One More Time (Bremmy 1)

Chapterish 71

The cocktail waitress is back, spotting Brody and Brooks with Ken has piqued her interest. Maybe they're not celebrities, but one look at the three of them together and it's obvious to anyone with eyes that they're the heirs to this entire place. To all of Star Resorts. To ignore Brody or Brooks would be to ignore Ken.

"Doll, please get these four a drink," Ken says. "Whatever they want."

Kind of him. Not like it's an open bar or anything.

"Right away, Mr. Brooks." She flashes her smile and flips her hair back. Basic. Her death stare at me is almost too predictable. I tighten my hand on Brooks again.

"Let's go," Brooks mumbles, taking advantage of the momentary silence.

We walk the length of the bar. Brooks says hello to people he knows and points out people he recognizes –old acquaintances, his father's business partners, resort investors, etc. It's obvious that no one knows who we are or cares.

"If I say hi to everyone and they all see me, then my dad can't give me shit later." Brooks explains to be under his breath.

"Got it. Showing face." I nod.

The hors d'oeuvres start. Trays are waltzed around by nimble servers –trays with fancy appetizers I've never seen before.

Brooks sets his glass down right on the edge of the bar when Brody comes walking up. "Don't get too comfortable. We're being summoned again."

"I'm out. You represent me," Brooks scowls, taking another sip from his glass.

"Oh no, absolutely not. Come on." Brody tugs on his brother's arm.

"This won't take long," Brooks says, eyes locking on mine. I nod.

"Why do I get the feeling this is gonna happen all night long?" Lauren asks. We watch the two of them disappear into the crowd again.

"Because it will." I examine the glass in my own hand. Beautiful crystal, heavy crystal. It looks like it was cut from the chandelier, like little pieces fell down and formed glasses.

"Well, shall we?" Lauren says, holding her arm out.

She's so pleasant I can't even say no. I can't even tell her all I really want to do is sit and wait for Brooks.

"We shall," I say, discarding my glass and linking my arm through hers.

"With any luck, we'll be able to snag some rich celebrities," she smirks. I laugh. You know, Lauren would make an excellent sister wife. Not like sister wife, but pseudo sister wife.

Fuck me.

"Not them," Lauren says, nodding to a group of middle-aged men surrounding one of the cocktail waitresses.

"Nope," I agree, steering us sideways through the second archway. "Not them."

"Definitely not them," Lauren laughs. I follow her eyes to a group of hipster bros wearing black skinny jeans and leather jackets. Vape pen on the belt.

"Fuck no," I curse under my breath. My sister wife laughs.

"Oh my god! I just LOVE your dress." I hear next to us. I turn, looking for the commotion.

Three glamorous women, a little older than me, probably 30, are walking up to us. They all have the same drink, matching umbrellas on the rims. The one closest to us is staring right at me. I realize it must have been she who talked.

"Thanks," I say.

"Where's it from?" She asks. Like she cares. She's wearing a floor-length dress, champagne gold, with a pearl beaded bodice. She looks fucking famous. Can't place her.