by Aiden Bates
Logan clutched at his gut. He knew that a new venture was supposed to bleed money in the first few weeks, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with. That smoked trout had been expensive, too. They'd gotten a good deal on it, but that didn't mean that they hadn't spent a ton of money on the stuff. "Will do."
The lunch crowd showed up in drips and drabs, more of an after-church audience than the workday crowd they usually saw for lunch. Logan stayed in his office for the most part, ordering food and supplies and trying to find ways to save on costs. Would it be possible to cut back to only three waiters during the week? If they had a sudden rush of people they could always call someone in.
The bigger question was whether or not cutting back on serving staff would help at all. Maybe if they cut some of the prep staff they'd have better luck. Then again, maybe not. The food they served required a great deal of prep time, and that wasn't something that could be gotten around. If they cut workers, the restaurant would just have to keep the staff they retained for longer hours. Quality would suffer and they'd pay more to the workers who stayed on.
Maybe if they shortened the menu they could save money on ingredients? Logan knew that his bosses had fairly specific ideas about the restaurant and what it should be serving, but he had a little bit of leeway here. If he could eliminate some items and achieve cost savings, and then bring some items back later as their financial situation improved, maybe that would help smooth ruffled feathers.
Utkin showed up about an hour after the lunch rush tapered off. He'd dressed casually, for him, and might have come in from the golf course. Logan knew that there were a few different nine-hole courses in the area; he'd have to make the time to hit one, one of these days. Guys like him, or like the guy he wanted to be, made the time to golf. "Hard at work, I see." Utkin smiled down at Logan, white teeth gleaming in the yellow light of the back office.
"Yes, sir." Logan ran his hands through his hair. "Trying to find us some cost savings. I understand that we're going to lose money until we really establish ourselves. I mean, we haven't even been open for a month, and I should manage my expectations."
Utkin stepped closer. "It never hurts to try to find areas where we can be more efficient. Getting that cesspit next door shut down will probably take longer than anticipated." He made a face. "I heard from the legal department. They said that the town is highly unlikely to seize the property, given that they pay their taxes and they have rental properties over the bar."
"That's pretty much what I've heard, too." Logan rubbed at his face. He didn't regret not having gotten any more sleep last night, he didn't, but right now he felt profoundly exhausted. "The place is pretty well connected, too. They've got cops, lawyers, town workers, what have you, all of them are regular customers. And of course they have charity events."
"Seriously?" Utkin rolled his eyes. "What kind of charity events can a dive bar have?"
"Well, there's the Monday night trivia nights. Those are always well attended and the proceeds go to the Maine SPCC. Then I guess they do a charity ride every month that's feasible." He kept his expression neutral. He didn't think that Utkin needed to know that he'd heard about those efforts when he'd been sitting at the bar, drinking his martini, and pretending that he belonged there. "Basically, the community itself is going to be very invested in keeping that place going."
"Well, we'll fix that." Utkin made a face. "It's time for those people to move on. Once we get a few more of the right kind of places to move in here, it'll be all better." Utkin put his hands on the back of the chair nearest to him and leaned forward. "Anything else that I should know about? Any more fender benders?"
"No, sir." Logan had to chuckle at that. "It's been pretty quiet." He cleared his throat. "A little too quiet, if I'm being honest. I was wondering what you thought about the possibility of advertising."
Utkin wrinkled his nose. "High end restaurants don't typically spend much on advertising."
"Not as a general rule, no. But sir, we're located a good ways away from any other high-end restaurants. We can't rely on foot traffic to bring in customers. The only foot traffic will be looking for a biker bar. We need to give people a reason to come all this way, or to even think about coming all this way." He shrugged. "I hate to spend more money when we're already losing it, but I don't think we've got much choice."
Utkin sighed. "Fine. I see your point. Any pictures need to be taken indoors, though. We've done a fantastic job on the interior, but I don't want potential customers to see that dump." He stroked his chin. "Do you think that mouthy omega from next door would be willing to pretend to be the bartender if we paid him?"
Logan's eyes widened. "I don't think he's hurting for cash, but he's usually open to helping out when it doesn't interfere with their business. I can ask him, I guess. What do you have in mind?"
"He'd have to cover up those tattoos, but the uniform in here would do that anyway. The kid's pretty, very pretty. He'd look good in advertising copy." Utkin stepped away from the chair and waggled his eyebrows at Logan. "Once we've shut them down, that could be something good for you to do with him. I mean assuming you can teach him to shut up and know his place, of course."
Logan tried to imagine Sam without his strong spine and determination. "What do you mean? If he loses the bar and house, he and his brother are going to move away somewhere. They're not sticking around here. Why would they?"
Utkin shook his head and picked up a blank sticky note from the desk. "You can't think I'm that stupid, can you? My God, there was practically a rope between the two of you. You wanted him, and he's pretty enough in that bad-boy kind of way. I'd do him myself if you weren't right there."
Logan blushed bright red. He hadn't thought Utkin would be quite so crass. "Okay, yes, he's attractive, but he's not… he's not someone that I could build a life with."
Utkin stopped ripping up the piece of paper and put an arm around Logan's shoulders. "Logan, who said anything about building a life with the kid? For crying out loud, that's the last thing I'm thinking of. I mean, I know you want to screw him. You couldn't claim him, not if you wanted your career to go anywhere. Could you really see him over at the country club? They wouldn't let him in, even as a gardener!" Utkin laughed right in Logan's ear, hot and loud.
"Right?" Logan tried not to recoil. "He wouldn't want that either. Couldn't ride his bike between holes." He shook his head.
"Yeah, no. But if you can wash him off between rides, you could give him a part-time job as a bartender here." Utkin winked at him. "Then you two would be free to do whatever you wanted, and you could claim someone suitable once you're established. Someone who can raise your children properly. Not a wild man from the backwoods."
"Yeah." Logan swallowed past the bile in his throat. He hadn't been planning to claim Sam, but he definitely hadn't been planning to use him and claim someone else at the same time. That just seemed wrong.
Utkin was oblivious to his discomfort, though. "You've got a long and promising future here with us, Logan. Keep your head on straight, and don't go getting attached to the wrong sort of people, and you'll go far." He patted Logan on the back and left the office, heading back out to enjoy the early October weather.
Logan stared after him. He needed another shower.
Chapter Five
Sam stretched his arms out behind him and grinned as he heard the little pops in his shoulders. He felt good this morning, even though he'd slept alone the night before. Logan's scent still lingered in his sheets, and if he closed his eyes he could pretend that his alpha had just gotten up to go and get a drink of water.
Eventually there would be a crash. There was no such thing as a true alpha, no biological drive to get claimed by one specific person. For crying out loud, it was the twenty-first century. Sam didn't need to get claimed at all, not in this day and age. He definitely didn't need to get claimed by that particular guy.
There was one part of him, a soft inner core, that got all warm and fuzzy about Logan. Sam
could accept that about himself. There was something about Logan that excited him, more than anyone ever had before, and that was just part of being an omega. As long as Sam didn't listen to that part when it came to making decisions, he probably wouldn't do anything too dumb. He could continue to enjoy Logan's company, and whatever sexual favors Logan might choose to dole out, without worrying about getting in too deep.
Silas threw a bar towel at him. "You excited for trivia tonight?"
Sam grinned. Maybe trivia had started out as a response to something thoughtless on Logan's part, but it had gone on to become something amazing that did a lot of good in the community. Sam could be proud of trivia night. It had been his idea, after all. "I am. And here we were thinking we might as well close down on Mondays."
"Right?" Silas chuckled, his easy grin taking ten years off his face. That grin faded as the door opened and two alphas walked in, the first customers of the day.
Sam didn't have to look up to recognize them. He knew them by scent. He looked up anyway, because he knew that omegas who didn't avert their gaze pissed Utkin off. "Afternoon, gentlemen," he said. He reached for a martini glass and tried to keep himself from drooling at Logan. "I have to admit that this is a surprise."
Silas growled a little and stepped closer to Sam. What exactly did he think that the alphas were going to do? "Not a welcome one. Why are you here?"
"We came to talk to the omega." Utkin wrinkled his nose, just a little bit. Sam didn't think he realized that he was doing it. "Not to you."
Logan winced and put his hands up. Sam slipped a martini into one of them and he grasped it out of reflex. "We came with a proposition for you, Sam."
Sam grabbed a shaker and an old-fashioned glass and started mixing things. Utkin didn't seem to be paying attention to what Sam was mixing, and he could probably get away with just about anything, but there was a method to his madness. "A proposition." He shook the drink well and strained it into the glass.
"I'm sure you do." Silas took the drink and sniffed at it. "Jeez, Sam, you made him a Wharf Rat? Before five o'clock?"
Sam smirked and took the glass from his brother to pass to Utkin. Utkin took it and sipped from it. The way his eyebrows climbed up into his gray hair would keep Sam warm for years to come.
"It's not that kind of proposition," Logan said, blushing. "We want him to model for us."
Silas crossed his arms over his chest. His face stayed relaxed, and Sam knew his brother well enough to know that meant he knew exactly what the alphas were talking about. That didn't stop Silas from saying, "Model for you. Right. That's what the kids are calling it these days. How about you get out of my bar and stay out this time?"
Utkin's lip curled. It was hard to tell if his lip was curling in disgust or if he was about to laugh. That ambiguity didn't sit right with Sam, and it made him want to squirm. "Not that kind of modeling," Utkin said with an exaggerated sigh. "Good God, you're an ape. We're doing an advertisement and we want your omega to play the role of the bartender."
"We'd pay you, of course," Logan said, intervening when Silas' face went red. "Literally, all we need is for you to take a few pictures while wearing the standard uniform. That's all."
Silas turned to Sam. "I don't like it."
Sam rolled his neck, cracking more joints. "You don't like anything."
"It'll just be you, me, and the photographer," Logan promised. "We can do it after hours."
Utkin took a sip from his drink. "Much as I'd like to have you over the bar after hours, I'm afraid that I'm rarely on the premises that late."
Sam relaxed then. He discounted Utkin's words. They'd been intended to convey disrespect and contempt, and they'd done so. He didn't actually expect Sam to let him touch him. "How much are we talking here?"
"Sam." Silas leaned in. "You're not serious."
"I've got Wednesday off. I don't mind picking up a few extra bucks on Wednesday night, if it makes sense for us." He shrugged and met Logan's eyes. The thought of being with Logan in that fancy bar of his appealed to him, on a lot of levels.
"Wednesday it is, then." Logan shook his hand and took Utkin's arm. "I'll have Kaylee bring a uniform by, so you know if it fits." He ushered Utkin out of the bar as quickly as he could, just as some new customers walked into the restaurant.
Silas shook his head. "We're not hard up for cash, buddy. Why are you doing this?"
Sam grinned and shrugged. "Being neighborly?"
"Neighborly. Right." Silas scowled and got beers for the new customers. "I'll buy that. Except for the part where we hate those guys."
"Hate's probably a strong word, don't you think?" Sam busied himself with prepping garnishes and let the matter drop. He couldn't tell his brother that all he was thinking about was another chance to get his lover's hands on him again.
Wednesday came, and Sam went about his normal day. He went for a ride and enjoyed the open road. He made some food for the next week, because that kind of thing was important. He peeked in at Joe's and picked up a couple of games of pool, although he didn't do much serious play. He was too nervous. When the time was right, he went back upstairs and showered, dried his hair and put on the ridiculous uniform that all of the employees at the trattoria had to wear.
The uniform wasn't bad, as these things went. It was just a black button-down shirt with black pants, and a black pinstriped apron. Those things were all fine. He could live with them. He didn't like the fact that his tattoos were all covered. Sam liked his tattoos, damn it. He'd gotten them for a reason. He only liked to cover them if the weather called for it. He hadn't had a job that required him to cover his tattoos since he turned eighteen and moved back in with Silas, and now here he was.
It's just for an hour or so. He looked at himself in the mirror, not sure who exactly he was trying to convince.
He went down the back stairs and around to the rear door of the trattoria. He didn't want his regular customers, who were more like friends, to see him like this. What would they think of him like this? Would they think that he was ashamed, or trying to get above them? Or would they think that he was just doing what so many of them did, and putting on a mask to make a few bucks? It wasn't like Mark, who was a defense lawyer by day and part of the Rails by night, let his tattoos show in court.
The trattoria was empty, but still smelled of garlic and sage. Sam could appreciate the appetizing aroma, even if he'd never shell out that much for a plate of pasta. Logan waited there with a short, bearded photographer who was built like a barrel. Sam had seen him before. "Bruce?" he asked, blinking. ''
Bruce laughed out loud. "Sam Marlowe!" He jerked his head to the side. "Client never told me it was you! I figured I'd stop in next door for a drink when I was done. Silas never told me you'd taken up modeling."
Sam blushed. "It's a one-time thing. Logan here asked for a favor and I figured why not? It's my day off." He glanced at the bar. "So what do you want me to do?"
Bruce marched toward the bar. "Just fix us some drinks, to start with. I'll give you some directions as you do, and they'll probably piss you off. Don't sweat it. Try to relax and look inviting while you do it."
"Relax and look inviting." Sam scoffed. "Got it." He got behind the bar, grabbed a glass and got to work.
Bruce gave a lot of directions. Some of them were ridiculous, with minute changes in angle and posture that made about as much sense as shoes on a clam, but Sam tried not to show his irritation. Bruce knew photography. Sam did not. Bruce had a better grasp of what would make for a good picture than Sam did. Sam did as he was told and tried to remember that he was getting paid for this.
The pictures moved from mixing drinks to different poses, and finally to Sam lounging on the marble bar like some kind of ancient Roman statue. Sam thought that one was a little ridiculous, but whatever. Once that was done, Bruce packed up his stuff, said he'd see Sam around, and headed next door.
Logan locked up behind him and lowered the shutters. Then he grabbed the martini Sam had made for him.
The quality of the gin they kept on hand here at the trattoria was higher than what they had at Joe's; people who paid that much for a dish of pasta wanted artisanal gin and fair-trade olives or whatever, not run of the mill stuff. Logan sipped from his glass and reached into his pocket. "Two hundred," he said. "I had no idea that the photographer was a customer of yours."
Sam took the money and stuffed it into his pocket. "Yeah, well, most freelancers don't put their hangouts on their websites." He rolled up his sleeves and untucked his shirt. It made him feel a hundred times more like himself. "He's a good guy. Reliable. Conscientious."
"He had good references." Logan licked his lips. "You looked good behind the bar."
Sam laughed and leaned against the counter. "Yeah, well, it's kind of my natural environment."
Logan stepped into Sam's personal space and put his free hand onto Sam's hip. Having him so close made the uniform feel far too hot and constrictive, even though the temperature in the restaurant was kept low. "You know, if things work out the way Utkin wants them to, it doesn't have to put you out of a job."