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give you my details.”
    “Okay.”
    “I have a few conditions, and there’s no deal unless we can agree on them.”
    “All right. Let’s hear them.”
    “This is purely a professional relationship.”
    Bruce nodded. “As you wish.” He would’ve liked to bring up the zing in the air between them—he couldn’t have been the only one to feel it—but kept his mouth shut. He was a big boy, could keep his libido in check where it was unwanted. And there was always a chance Teag would change his mind. There was now a precedent.
    Teag blinked, perhaps expecting resistance, then went on, now much freer. “I’ll have a lawyer draw up the papers regarding the partnership. You should, of course, hire your own.”
    “Okay.”
    “We can discuss details, but certain things are nonnegotiable.”
    “I’m all ears.”
    “I get final decision on every detail of the refurbishing. I want a low-key, classy place. No TV screens, no pop music blaring so loud you can’t hear your own thoughts. And we serve nothing but well-crafted drinks in the spirit of pre-Prohibition standards and practices.”
    Not at all what Bruce expected, based on what he’d seen of Teag so far, but he only nodded without a comment.
    Teag plowed on. “This will be a place where people can come in with friends, have a good time while drinking a real Manhattan or whiskey sour.” He talked with a clarity of purpose now, no hesitation, no doubt. Passion shone through his words. He was beautiful. “I have very clear ideas about what atmosphere I want, and it’s not a noisy sports bar or a tourist trap with watered-down drinks and pitchers of margaritas. It’s a deal-breaker for me.”
    “A classy joint,” Bruce surmised.
    “Classy but not stuffy,” Teag said defensively.
    The contrast between Teag’s ideals and current employment was striking. But Bruce sensed Teag’s sensitivity on the subject, so he proceeded with tact. “Okay. Why don’t you tell me more about it? I have an idea: describe it as if you were a customer entering for the first time.”
    The ready-to-fight aura surrounding Teag lifted some. He stared into nothing with a frown of concentration before turning his gaze back to Bruce. “You’re on the street, the sun’s blazing hot, cars are rushing by noisily and belching fumes. Everyone’s in a hurry, stressed and tense. Then you step through the door into another world—no heat and noise or hurry. You sit on a stool, and the man behind the bar hands you a cool glass. You sip, and your mind and body unclench. You found the secret garden. Of course, not a garden.”
    “A hidden watering hole in the desert.”
    “Yes, exactly.” Teag blinked, his not-so-hidden hostility almost completely gone.
    “Sounds good to me,” Bruce replied, but he had to clear up practical matters. “What if they order something modern, like appletinis?”
    Teag nodded as if he’d expected the question. “I thought of it. We mix them in the spirit of the classics. Nothing cloyingly sweet. Make it with real apple juice, not Apple Pucker.” His eyes darkened with wrath. “But no fucking vodka and Red Bull. Ever. I’d sooner serve wine coolers.”
    “No Red Bull. Gotcha. Vodka is okay, though, right?”
    Teag waved dismissively. “Yeah, sure. We’ll use only quality ingredients for everything. I’ve already identified suppliers for some of the more obscure liquors and other supplies.”
    “Food?” Bruce interjected.
    “Yes. I’m thinking simple but quality. There’s a kitchen, right?”
    “Yes. Small but workable. We’ll need the right kind of appliances.”
    Teag considered this. “You can start looking into appliances, if you want, while I find an inspector to check out the building for structural stuff.” He paused. “You mentioned you’ve been running this place.”
    “Yes. Have been for five or six years now. The owner doesn’t do much beyond signing or cashing checks.”
    “Good. I, uhm, have little experience in this area.