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“When this Monroe guy gets here, I don’t want you hovering in the background like a fuckin’ bodyguard.” Nick threw Samson a look that said he’d better get his shit together.
Samson dragged his gaze away from the view of the Strip and slumped into one of the leather chairs in the sitting area of Nick’s office.
“You know, you don’t always have to be a hard-ass.” Nick tapped a cigarette out of the pack on the coffee table and lit up. “If Alex Monroe is legit, it could make the difference between Wicked being a hit and a mega hit.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Samson stretched his arms over his head.
“You could sound a little more enthusiastic.” Nick blew out a long stream of smoke. “I mean, you do get the success of Wicked puts more money in your pocket, too, right?”
“I get it, but lately, I’ve been thinking back to the old days when shit was simpler, and we didn’t have so many people to answer to.”
In New York, he and Nick handled their shit just fine, but now Nick wanted to switch it all up, bring in strangers, and let others deal with the beat-downs. Change was hard for most people but nearly impossible for Samson.
Nick’s dark eyes narrowed. “Does your flash to the past have something to do with the reappearance of a woman you had no right being with ten years ago and have even less in common now?”
“See, and right there, you’re wrong. We have more in common now. Lisbeth’s got a good business and making money, and I got a good business and making money.”
“I like how you conveniently left out the part about her twisting you up into little pieces before you kicked her to the curb.” Nick curled his lips. “'Cause that’s a huge fuckin’ issue whether you wanna admit it or not.”
“That was then, and this is now.”
“You sound like one of those cheesy love songs.”
“Back in Brooklyn, all I had to do was touch her, and she was ready to go. I can still see her up there on that beat-to-shit stage. There wasn’t a guy in the place who wasn’t comin’ in their jeans.”
“You included, but that was a long-ass time ago.”
“Shit was a lot easier back then. Sleeping in till the afternoon, hanging out, jacking a few cars, pulling a few scams. Partying, getting smoked, and getting laid. We were free, then Frank put us in the Oasis, and it all changed.”
“You got a vivid imagination, or did you forget the part about scrounging for every buck we ever made? Eating outta dumpsters, living in shitholes, and our on-again-off-again accommodations at the Brooklyn South precinct. The Oasis turned that all around. I don’t know about you, but I like eating on the regular.”
Samson pulled a face. “Just sayin’. Now, there are so many moving parts. Back then, it was just you and me. Now, we got a shit load of people on the payroll, bills to pay, appointments to keep, like this bullshit meeting today.”
“Price of doing business.” Nick slapped his hand on Samson’s shoulder. “And today’s meeting isn’t bullshit. We hear the guy out and see what he has to say.”
Nick might be right, but where he enjoyed all this business shit, Samson could pass. Sure, he liked eating regular and their high-end condos in Manhattan and now in Vegas, but sometimes it made him feel too confined—not much different than an eight-by-eight-foot jail cell. It was the main reason Samson jumped on his Harley and threw his fists at the warehouse over on Valley View. There, he could be who he was, a street brawler who didn’t have to think about spreadsheets and profit margins.
A light rap on the door jogged Samson out of his thoughts. Two seconds later, Jax came into the office, followed by Alex Monroe.
“Gentlemen, we finally meet.” Monroe made his way across the plush carpet, wearing a fake smile. He was under six feet, slim, toned build, probably from rounds of golf or hours on his Peloton. Short, perfectly clipped hair, graying on the sides, a straight nose, and thin lips, Monroe had the angular features of someone who bragged about having ancestors on theMayflower. “And this is my son, Edward.”
Nick and Samson exchanged a glance at the presence of Monroe’s son. The four men did the traditional handshakes, and Monroe’s eyes lingered on Samson’s band t-shirt and ragged jeans.
Nick always advised him not to make snap judgments of people, but Samson was getting equal parts asshole mixed with bullshit.
“Sit.” Nick waved his hand over to the chairs around the coffee table.
“You’ve got a great club here,” Monroe stated. “Small enough to convey intimacy, but large enough to accommodate events and draw in the crowds needed to be profitable. I see big things happening here, for sure.”
“That’s what we’re here for.” Samson’s blunt declaration drew both sets of eyes in his direction.
Monroe’s fake-ass smile reappeared a second later, and Samson’s bullshit meter hit a new high.
“I hope you don’t mind. I brought my son along. He’s an integral part of our team, and I wanted him to attend this meeting.”
Nick shrugged. “Don’t matter to me.”
But Samson knew better. Nick hated any deviation from the original plan, which made Samson all the more suspicious.
