16. Brandt #3
That’s fair. Celebrity endorsements are great, to a point. They can be a real gamble depending on the person and their actions. Milo and I have always known that we lucked out having the personal connection to Dustin so that we didn’t have to worry about vetting a potential bad egg.
“She’s not wrong,” I say.
Rylan holds up his hands in mini mock surrender. “I totally get where she’s coming from. But I also see why Mikayla wants to do this. And our lack of history is hurting us against some of our competing brands.”
Also fair.
“And having your name with ours on a pretty little graphic over Dustin’s name is gonna give you the clout you need?”
“My sister seems to think so.”
I’m not sure I agree, but what do I know. That’s not my area of expertise—by a long shot. We have Rose Adams who handles that for us. Although, we also personally know the guy we’re sponsoring, making it a whole different game.
For a second, I consider asking him what bar it is.
Again, not that I know anything about the bars in Nashville, but chances are Rose does.
Southern Brothers is served in every honky-tonk along Broadway.
And if Rose somehow doesn’t know the management group, then Dustin certainly knows whatever country singer whose name will be splashed across it.
Then it occurs to me that such an offer would be what Rylan is after. Buttering me up and getting me to offer up my own resources to help. Get Dustin to pull a string or two.
“But don’t tell her I told you this.” Rylan lets out a wry chuckle, face going a little pale. “She would kick my ass from here into the middle of next week if she knew I was letting you in on our business.”
Or maybe not…
“She’s a little…high-strung, huh?”
“If I’m the problem-solver of the family, she’s the perfectionist. A demanding one. Which makes her great at her job, just…tougher to swallow at times.”
I can tell he’s being careful about how he talks about her—his own frustration mixed in with the love of a sibling.
I understand that wholeheartedly. There have been plenty of times I’ve been at the end of my rope with Brenna or Bryce, but that’s never changed the fact that they’re my sisters and I love them.
“Maybe you need to find her a hobby.”
“My younger sisters and I joke that we need to get her laid.”
I nearly choke on my beer. I’ve heard Lindee make the joke, but it hits different with Rylan saying it. Seriously, I wish this guy wasn’t a Murray. We could have a lot of fun together.
“Oh, here’s Declan. He’s not a beer guy, but…”
Rylan’s words fade into the background. I know I should be focusing on whatever he’s saying, but I can’t focus on him.
Or the tall, dark-haired guy in a suit so well-fitting he looks like he belongs on a billboard.
Nope, all my attention is on the very angry brunette with a specific set of hazel eyes who powers around him, charging toward us.
Uh-oh…
“Mr. Rawlins.” Her voice cuts through the bar like a hot knife in warm butter, if such a thing made your blood curdle. “To what do we owe the honor? I sure hope that you’re not trying to broker a side deal with my brother here.”
Quite the opposite.
“Mickey…” Calvin Klein’s long-lost model says.
“Don’t call me that,” Mikayla hisses, her demand clearly directed at the man behind her, despite her eyes never leaving me.
“Having a beer,” I answer with a shrug. As if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Right.” She presses her lips into a line so sharp it could cut glass, her gaze intensifying. “I’m not sure you’ve been properly informed, but the General Post is an establishment for locals. Tourists have their choice of bar or restaurant over on High Street.”
“So, you’re saying I’m not welcome?” I ask, resisting the urge to really poke the bear.
“Not here. If you’ve returned to further discuss my offer, please schedule a time via my team.”
“Mikayla, we’re just—”
She holds up a hand to her brother, like she’s stopping traffic rather than words. “I will discuss this with you later. Right now, nothing else needs to be said in the presence of Mr. Rawlins.”
Right. And that’s my cue.
I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome. And this…this is it. Besides, there’s a pretty blonde distiller waiting on me in her lab. That’s a lot more fun than this.
Sliding off my stool, I reach for my wallet and throw some cash down on the bar. It’s more than enough to cover Rylan’s and my drinks, plus a tip.
“Brandt…” Rylan starts, but I stop him.
“No, I should go. Let y’all do your thing.”
“She followed me. I didn’t mean to bring her,” tall, dark, and male modelesque says.
I swallow my laugh, not daring to let it out. That would not end well.
“Rylan.” I nod my goodbye, then turn to his sister. “Miss Murray.”
“Mr. Rawlins.”
Wasting no time, I walk toward the exit, giving one more glance to the two old coots in the corner. I want to know their story so bad I can taste it. I want to know more about the tally marks on the wall too. There’s a lot that I want, come to think of it.
Nothing more than Lindee though.