Brian fucking Kinney (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
minimumbullshit) wrote2015-06-15 10:59 pm
minimumbullshit) wrote2015-06-15 10:59 pm
for max
While it might've seemed like it, the decision had been far from hasty. He'd spoken with his accountant, he'd had his lawyer check over the paperwork, he'd sat down with the staff and had already put out feelers for a reliable manager, and only then had he signed on the dotted line. He was now the proud owner of a clean, reputable sex shop, which only happened to be situated over the bar his fucking boyfriend's sister owned.
Whiplash had already been established before the bar opened, so in a way, it was the anchor business in the somewhat seedy building just blocks away from Brian's old apartment, and at least two of his favorite clubs. It did a respectable amount of business, was unpretentious and well maintained, and most importantly, it made a profit. It was a smart investment, and would require minimal attention from him, day to day.
And buying it had nothing to do with that fucking For Sale sign staying in the window for weeks on end, and he knew exactly what darkened windows could do to the health of all the other businesses within the same block. When you walked down the street, Whiplash was the first thing you saw, and people would be less likely to even notice the bar, its entrance nearly hidden between two alleys, if the shop ended up going under.
But that had nothing to do with it.
That afternoon, he'd finally signed the final paperwork. After, he grabbed a leather military-style cap from a shelf, along with a riding crop, and before leaving the shop, he took the For Sale sign from the front window. With the hat perched on his head, the riding crop clamped between his teeth, he went downstairs through the shop entrance, and making his way to the bar, he slapped the For Sale sign down in front of Max.
Whiplash had already been established before the bar opened, so in a way, it was the anchor business in the somewhat seedy building just blocks away from Brian's old apartment, and at least two of his favorite clubs. It did a respectable amount of business, was unpretentious and well maintained, and most importantly, it made a profit. It was a smart investment, and would require minimal attention from him, day to day.
And buying it had nothing to do with that fucking For Sale sign staying in the window for weeks on end, and he knew exactly what darkened windows could do to the health of all the other businesses within the same block. When you walked down the street, Whiplash was the first thing you saw, and people would be less likely to even notice the bar, its entrance nearly hidden between two alleys, if the shop ended up going under.
But that had nothing to do with it.
That afternoon, he'd finally signed the final paperwork. After, he grabbed a leather military-style cap from a shelf, along with a riding crop, and before leaving the shop, he took the For Sale sign from the front window. With the hat perched on his head, the riding crop clamped between his teeth, he went downstairs through the shop entrance, and making his way to the bar, he slapped the For Sale sign down in front of Max.