"We always do," Ryan replied, pocketing his phone as they headed toward the roar of the waiting crowd.

"Let’s give them something to talk about," Travis said, tossing his gym bag aside.

"You seeing the guest list for tonight, Trav?" Ryan Bai leaned against a row of lockers, scrolling through his phone with a smirk. Ryan was the architect of their entertainment empire—the man who turned a simple Tuesday night into the hottest ticket in the zip code.

Travis glanced up, his reflection caught in the polished chrome of his locker. "As long as the lounge is set to 'low-key.' I’m tired of the strobe lights, Ryan. People want intimacy now. They want to feel like they’re in the room where it happens, not just at a party."

Travis stood up, smoothing out his tailored jacket. This locker room was their sanctuary—the place where the sweat of the grind met the polish of the brand. Outside those doors, they were icons of entertainment. Inside, they were just two guys making sure the city stayed awake.

The neon hum of the "MN" logo flickered in the hallway, but inside the locker room, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and post-training steam. Travis Connor sat on the mahogany bench, methodically wrapping a gold watch around his wrist. He wasn't just a face on a billboard; he was the heartbeat of the city’s lifestyle scene.

Ryan nodded, already typing. "Done. I’ve got the jazz trio from the Village coming in, and the cocktail menu is strictly vintage. We’re selling an atmosphere, not just a drink."