“I like the silver Patek Philippe,” Todd chimed in.
“The Cartier is the only way to go,” Kent assured Chase. “Just get that one.”
They were talking about spending the same amount for a watch as they would for a compact car. I kept quiet, because I was out of their league, money-wise.
As the men debated, and Brig and Chase leaned over the counter where their choices were spread out on a black velvet display cloth, I kept my eye on the doorway in case anyone tried to step inside.
“What kind of watch do you have, Croy?” Aiden asked me.
I moved back the cuff of my shirt so he could see the stainless-steel Apple iWatch on my left wrist, with the leather strap. Aidan’s groan was loud and pained.
“What?”
“Really?”
“My watch will tell you the circumference of Neptune,” I boasted to him. “What can yours do other than tell time?”
“It’s an investment, you peasant.”
I grunted.
Apparently, I had no idea about real luxury, based on their comments, but I pointed out that my watch had just informed me I’d walked off the Eggs Benedict I’d eaten several hours before. It was the Hermès edition, with the black Double Tour band, and I loved it the moment I put it on.
Brig chuckled, patting my back. “There’s something to be said for function and form.”
“I can answer a text too,” I pointed out, lifting an eyebrow for emphasis.
“Yes, you can,” he said, smiling at me, sliding an arm around my shoulders as he turned his attention to Chase. “Pick a watch, buddy. I want a drink.”
Clearly, everyone did.
The Patek Philippe was stunning, and the blue opaline face and white-gold case—there were more descriptors that the salesperson rattled off—was impressive. Well, impressive if that was the kind of thing that did, in fact, impress you. And I had no issue if it did. But I had never been the kind of person that things meant anything to. It was one of the many facets of my personality that used to infuriate my father: that I didn’t appreciate the finer things in life. I got it, of course, I could see that something was expensive, and I did subscribe to the whole “you get what you pay for” lesson, but for me, it applied to contractors; it applied to auto mechanics and doctors, lawyers, and college professors. For me, it pertained to people, not stuff. Having an amazing watch was great, but the G-Shock one I wore when I was a patrolman in Chicago still told the time, even after I was thrown into a wall and also nearly drowned by a junkie in a swimming pool. Things were functional; money was to be spent on people and art.
But who cared what I thought? Clearly, no one here. Brig had just spent a small fortune on the gift for his friend, but I knew, from little more than Chase’s expression, from the clenched jaw and gaze riveted on mine, that he would have preferred that Brig was leaning into him right now instead of me. At that singular moment, he wanted to be me.
Once Trey and Quentin rejoined us, Brig led us to a private bourbon tasting. I explained that I was not a fan, and though I got a lot of razzing, everyone let it go because, for starters, they didn’t know me well enough, and second, they didn’t care. It made sense. They would only see me this weekend; they had no emotional investment beyond that.
I would have been bored with drinking and buying whatever caught my eye, but they were in Vegas, and they were there to let off steam and do nothing. When they all hit the tables to play some Texas Hold’em, I took a seat outside the room, as people who weren’t playing weren’t permitted. There was only one way into the area where they were playing, though, so I could scrutinize everyone as they entered.
They played until they lost a grand, each. If I lost that much, it wouldn’t bankrupt me, but it wasn’t walking-around money either. As we strolled back toward the shops in the Venetian, Brig clapped a hand on my shoulder.
“Do you need me to spot you some gambling money, Croy?”
I turned my head to look at him, feeling the scowl on my face. “That’s not in the Torus contract, and if I’m concentrating on whether or not I’m losing your money, then my eyes aren’t where they should be.”
His chuckle was warm as he smiled at me. “You’re absolutely right. I just didn’t want you to be bored out of your mind, sitting around doing nothing but watching us have fun.”
“That’s the unglamorous part of being a bodyguard,” I told him. “The endless waiting.”
At an upscale men’s boutique, Brig was trying on some shirts as, apparently, he needed one for dinner since he hadn’t packed any spares, and Nolan had spilled a Bloody Mary on him, on the plane. He was in the fitting room while Nolan and Astor looked at cuff links, and the others texted and showed each other pictures and checked their Twitter and Instagram feeds. I was the only one keeping an eye on strangers coming in and out of the store.