Now that I have relocated back to NYC, I move fully into the office at the club, using that as my business base. Like the rest of the house, my office at Rosemond House never really felt like my space, and still doesn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever used it. Besides, as I’m now working very closely with Hunter on the running of the club, it makes sense for me to be there, and I can put the space at home to much better use.

One morning after we have been working together this way for a little while, I call Hunter into my office for a meeting. He saunters in five minutes early with two coffees in hand, passing one to me. That’s so Hunter, always one step ahead of the game. Except today.

As hands on as I try to be in my businesses, I can’t be everywhere. Between the club, the tattoo house, touring with the Heartless Few, and the fact that I lived in LA for so long, I need people on my team I can trust to run shit the way I would whether I’m there or not. Thankfully I have that in Hunter. Same goes for Zed at the tattoo house. On top of that, Hunter has put together a crack squad below him, headed up by the bar manager, his younger brother Hendrix. Fucking dream team.

Between the three of us—Hunter, Hendrix and me—our shit is as tight as a gnat’s asshole. It’s one of the main reasons 12AM Mass has been consistently rated New York’s top nightspot for anyone who’s anyone and everyone who wants to be someone, every year in the five years since launch. Our membership list has been closed since a few weeks before we even opened the doors for the first time, and the waitlist continues to grow at a rate far beyond our capacity to ever accommodate even a tenth of the people on it.

At this rate, someone literally has to die before a new member gets a bite at the cherry. It’s an enviable position for any venue to be in, and I’m thankful that my hard work in establishing the club has paid off. More than paid off, in fact; we’ve consistently smashed all sales and growth targets, and we don’t see that situation changing anytime soon.

As I stand to greet him, Hunter grins and reaches out to grab me in a bro shake, his grasp as firm as ever. We have the natural ease of people who have known each other for years.

“Mornin’, bro. You wanted to see me?” The grin is firmly in place, showing off his dimple.

It’s the stuff of legends and can part women from their underwear faster than he can say “drop those drawers.” It’s ironic that his name is Hunter, as he’s never had to hunt for anything in his life, especially not pussy. He’s much more of a gatherer—gathering women in his wake wherever he goes. When they were giving out genetic good fortune, he got more than his fair share, and he’s a nice guy to boot. If I didn’t love him like a brother, I’d probably hate him.

“Yeah, man, take a seat.” I motion to the chair on the other side of my desk, moving around to my own. He frowns then, clearly surprised at the formality of the gesture. Usually when we meet, if you can even call it that, it’s a pretty casual affair—a quick chat here and there, sometimes not even bothering to sit at all. He sits, looking at me expectantly.

Anyone who takes Hunter’s good looks to mean he has nothing going on up top—and it happens all the time—will be proven wrong within a few moments of meeting him. The guy is seriously smart. Book smart and street smart. He knows his way around running a company like nobody else I’ve met. This a major reason that our working relationship has been so successful.

While I’m an ideas guy, about reaching for the stars, Hunter is all over the detail, down to the last bottle top and roll of toilet tissue. With him in charge of the day-to-day, I’m free to think one step ahead of the curve in terms of the next big thing. It’s the perfect combination. Hendrix, on the other hand, isn’t quite as cerebrally blessed, but he’s a damn fine mixologist and a total showman. People love that shit.

“Why do I get the impression that something bad is about to happen or has already happened? What’s going on?” Hunter is sharp as a tack. Nothing gets past him.

“Listen, as you know, the club has been going from strength to strength since it opened. I couldn’t be happier with the way things have grown over the last five years and are continuing to grow. We’re smashing targets and far exceeding expectations in every aspect of the growth of the business.” He knows all this, of course; he pores over the books, memorizing the numbers as though they hold the answers to the survival of humanity.

“Obviously I don’t need to tell you that a lot of that positive movement is due to your input and skilled leadership. No doubt you have a talent for business, for management, and for generally running a tight fucking ship. I’m under no illusion that I owe the fact that 12AM Mass is the hottest ticket in town in large part to you—”

“Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming on?” It’s probably the first time I’ve seen him look even vaguely perturbed. He’s one of those people who even when the shit really hits the fan shows little or no outward sign of worry—the definition of cool under pressure. It’s one of the things that makes him so incredibly good at what he does. Even now, his version of worried looks like everyone else’s mild confusion.

“But as you have probably worked out by now, I’m making major changes in my life. One of which is that I’m relocating back here to be with my girl. Now that I’m going to be minutes rather than hours away, I’m also going to be taking a more hands-on role in the club. I’m sure you’ve noticed over the past few weeks that we’ve been tripping over each other, figuratively and literally, and the whole dynamic of us both being here 24/7 just isn’t working. An octopus only has one head, and at the moment, the two of us are like some kind of ugly two-headed monster. We’re not playing to either of our strengths.”

“Hey, that’s a bit unfair. I’m not ugly!”

Ha! That’s another point against him. He has a great sense of humor even when the sky is falling. I carry on, sighing.

“Clearly the club isn’t big enough for both of us, so one of us has to go. It’s my club, so….”

“Wait, what? Are you seriously letting me go after everything you just said about how I contributed to the success of the club? Man, that’s rough.”

“You’ll be more than fairly compensated. I’ve been very generous with your compensation package, so I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”

“I’m sorry, but I am disappointed.” He frowns, and it’s as close to angry as I’ve ever seen him.

“I mean, I really didn’t see this coming. I’m happy here, and I thought you were happy with me also. We’ve been getting on just fine, and you just said yourself that the club just goes from strength to strength, so I don’t know what to think. Has there been some kind of miscommunication, or is there anything I can do to change your mind? I—”

I can tell he’s genuinely shocked, and rightly so.

“No, man. I’m sorry if it comes as a surprise to you, but this is just the way it has to be. Someone needs to run The Confessional, and you’re the best man for the job.”

“But I don’t understand. If there was a problem, why didn’t you talk to me about it before it got to this? I’m sure we could have worked it out. You know I’m a reasonable guy, and I thought we were tight. I’m not above taking constructive criticism and working on my… wait. What? The Confessional. What is that? What are you talking about?”

I’m an evil bastard, but I’m really enjoying this.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” I raise an eyebrow as though in mild surprise.

“Tell me what? You didn’t tell me shit except that I’m fired.”

“Oh, I guess I should have started with that. My bad. The Confessional is the name of our new club. We have the building, but that’s pretty much it. I want you to be responsible for launching it—fitting it out, staffing, marketing, finding a permanent manager to run it once you’re back here, the full nine yards.”

“So I’m not fired?”

“Nope.”

“Just working on a new project?” I can see that he wants to relax, wants to believe that everything is okay—his features are in limbo, hanging somewhere between confusion and relief. He’s sitting poker straight in his seat, not daring to let his guard down until he has confirmation of the situation. His smarts have smarts.

“Yep. That’s about the strength of it.”

“Okay. So where is the new club?”

I’m loving this a little too much. I rest my elbows on the edge of my desk, leaning forward and lowering my voice conspiratorially as though delivering the world’s best-kept secret.

“LA.”

Hunter chokes on his coffee, spraying it halfway across the desk. That’s been happening a lot lately. I guess I need to work on my timing if I don’t want to be constantly wearing other people’s drinks. I make a mental note not to drop any more bombshells if the person I’m talking to is midswig.

He starts grabbing papers from my desk and shaking them in a futile attempt to remove the dark brown liquid. He’s as uncool and flustered as I’ve ever seen him.

“You’re sending me to LA to set up your second club. Is that what you just said?”

“Got it in one. That’s the package I was talking about. It’s a relocation payment. There will also be a big bonus for the work you’ve done here, and an increased salary for the LA gig, as this is basically a promotion.”

He finally allows the relief to bloom on his face, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “Man, I hate you. You’re a bastard, you know that, right?” He’s laughing heartily now.

It’s a melodious, velvety smooth sound. Women eat that shit right up. When you look up “smooth” in the dictionary, there’s a picture of this cat, flashing his dimple and breaking hearts all over the world. Under “smoother” there’s a photo of his brother Hendrix. Then there’s the third Campbell brother, Harley. Throw him into the mix, and you’ve got the trifecta of panty-melting goodness. Third time’s the charm, as they say.

“Well, I’ve been told so once or twice. A day.”

“So…?” Hunter is hesitant, looking at me uncertainly.

What?

“Oh. So how the fuck am I going to run this place without you, is that what you’re trying to say?”

He nods in agreement. “Not in so many words, but pretty much, yeah.”

“Well, I’m going to up my game, and don’t worry, I’ve been learning from the master even when you didn’t realize you were teaching me. Why do you think I’ve been hanging around you like a bad smell lately? You won’t need to go right away, and in the next eight or so weeks, you’ll be training me fully, and also Hendrix.”

“Hendrix?”

“Yeah, the bar manager. You know the guy, about your height, your build, your complexion. Actually, he looks a lot like you. Some say you could even pass for brothers. Oh wait, that’s right… you are brothers.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But Hendrix can be a bit of a loose cannon, and you’re not sure if he’s up to the gig?” I finish for him again. He nods.

“Well that’s a risk we’re going to have to take, but something tells me that he’s ready to rise to the challenge, if only to prove his big brother wrong. I think between the two of us and the new bookkeeper we’ll take on to deal with all the numbers shit you currently handle, we should be okay. Let me put it another way. We’re going to have to be okay, ’cause I sure as shit am not about to employ an unknown quantity to look after the new place. So…”

“It is what it is?” he finishes for me this time.

“That’s right. Better than that, I actually think it’s gonna be great. I’m pumped.”

“Me too, I guess. It’s gonna be an interesting few weeks, that’s for sure.” He reaches over to shake my hand, a proper business handshake this time, to seal the deal.

What I said is true. I’m confident in Hunter’s ability to set up the new club, and despite the less-than-ideal circumstances in the rest of my life, I’m also energized about this new role for me at 12AM Mass. I have the perfect idea to get my tenure as manager started memorably.

That’s me, the big ideas guy.