Page 18 of Iris
He’s like a brother to me. We’ve had our share of complicated history and heartache. Of struggle and revenge. We’ve even shared women.
Like Emmie’s mother.
But the only good that got us was our little girl. The rest of it was just shit.
I put a hand to his chest to move him back. “I’m thinking of Emmie’s future. And there’s money in this.”
His lips press together.
“We serve them anyway, Xav,” I say, moving to the other side of the bar and pouring the next bottle for him to try. “Why not get more from them?”
Our people…
“Who are they, exactly? The Nightshades? I want to streamline. The fucking Councilwoman has so many sanctions on places not only on the mainland but across the world. We can make more money this way and stay under the radar.”
He slams a fist on the bar, and I push the glass against it.
“I also never said I’m dropping everything else. That would be stupid. But…” I take a swallow of my glass. Smoky and sweet, a brandy that’s at once the taste of a late summer bonfire and dried orchard fruits with hints of spice. “But the world’s full of opportunities and this stuff’s all hard to get outside their places of origin. Tiny places like the vineyards we’re shipping from. But this is a bigger set up.”
He snatches up the drink and downs it, then pauses, looking at the glass. His expression’s just like the one I felt when I first tried it. Impressed.
I hide my smile. “The beauty is that to the supplier, we’re paying premium, but it’s a deal for us. He can get more from all over. Whatever we want. I’ve placed the orders already. They arrive next week.”
He drops his hands, then takes the bottle and pours more.
I get what he’s thinking, that I’m being at best a fool and at worst a traitor. “Only when it lends to it, like this one. Curated booze for each ball, if the host wants to be the buzz and the Season’s most talked about. We’ve seen enough of these vacuous types to know how they are. The wines and sparklings are good, but this elevates. And I guarantee when we get the rich, they’ll want a premium drop. It’s a win-win. We make more and Emmie’s future is even more golden.”
But he sighs.
Xavier never had money. I did. My parents did. Before they died. Before things went to shit, and I lost everything in that fire. I know how the rich operate. I remember. And they’ll fucking love this.
“The owl’s ugly.”
He cuts me a look.
No doubt he’s right. “Yeah, well—” I stop. The small smile on him that breaks free disturbs me. He’s keeping something from me. “Out with it.”
I go and pull a whiskey from the shelf, probably fucking up Freya’s inventory, but I don’t care. I take it and sit in the booth Emmie vacated where a lone plastic owl figurine sits behind the menu.
Xavier heaves out a breath, takes a brandy, and joins me. He drinks from the bottle.
“Nice.” I stare at him.
“Someone came in?”
Why do I feel I’m not going to like this? I take a pull on the bottle.
