Chance leaned further back in the wing chair across from him. “What exactly were you thinking about during the meeting?”
“Shit.” He walked to his private office bathroom and deposited the bag from the street in the trashcan, letting the lid slam with a clang. “Shit, literally.” He avoided looking at his reflection as he washed his hands. “Specifically, the bag of shit residing in my suit pocket the entire meeting.” His brother hadn’t moved when he reentered the office. Chance was the most patient person he had ever known. He had a gift for remaining still and at ease even in the worst situations, possibly the result of all of his martial arts training. “I was so focused on keeping the damned dog under control on the way up here, I forgot about it being in my pocket until we started the meeting, then the timing was never right to interrupt.” He paced the wall of windows, too agitated to sit down. “Once I remembered, all I could think about was the bag in my pocket. Could they smell it? Was it going to break and ruin my suit? How could I get rid of it without stopping the meeting and offending Mr. Kawashima?”
The edges of Chance’s mouth curled, threatening to break into a smile.
“If you laugh, I’m going to kick your ass.”
This time, Chance did smile. “I’d like to see you try.”
“So would I.” Will, Michael’s middle brother, who ran security for Anderson Enterprises, entered the office wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt. He shook Chance’s hand and dropped into the chair next to him. “What’s up?”
“Big brother blew an interview,” Chance supplied.
His back still to his brothers, Michael balled and unballed his fists. “It wasn’t an interview, and I didn’t blow it.”
Will grinned. “Whoa. Mighty Mikey fucked something up?”
“I did not fuck it up.”
“It’s about time!” Will high-fived Chance.
Stay calm. Keep control. Michael turned to face his laughing brothers. “The dog fucked it up.”
Will’s eyebrows shot up. “What dog?”
“The one whose turds he’s been carrying around in his pocket as a souvenir all morning.” Chance snickered and Michael fought the urge to charge him.
God, what was wrong with him? He never lost his cool like this. It had to be because he’d just potentially blown a deal. He took a deep breath. This could be fixed. He just needed to do his research and be prepared before his next meeting with Mr. Kawashima. Shaking up his routine was one thing, but being unprepared was another.
“Where’s the dog now?” Will asked. “Man, I love dogs.”
“I don’t,” Michael grumbled.
Will’s demeanor changed entirely. “What do you love?” When he didn’t answer, his brother pushed harder. “I mean, really. What makes you happy, outside these walls? You never seem happy. In all the time I’ve known you growing up, and now, you seem satisfied and driven, but never really happy.”
Which was why he’d agreed to Dr. Whittelsey’s absurd dog therapy, but he had no desire to discuss that with his brothers. Deflect it with a question. “What makes you happy, Will?”
There wasn’t even a slight hesitation. “Claire.”
Will had fallen head over heels for a temp employee, and though Michael was happy for his brother, he knew good and well that a woman wasn’t the answer to his own joy. Deals like the one with Mr. Kawashima and the success of his businesses, especially Anderson Auctions, had been his source of happiness. He had no room in his life for anything other than work. No pets and certainly no long-term relationship with a woman—he knew from watching his dad that running this business and successfully maintaining a monogamous relationship was impossible. Regular one or two time dates had always worked just fine…well, until recently. The last few weeks, the house sitter from hell had driven off his company.
“I just need some sleep,” he said, straightening a pen on his desk so that it sat parallel to the blotter. “My new neighbor is a nightmare and blasts music at night.” Usually when he had a date over. In fact, always when he had a date over. His mind ran though his encounter with Mia and he hardened at the thought of her sliding down his body when he rescued her from the hostile desk chair.
“Maybe you need a woman,” Will suggested.
“He has plenty of women,” Chance said. “Don’t you read the papers? He’s a regular revolving door.”
“Fuck you,” Michael grumbled.
“Me, too?” Chance grinned and Michael’s anger dissipated. He loved his brothers’ senses of humor. He was just really rattled by not landing the Kawashima deal.
“I’m glad you and Claire hit it off, Will, but for me, a woman isn’t the answer. Believe me. There are only three kinds of women in my life: Type A: Those who want me for my money. Type B: Those who want me for sex. Type C: Those who want nothing to do with me at all.”