Connor glanced at the two men, who were closer to him than any two people on the planet. “What made you think I would ever dress up for the Autumn Brew Festival? I’d be laughed off the convention floor.”
True, the festival had become a very important venue 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.”