives me a second to reset before I get back behind my desk, where I control our billion-dollar operation with my keyboard.

My phone beeps in my pocket and I don’t bother looking at it because I know it’s JP and Breaker’s orders. I don’t even know why I told them to text me, because they get the same thing every time. Same as me. Philly cheesesteak with extra mushrooms. And, of course, pickles. It’s our go-to sandwich. Something that we don’t eat often, but when we do head to the deli, it’s our usual.

The sidewalk is more crowded than normal. Summer has hit Los Angeles, meaning tourists are sweeping in, celebrity bus tours will be at their max, and driving on the 101 is going to be a hellish nightmare. Lucky for me, I only live thirty minutes from the office.

As I approach the deli, a familiar black SUV pulls up in front of it. When the door opens, I catch sight of Dave Toney—speak of the devil—stepping out of the vehicle. What are the odds?

Whatever they are, they look like they’re in my favor. Nothing like a good follow-up to try to secure the deal. Maybe JP was right, Dave Toney might change his mind when he sees me picking up lunch. That’s definitely on a different level.

I button my suit jacket and pick up my pace. Never miss an opportunity in business. Never. As I grow closer, I’m dangerously caught off guard when I see a feminine hand pop out of the vehicle behind Dave. I slow down and zero in on the hand . . . the small hand with a VERY big engagement ring on it.

Holy shit, Dave is engaged?

I’m assuming he is, since he’s holding the woman’s hand.

But engaged . . . hell, how did I miss that?

Usually I’m aware of such—

My thoughts pause and I blink a few times as the fiancée turns, giving me a profile view.

Holy . . . fuck.

Looks like the engagement isn’t the biggest surprise of the day.

Thanks to her tight-fitting dress and slender frame, there’s no doubt in my mind that Dave Toney’s fiancée is pregnant.

Dave Toney, engaged with a baby on the way. How . . . when?

He waves to the driver, shuts the door, and then glances behind him, just enough for us to make eye contact. His eyebrows lift in surprise and then he turns all the way around and waves to me. “Cane, didn’t expect to see you on the streets.”

Yeah, neither of us expected to see each other, but I’m not going to let the shock of this new development rattle me.

Showtime.

I plaster on a smile.

“Just enjoying the sultry California sun while on my way to get lunch for me and my brothers.” I walk up to him and extend my hand. He gives it a brief shake. “This deli is our favorite.”

“Is that right?” Dave asks in surprise. “It’s Ellie’s too. I’ve never been, but she was telling me they have the best pickles.”

“My brothers are a sucker for the pickles as well.” I hold my hand out to his fiancée. “You must be Ellie.”

“Shit, that’s rude of me,” Dave says with an awkward laugh. “Yes, this is Ellie. Ellie, this is Huxley Cane.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ellie says in a very sweet southern voice. One that I’ve heard before.

I shake her hand and then let go, only to say, “Let me guess, you’re from Georgia?”

Her smile brightens. “I am. You could tell?”

Yup, this bodes well for me.

“My grandma is a self-proclaimed Georgia Peach. I spent many brutal, humidity-filled summers out on her screened-in porch, rocking on chairs with her as she filled me in on the latest town gossip.”

“Really? Whereabout?”

“Peachtree City.”

Her eyes widen in delight. She presses her hand to her chest. “I grew up in Fayetteville, just east of Peachtree. Wow, what a small world.”

Yes. Yes, indeed. Especially since my grandma actually resides in San Diego, and I’ve never been to Georgia, actually, but they don’t need to know that. They also don’t need to know I recognize her accent because I dated a girl in college from Peachtree City. All semantics.

Delighted with the small connection I’m making in Dave’s world, I turn toward him, only to be met by a very territorial-looking man. Uh-oh. Jaw clenched, brows narrowed, his eyes find no humor in our small . . . very small world.

Dude is practically marking his territory with that angry snarl. I wouldn’t be surprised if he started circling Ellie and peeing all around her.

Given what he knows about me, flashy, a flirt, Mr. Page Six—not recently, thank God—he must think I’m a threat. Which, I’m not. I mean, yeah, Ellie is a petite bundle of blonde. Pretty, with blue eyes, but she’s also pregnant—total nightmare—and she’s engaged, therefore, completely off the market.

But given what my brothers said, Dave probably doesn’t see it that way when it comes to me.

Which means, I need to salvage this and fast.

But how . . .

How can I possibly make it—

*Light bulb*

Did you see that brilliant flash of light? Yeah, an idea has emerged. It might not be smart. It’s definitely not the most intelligent thing I’ve ever thought of, but Dave seems to be growing more and more tense by the second, so . . .

Here goes nothing.

Please don’t come back to bite me in the ass—famous last words.

“Fayetteville, huh?” I wet my lips. Here goes. “Wow, crazy. I think my fiancée’s parents are from Palmetto. Isn’t that just north?”