Raúl crossed his arms. “We are not having marble statues, Henry.”
“Just for the bathrooms.” Henry grinned, tossing him a wink.
Raúl stared at him, exasperation etched across his face. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”
Henry clapped him on the shoulder, laughing.
Raúl sighed and turned to me. “I thought you said he was serious.”
“Nah. Just nepotism at its finest.” Henry started walking backward, arms spread wide as if presenting a stage. “What do you think, Ash?”
“There’s potential,” I said, letting my gaze sweep over the stone walls.
“Potential?” Henry scoffed. “It’s going to make Soho House look like amateur hour. Come on—let me give you the tour.”
He waved me forward and walked me through the space, outlining everything in exhausting detail. By the end, I could tell Raúl was a little impressed—even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.
“I was thinking the bar could go here.” Henry gestured toward the far wall. “Make it a feature. Maybe commission an artist.”
“We could ask my cousin,” Raúl offered.
My smirk widened. “Oh, youdefinitelywant his cousin.” I chuckled when Raúl shot me a glare.
“What?” Henry’s gaze moved between us. “Why?”
“He’s a brilliant sculptor. Large-scale work?—”
“He’s also hot as fuck,” I cut in.
Raúl let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Not my type,” I added, “but definitely a nice view.”
Henry’s eyes narrowed with curiosity. “How hot?”
“I don’t think that’s relevant?—”
“Thor-hot,” I interrupted again. “Think Viking meets construction worker. The kind of guy you’d expect to see on a crumpled nineties pin-up, ripped jeans hanging open, leaning back on a Harley.”
Raúl rubbed both hands over his face, pushing his glasses up into his hair.
Henry gave a low whistle. “Sounds qualified to me. Tell him we expect him to start on Monday.”
“He’s not in the country,” Raúl said, “but I’ll set up a meeting so you can actually review his qualifications.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport. Bring your hot cousin.” My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, glancing at the screen before typing out a quick message. “Are we getting lunch?”
“Yeah, but we have to stop by my apartment first. It’s on the way.” Henry had that glint in his eye—the one that meant he was hiding something and found it incredibly entertaining.
“I’ll politely decline this time,” Raúl said.
“Really?” Henry tilted his head. “Such a shame. We could’ve used your sunny disposition.”
Raúl clicked his tongue, and Henry snickered.
We moved through the streets of Salamanca, Madrid’s polished little bubble where everything gleamed a bit more than it needed to. The buildings were all sharp lines and elegant stone. Real plants hung from the balconies, watered regularly instead of left to sunburn like everywhere else in the city. Cafés bled onto the sidewalks with silver trays and glass tumblers sweating into white napkins.
Beside me, Henry kept a brisk pace. “Come on,” he said. “This way.”
