The Better Man (Chicago Sisters) Read Free Page B

here to prove something and he wasn’t going to blow it. He was not going to be like his deadbeat father. Not if he could help it.
    * * *
    M R . S ATO ’ S OFFICE was in the heart of the West Loop. Max knew they were close when they passed the Willis Tower. He threw in a couple of extra dollars of tip for the speedy service and jumped out of the cab.
    With no excuse but the truth, he marched into the building and headed for the elevators. Hopefully he hadn’t missed the entire presentation. Perhaps they’d waited for him. The designers were sure to be less than pleased with him if that was the case. That accident excuse felt less wrong for a minute until the elevator reached the correct floor.
    The dark gray marble beneath his feet matched the color of the imaginary cloud above Max’s head. He approached the receptionist seated behind a curved glass block desk, buttoning his jacket closed before smoothing down the lapels. He smiled, hoping the friendlier he was, the friendlier others would be in return. “Good morning. Max Jordan. I’m here for Mr. Sato’s meeting with the interior designers.”
    The woman pushed her red glasses up her nose and tucked her jet black hair behind her ear. Everything about her was severe, from her hair color to the angle of her chin. “Mr. Sato’s nine-thirty meeting?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.
    “That’s the one. Better late than never, right?”
    The woman’s lips didn’t even twitch. “Let me see if it’s still happening,” she said, her tone as judgmental as the look she gave him. She picked up her phone and dialed. “I think the designer left,” she told Max.
    That figured. Max bounced on the balls of his feet and patted his pockets for the cigarettes that weren’t there because he’d quit. He needed to figure out a way to make it up to Mr. Sato. Work harder. Do more promotion. Put in more hours when the place opened.
    “Through those doors and to your right. The conference room is at the end of the hall.” The receptionist glanced over her shoulder at the glass double doors.
    “Thank you,” Max said, trying to still appear professional while nearly sprinting to his meeting.
    He ran a hand through his hair and rolled his neck around before pushing open the conference door. Mr. Sato’s eyes were the only part of him that moved when Max entered the room. His son, Jin, wore a look of disapproval that spoke louder than any words could. A third man stared like he was seeing a ghost. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head.
    “Mr. Jordan, how nice of you to join us,” Jin said, without an ounce of sincerity in his tone.
    The designer approached him cautiously and held out his hand. “Owen Sung, the O in KO Designs.”
    Max shook it firmly and apologized for being late.
    Max turned to Mr. Sato. “I wish I had a better excuse than sleeping through my alarm. I will not let it happen again. I assure you, sir.”
    Mr. Sato’s head bowed ever so slightly in acknowledgment.
    “Shall I go over our design for Mr. Jordan?” Owen asked, handing Max a folder filled with the breakdown of the design elements and cost.
    Mr. Sato whispered to Jin, who relayed the man’s wishes. “Just a brief overview. Time is of the essence.”
    Max felt the sting but took a seat. Owen quickly outlined his firm’s vision for the restaurant and Max listened with rapt attention. It was a beautiful, contemporary design. There was a hipness that would attract the younger crowd but a sophistication that would lure the more established money in the city.
    “Where in the world are you going to find an artist to paint a mural of this size for nothing?” Max asked as he reviewed the price points, hoping to win back Mr. Sato’s approval by finding a hidden cost.
    Owen immediately squashed that dream. “My partner will be painting the mural, so her services are already paid for.”
    Mr. Sato whispered a few questions to Jin while Max asked about project management. Owen stated both he and his