for the fast-growing, multibillion-dollar beer production industry. In the past few years it had expanded to become the largest gathering of its type in the world. The powers that be had even changed the name of the event to reflect its importance. It was now called the International Brewery Convention, but Connor and his brothers still called it the festival because more than anything else, people showed up to have a good time.
It was a point of pride that the festival was held annually in their hometown at the Point Cairn Convention Center next to the picturesque marina and harbor. It was one of the biggest draws of the year, and the MacLaren men had done their best to ensure that it continued to be a not-to-be-missed event on the calendars of beer makers and breweries around the world.
But that still didn’t mean Connor would dress up for it. What part of “good time” did his brothers not understand? The words did not equate with “suit and tie” in anybody’s dictionary.
Jake gazed at him with a look of infinite patience. As the oldest of the three, he had perfected the look. “Wellstone’s scheduled a dinner meeting with all of us and his entire family. And the old man likes his people to dress for dinner.”
“Oh, come on,” Connor said, nudging his chair back from the desk. “We’re buying out their company. They’re dying to get their hands on our money so the old man can retire to his walnut farm and enjoy his last days in peace and quiet, surrounded by nuts. Why would he care one way or another how we dress for dinner?”
“Because he just does,” Jake explained helpfully. “His son, Paul, warned us that if Jonas doesn’t get a warm and cozy, old-fashioned family feeling from the three of us at dinner, there’s a good chance he could back out of the deal.”
“That’s a dumb way to do business.”
“I agree,” Jake said. “But if it means snagging this deal, I’ll wear a freaking pink tuxedo.”
Connor frowned. “Do you honestly think Jonas would back out of the deal over something so minor?”
Ian leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It happened to Terry Schmidt.”
“Schmidt tried to buy Wellstone?” Connor peered at Jake. “Why didn’t we know that?”
“Because Wellstone insists on complete confidentiality among his people,” Jake said.
“I can appreciate that.”
“And Paul wants it to stay that way,” Jake continued, “so keep that news under your hat. He only brought up the Schmidt situation because he doesn’t want another deal to fail. He wants our offer to go through, but it all depends on us putting on a good show for Jonas. Apparently the old man’s a stickler.”
Ian added, “Terry blew the deal by wearing khakis and a sweater to dinner with the old man.”
“Khakis?” Shocked, Connor fell back in his chair. “Why, that sociopath. No wonder they kicked him to the curb.”
Ian snickered, but just as quickly turned sober. “Jonas Wellstone is definitely old school. He’s very conservative and very anxious that the people who take over his company have the same family values that he has always stood for.”
“He should’ve gone into the milk shake business,” Connor muttered.
“Yeah, maybe,” Jake said. “But look, he’s not about to change, so let’s play the game his way and get the old man firmly on our side. I want this deal to go through.”
Connor’s eyes narrowed in reflection. “Believe me, I want that, too.” Wellstone Corporation was a perfect fit for MacLaren, he mused. Jonas Wellstone had started his brewery fifty years ago, decades before the MacLarens came along. He had been at the front of the line when lucrative markets in Asia and Micronesia first began to open up. Yes, the MacLarens had done incredibly well for themselves, but they had to admit they were still playing catch-up to the older, more established companies. Last year, the brothers had set a goal of acquiring a strong foothold in those emerging territories. And here they were, less than a year later, being presented with the opportunity to purchase Wellstone.
So if all it took to attain their objective were some spiffy new clothes, the decision was an easy one. Connor would go shopping this afternoon.
“Okay, you guys win.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll buy a damn suit.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jake said, adjusting the cuffs on his tailor-made shirt. “I don’t trust your taste.”
The hand gesture Connor flipped his brother was crude but to the point. “This is the reason I hate coming into the big city. I get nothing but grief from you two wheeler-dealers.”
Ian stood to leave. “Spare us the country bumpkin act. You’re more of a cutthroat than we are.”
Connor laughed and stretched his legs out. “My rustic charm conceals my rapier-sharp business skills.”
Ian snorted. “Good one.”
Jake ignored them both as he checked his wristwatch. “I’ll have Lucinda clear my schedule for this afternoon.”
“Fine,” Connor said. “Let’s get this over with.”
Jake nodded. “I’ll swing by here around three and we’ll head over to Union Square. We’ve only got a week to buy you a suit and get it tailored. You’ll need shoes, too. And a couple of dress shirts.”
“Cuff links, too,” Ian added. “And a new belt. And a haircut. You look like one of Angus Campbell’s goats.”
“Get outta here,” Connor said, fed up with the whole conversation. But as his brothers headed for the door, Connor suddenly remembered something. “Wait. What was that you said about needing a woman?”
Ian turned back around but didn’t make eye contact. “You need to bring a date to dinner. Jonas likes to see his partners in happy relationships.”
“And you didn’t tell him that’s a deal breaker?”
Ian scowled and walked out as Jake and Connor exchanged glances.
“Just find a date,” Jake said finally. “And don’t piss her off.”
Definitely a deal breaker, Connor thought.
* * *
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.
There should’ve been a sign announcing that sentiment, Maggie Jameson thought as she stared at the massive double doors that led to the offices of MacLaren International Corporation. But Maggie wasn’t about to give up hope. She was on a mission, so rather than whimper and crawl away, she summoned every last bit of courage she could muster and pushed through the doors to announce herself to the pleasant, well-dressed receptionist named Susan at the front desk.
“He’s expecting you, Ms. James,” Susan said with a genuine smile. “Please follow me.”
James? You had to give them a fake name to even get near him, the voice inside her head said, jeering. Walk away before they toss you out on your ear.
“Shush,”
