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making the list of most eligible bachelors
in Atlanta, but with the addition of Cassie, we had to lay down
ground rules. It’s not that we don’t like Cassie, plus
she’s the one keeping our books straight—but this is our
time. We started this place together, and we want to keep it ours.
    “In all seriousness,” I
say tapping the plans on the table to get everyone
refocused. “The final plans look great. I’m all in for
opening next month.”
    “So am I, obviously. It’s
my design, but we’re
still missing Knox’s vote,” Jackson says.
    “Wasn’t it your
responsibility to get him on a plane?” I say to Parker.
    Before Parker moved back to the great
30326 zip code, he and Knox lived it up in New York. Parker played
the stock market, and Knox played ball—literally. As a starter
for the Yankees, he’s the All-American boy making a name for
himself as a Park Avenue Playboy. When we opened our first bar—it
was sports themed and most of our startup capital came from Knox—we
knew we had it right. He still holds a majority share, even if he
chooses to never exercise it. But by our bylaws, we need his vote to
make decisions.
    Parker holds up his hands. “I
told him about it, not my fault if the man can’t get to his
computer or get his ass on a plane.”
    “He’s in…Thailand?”
Ryder says.
    “Back in
Florida,” I say. “Training there.”
    “There’s internet there,
right?” That’s Jackson for you, brilliant but practical.
    “Without Knox—or his
vote—we can’t carry out any new business,” Jackson
says.
    “We need new bylaws,”
Parkers says. It was years ago when we drafted a stupid business
plan. Back then we all ran on Ryder’s one rule:
we’re family. We’re in this together. We may each
have our issues with family, but the one thing we can always count on
is each other. I’d bleed for these guys.
    The rules have been mostly forgotten,
but now that we’re running on a serious cash flow, we have to
have some standards and act legit.
    “Find us a new lawyer,”
Ryder replies with a grunt.
    “Look, he’s
probably fine with it. Let’s just set the date and send him a
postcard,” I say. “All in favor?” All hands go up.
There, done . Next?
    The doors to Altitude fly open, and in
walks Cassie and the rest of the girls, holding our pizza hostage.
    “This is a closed party—”
Jackson starts, looking directly at his younger sister, Shelby.
    “Shove it, bro. We’re here
for the game, and seeing as you ordered this most excellent pizza,
we’ll take a cut of that, too. Go on, continue your Boy Scout
meeting.” Shelby dumps the pizza on the bar and heads for our
alcohol.
    “We’re also here for your
beer and your seventy inch TV,” Avery adds. She brushes her
dark hair behind her ears as she rolls up Jackson’s
plans.
    “Because size really does
matter,” Ruby agrees, taking a beer from Shelby. Together
they’ve done as much for the club as we have. The law of the
nightclub business is pretty simple: get pretty girls to show up, and
guys who buy them drinks will follow. Men flock to Shelby’s
dark hair and biker sense of style, and when they can’t
get her, Ruby’s right there to show them the truth about
redheads. Shelby and Ruby are professionals at promotion by now.
    “Don’t listen to them.
They’re just hangry,” Cassie
says, draping herself around Ryder. “I’m here for
something tastier than pizza and beer.” She gives him a long
kiss. I can’t help but roll my eyes and look away.
    Scanning the bar, I stop on a rare
specimen of a grade-A ass bent over my bar. Encased in a pair of
blue, skinny jeans that would look great on my apartment floor, is
the tightest, sexiest ass I’ve ever seen. Who in the hell has
Shelby found to torture me with now?
    A head with blond curls comes up, her
hands full of beer bottles. That ass belongs to Savannah Sunday. Fuck
me. Especially if your name is Savannah.
    She needs to get out of her business
suits and date night