Page 18 of Preacher

It was clear they did.

The question was whether we needed them.

6

TABITHA

I’ve never been much of a decorator. I never really had the chance. My parents didn’t have the money for the basics, much less unnecessary décor. And even when I was older and on my own, I didn’t have the means. Dimitri made sure of that. He had his people design every corner of our home, down to the family photos arranged on the mantle.

Back then, my opinions had never mattered.

But the boys didn’t inherit that way of thinking from their father.

Instead, they valued my opinion. There were times when they actually sought it, like when they asked me to help design the interior of the casino. Most of it was cut and dry. Dark colors and low lighting were common themes throughout, but the entertainment areas and the bars were a different matter, especially the main bar.

It was at the center of the casino and would be an essential component of the building. As I stood there, staring at the blank canvas, I felt something stir inside of me. I was excited about getting the opportunity to help design one of the many bars in the casino. It was my chance to create something from the ground up, and I wanted to make the space feel warm and inviting. I wanted to make it special.

It wasn’t exactly easy—it was in a casino, after all.

But I wasn’t just excited. I was determined.

It was late, well past normal working hours, and the construction workers had gone home for the day. The walls were finally up, so the bones of the place were finally coming together. Now was the perfect time for Marissa, our interior designer, and I to take a good look at the place.

I glanced around the room that would soon become the heart of the casino, and my imagination started running wild. I had such grand plans for the place. It was one of several bars we’d planned, but this one was going to be the main draw. I wanted it to feel elegant and sophisticated but not so cold that people felt out of place.

It needed charm.

Southern charm.

"After we talked last week, I put together a few concepts I think you will love." Marissa was holding an iPad in her manicured hands. "They are just what this place needs.”

She turned the screen toward me and started flipping through the different images. They were all sleek, modern designs with glass shelving, stark white marble countertops, and chrome accents. They were all beautiful, but they were also cold and lacked any real soul.

I immediately shook my head and said, "No."

"No?" Caught off guard, Marissa stammered, “B-But you said…”

"This isn’t what I want. These feel too detached. Like something you’d find in a high-end hotel bar in New York. That’s not what we’re doing here."

"I thought we agreed on a refined aesthetic?"

“Refined doesn’t mean lifeless.” I turned and gestured to the open space around us. "We’re in the south. We need warm tones, rich wood, and brass fixtures instead of chrome. I’m thinking of deep leather booths and soft loungers that invite people to sit down andstayawhile. I want it to be the kind of place where not only deals are made, but old friends hang out and talk.”

“I see.” Marissa hesitated, and it was clear she was struggling with my vision when she said, "But if we go too rustic, it could…"

I held up a hand. "Not rustic.Classic.Southern charm isn’t about mason jars and farmhouse sinks. It’s about warmth. A place that feels clean and well thought out butlived in.Like the bars you find in Savannah or New Orleans. A sense of history and elegance, but with a heartbeat."

“Okay.” She smiled. “I can work with that.”

“I knew you could.”

“Let’s look through a few options and see what speaks to you.”

“Sounds great.”

Marissa flipped through a few images on her iPad, and together, we picked out a few that seemed to go with the aesthetic I had in mind. My vision for the bar was finally starting to take shape, and I was starting to get excited when my focus was drawn to heavy footsteps coming up behind me. Before I could turn, a sharp, furious voice cut through the air, "Sothisis what those Volkov assholes stole my house for?"

I turned and found three men rushing into the room. They were covered in dust and sweat like they’d just come from a work site. The taller of the three seemed to be the one leading the group. He had broad shoulders and scraggly hair. His eyes were wild and full of rage as they scanned the room.

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