“I wasn’t. Met him at a party in NYC. We screwed around a few times.” Arik chuckled at his choice of words as his glass touched his lips. He and Steffan had done way more than just screw around. Sex had been an acrobatic show. The guy was limber as hell, had no inhibitions, and his buddies were always up for a good time.
“And you brought him here?” Gage’s voice lifted in question.
“No! Absolutely not. He surprised me.”
Gage shook his head, swirling the ice inside his glass. “That sucks.”
“You have no idea. Why didn’t you plan to get a place on the back forty with our families? They have to be nuts about you being a father. You finally conformed.” Arik grinned at his cousin, changing the subject off him. Hopefully Gage wouldn’t press him about his surprise visitor any further.
The old Gage would have bit at his dig about conforming. They’d both been a bit rebellious, but they had true Layne blood flowing through their veins. They had a deep-seated desire to make it in the world on their own. Only in the last couple of years had Arik made the decision to move his real-estate conglomerate under the Layne, Incorporated umbrella. He’d placed so many stipulations on the deal, he had no doubt his father’s and uncle’s heads swam, but in the end, they were stronger together, and in such a competitive world market, they each needed the strength the other offered.
“I know the family thinks Trent and the kids will adapt well to country life, but I’m not so sure. Besides, I signed an extended contract with Wilder today. I’ll be closer to the airport Wilder uses.”
Arik’s grin widened. So Gage had proved successful for Wilder. They had considered it a short-term experiment, attempting to put relevant news stories at the fingertips of the tech-savvy consumer. Arik had watched every one of the feature stories and breaking news reports Gage had recorded as a hard-hitting, international photojournalist. His cousin always dug deeper than just headline news. His reputation had scored him huge interviews, and he did what Gage did best, got his hands dirty exploring facts. He had also scored a solid hit in his desire to snap pictures of everything, from behind-the-scenes camera footage all the way to taking pictures during an interview. He’d really done quite well.
“I’m proud of you, little cousin.” Arik extended his drink to clink his glass with Gage’s.
“You know I hated that little cousin business my whole life up until right now. At our age, I’ll take it,” Gage said, taking a small drink.
“No kidding there.” Arik watched as Tristan Wilder came inside the darkened bar and sidled up next to Gage.
“I’ll take one of those,” Tristan said, pointing to the drink in Arik’s hand.
“Want another?” Arik asked Gage, who hadn’t done much more than nurse the one in front of him.
“How much longer on Trent?” Gage’s gaze cut to Tristan.
“He was in the meeting with me. It shouldn’t be too much longer. He and Landry had to coordinate schedules.” Tristan rested his elbow on the bar, waiting for his drink.
“Good. I’ve got some lighting issues in the studio he’s gotta take a look at before we leave,” Gage said, nodding toward Arik in answer to his question about the drink, so he got right to work mixing drinks.
“That’s right. You said that earlier. You’re opening a new location. I was reading about that on the flight here. They say you’re really helping the indie art world,” Tristan said.
“I think it’s more them helping me,” Gage responded, draining his glass before handing it over to Arik.
“Indie everything’s exploding. Buyers like that grassroots slash rebel feel in their art, in their reading material, in their music,” Tristan explained, reaching for his drink with a nod of thanks.
“It’s the way I always felt about my pictures. I deviated from the norm. Still do, even though I might have technically caved to the man by signing that contract with you today.”
“Wait, did you just call me ‘the man’?” Tristan asked incredulously.
Before that revelation could spark another change in conversation, Arik made sure they stayed on the topic most important to him. “So, where’s my art?”
Gage had been looking at Tristan, but turned patronizing eyes toward Arik. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s rude to ask for a gift?”
“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Post, whatever. Is it still scheduled for tomorrow?” Arik lifted his brows, waiting for his answer.
Gage shook his head and a crooked smile played across his lips. “All right already! I give up on trying to do something nice for you, because you’re just going to keep harping about the art. It’ll be here midday tomorrow. Sara, my curator, verified that for me. She’s having it hung. Trent’s supervising the lighting himself.”