Mr. Whiskey Sneak Peek
Some people call me a fixer. Others call me a dealmaker. Really, I’m just an asshole with a fuckton of money. And tonight I aim to throw Grover Clevelands around like they’re candy, not discontinued notes.
My phone buzzes as I pull into the long square drive of the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, and drop my keys in the valet’s hand. You’re late. We’re waiting in Kirkwood Hall.
“Is that a…” The young man’s eyes go round as he stares at my convertible Lotus.
“It is, and no you can’t take it for a spin.” My cell phone buzzes again. Are you coming?
The only reason I let Muffy Templeton talk me into releasing my inaugural cask reserve at tonight’s Picasso wing fundraiser for the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art is because her mother was bosom friends with my great-grandmoth
