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Chapter One
Aden
I wasn’t going back to sleep even if it was dark outside. If nothing else, my posture made it impossible. Back straight up in the lotus position—also known as “criss-cross apple sauce”— and calming music playing on my earbuds, I struggled to find my center and prepare my brain for the busy day. My breath was slow and measured, managing the blood flow, getting the best result. It was earlier than I was used to, but the meeting at the office was mandatory, and punctuality was something drilled into me during my time in the army.
Sure Thing Graphics wasn’t a big place. In fact, I could count the number of employees on one hand. But regardless of our size, our location in Las Vegas and our specialty of creating flashy graphics for casinos had brought in the money. Enough for the owner to retire early and buy a boat he intended to use to sail the world. I couldn’t really complain, my position as a premier digital artist had left me with a fat bank account and a job I loved to do.
Done with my morning routine, I got dressed and headed down to the car, squinting at the rising desert sun. Heading into work this early was not my cup of tea, but I had to do what was required of me. According to Beau, who just sold the place, the meeting was with the new owner, and it would be a good change for all of us. I had no reason to doubt him, Beau had always been like a father to my friends and me, but I had a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. My coworkers and I had been planning to buy the advertising firm ourselves. I was sure Lucky, Cooper, and Chris felt the same way. Pushing past it, I started up my new Beamer and did my best to approach the day with a sense of cautious optimism.
Up until that point, the office had maintained a fairly liberal dress-code basically requiring that one be wearing them. It was considerate, considering that suits were miserable in the hot Las Vegas weather. The leniency was something of which I took full advantage, tending towards jeans and some pretty interesting tee shirts, which only seemed fitting for a graphic design business.
It might have been a bad look for going in to meet the new boss, but I strolled through the air-conditioned corridors of the office that had employed me for the past two years in dark denim jeans and a “Question Sleep” T-shirt. It was a reference to one of my favorite cartoons and a possibly misguided attempt to show my dedication to our freshly minted overlord.
“Question sleep,” Cooper Jones said as I lowered my frame into the seat next to him at the glass conference room table.
Coop had been my best friend since high school when we bonded over a shared love of art and heavy metal music. That friendship had gotten me through my time in the army, and when I got out, Coop had petitioned Beau to give me a chance here. At the time, I was struggling with finding myself, and a desk at Sure Thing was my anchor in the storm.
“Freakin’ a,” I responded as we fist-bumped in a show our manly solidarity.
“Hey, guys.”
We both looked up to see our almighty art director Chris Stewart taking his place across from us.
“Hi, Chris!” Cooper and I replied in unison.
“Nice shirt,” Chris said with a nod in my direction.
“Thanks,” I crooned again.
To be fair, Chris’s black, silk button up with white pearl buttons was also quite nice, if you like that sort of thing. It looked too “professional” for me.
“My brother gave me this last week, you want?” Chris said, proffering a CD case in my general direction.
The “this” in question was an autographed, pre-release of the long-awaited fourth album by Universal Chaos, the famous metal band Chris’s brother Steve was one of the vocalists for. The exact number of singers tended to change, but it was never less than two. At that moment in time, Steve was one of three, brought in after their second album when they wanted to make the sound even bigger and more flamboyant.
“Yes, please!” I said, swiping it from his grasp so fast even I barely saw my hand move.
“Glad you like it,” Chris said with a genuine grin.
That was the thing about Chris. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in a bad mood. Which is doubly impressive, considering he didn’t really fit in anywhere, not even into his own family. He loved them to bits, and they seemed to feel the same, but he was kind of the default black sheep. Everyone else was involved in music in some way, including his mom and dad, who were an opera singer and a composer, respectively. Even his baby sister was a professional cellist. Poor Chris, on the other hand, was utterly tone-deaf. He had excellent managerial skills, though, and Beau had hired him right out of college.
The three of us anxiously stared around the room, waiting for the fourth member of our little group. Jinx was late. Jinx was always late, that wasn’t the problem, the problem was the question of why Jinx was late this time. Carl “Jinx” Willcox was the copywriter of our little firm. He had a way with words that no one else did. Unfortunately, he also had a way with money and booze, harmful ways. The son of a casino owner, Jinx was a gamboling addict from a young age—a problem he often dealt with by drinking excessively. Beau had given him too much rope, often forgiving his late morning and dark glasses, but I worried that the new guy wouldn’t be so lenient.
As the second hand on the wall clock ticked away, I started to reach for my phone, determined to rouse Jinx from whatever stupor he was in. Coop grabbed my hand, holding me off as the door opened, and Jinx walked in with coffees for us all. He was bright-eyed and dressed in a decent matter.
The three of us at the table took a deep breath.
When the four of us were all present and accounted for, Ryan White, our new lord and master, arose from his chair to introduce himself. I would have felt a bit better if I wasn’t four years older than the 29-year-old punk, who gave off a stern professional vibe. That was leaving aside the fact that he seemed to be trying too hard. As given away but his over-priced three-piece suit and obviously salon styled hair. Both of which put me in mind of Patrick Bateman and not in a good way.
“I know what your thinking,” White said, putting his hands on the glass table and leaning forward dramatically. He just so happened to look at me, “who is this punk in the fancy suit with the boring name coming into our turf. Believe me, I understand. I seem to strike a lot of people as a cowboy with more money than sense.”
I was about to speak up in my own defense, but he wasn’t talking just to me. Besides, there really wasn’t anything I could say. There was a good chance that I had misjudged the kid, and I knew it.
“The fact is, I love art. I’ve never been very good at it, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. Just ask my wife. I figured if I couldn’t create art, I could help those who can. Graphic design seemed the perfect combination of art and business. And don’t worry, I’m not planning to be some kind of micromanager. I’ll just be here for a couple months while things change, and at that point, I’ll appoint a manager from one of you four. Then it is back to Austin, and I’ll leave you to it.”
I sat back a bit, thinking of his speech. While being the manger could be cool, I wasn’t sure I would want that kind of responsibility. It would take away too much from the creative side, which is what I got into this for. Not that I assumed that the manager would be me. I didn’t have nearly that big of an ego. Though it seemed likely I would be considered, and even that was too much of a risk.
I was just about to say this, though in fewer words, when White stood up tall and spoke again. “I have also hired a couple of new people for admin duties.”
Two women in their late twenties entered the conference room to stand by White’s sides. I nearly cursed out loud. Next to our new boss, dressed in her business best and showing off her delicious curves, was Camilla Jones. Cooper’s little sister and a long-time unrequited love.
We were only four years apart in age, Camilla and I, but Cooper could be super protective of her. And not for nothing. He was stuck in the father role when their dad walked out. Coop was ten, and Camilla was six. But, being fatherless changed their whole lives.
Plus, I did have a bit of a reputation as a man-whore in my younger days. Something Cooper had never forgotten and continuously teased me about, despite the fact I had long ago reformed. My years in the military kicked it out of me pretty fast.
I had tried to avoid Camilla, despite how much that hurt. Cooper’s disappointment seemed like it would be much worse. And I didn’t want to unleash his legendary temper. All the times we came to blows in the past, there was never a clear winner.
Now that Camilla and I were in the same, relatively small office, we were going to be a lot closer. Physically, if not emotionally, and it was going to be hard for me to keep my interest, and my hands, to myself.
I closed my eyes and tried to get into a better headspace. Camilla and I as an item was just not possible, no matter how good she looked in that dress.
