Chapter 8
8
William
“The soft launch of a bar where you play board games?” My brother stares at me. “Where was my invitation to that fancy-ass gala you went to the other night?”
I laugh that off. “When’s the last time you put on a tux?”
He glances down at the dark blue T-shirt and jeans he’s wearing. Bauer has the struggling artist look down to a science, but he’s not struggling in any way, shape, or form. He hit it big last year when a famous photographer scooped up one of his clay sculptures. She scooped my brother up, too. They spent three hot and heavy weeks together, most of which were documented on her social media accounts.
An image of my brother on the balcony of her apartment with his back to her camera and his naked ass on full display will haunt me forever.
It proved to be a gold mine for Bauer, though. Every piece of art he had available at that point sold. That’s a feat considering the fact that Bauer has experimented in a handful of mediums, from clay to paint to what his focus is now. Charcoal drawings are his current obsession. They also happen to be his first love since that’s how he discovered how talented he is. A project in art class in high school required the use of charcoal. His natural gift was uncovered that day.
For a twenty-six-year-old, he’s doing well. The evidence of that is this apartment that we’re currently in. He purchased it six months ago. He hired a contractor to knock out a wall to create an ample studio space, yet there’s still plenty of room to call this place his home.
He shoves his hand through his already messy dark brown hair. The motion instantly draws my gaze to the full sleeve tattoo that covers his right arm. He designed every inch of the piece. “Why the fuck would I want to go to a game bar with you?”
“Turquoise Crown.”
That snaps his head in my direction. “That’s the game we played when we were kids. You cheated every fucking time, William. That’s bad enough, but to do that to your kid brother is a crime. I’m six years younger than you.”
I don’t need the reminder, but I take it in stride. “The name of the bar is Turquoise Crown.”
He rubs the growth of beard covering his jaw. “That sounds like a trademark lawsuit waiting to happen.”
That phrase is courtesy of our parents. They’re both lawyers, and even though they retired on the same day a year ago and took off on a whirlwind travel adventure that will see them land on every continent, they never fail to share unrequested legal advice with the three of us whenever they call to check-in.
“The owner of the bar owns the trademark to the game,” I point out.
He nods. “Why exactly are we going to this thing? Is it work-related?”
My siblings have a vague idea of what I do to earn a dollar, but I’ve never discussed it in detail with either. My business cards suggest I’m a personal advisor. I’m a lot more than that, but the title does the trick to keep most questions at bay.
“You need a haircut.” I glance toward an easel and a charcoal drawing of what looks like a mermaid. “I like that. How much?”
“It’s a commission piece.” He grins. “Besides, you only asked about it to avoid answering my question. Is this a work thing? Why are we going?”
The truth is I need a buffer when I go to the soft launch of Opal Waverly’s game bar. I’m feeling a spark of something for the woman that needs to be extinguished right the hell now since Percy Haines is paying me a lot of money to get her interested in him.
“It’s for work,” I confirm, but don’t elaborate. “Besides, there are free drinks and food.”
I almost laugh at the last word that just left my lips because if everything on the menu smells as bad as the green slime Opal spilled on me, I won’t be partaking in any of it.
“What night?” Bauer questions.
“Next Friday.”
He drops his hands to his hips. “I’m in, but you’ll owe me, William.”
I know it. I also know he’ll cash in at the least opportune time for me, but he’s my brother. I’ll do anything he asks of me, whether or not I’m indebted to him.
“Meet me at my place at eight next Friday night,” I say before taking one last glance at the mermaid drawing. “Make that into a clay sculpture, and I’ll pay five figures for it.”
He laughs. “It would be worth six, so go to hell.”