Page 32 of Wanted Beta

“Be good, and I’ll be back to make sure you know exactly what you do to me.”

He moves back and looks me over with a searing stare before he walks away.

“Um, what …” I murmur, moving to watch him walk back to the kitchen.

Did he seriously just do that?

I guess I can’t say it’s a tease, exactly, because I have no doubt he’ll be back later.

Still, it’s got to be the first time he’s walked away after getting me all hot and bothered.

Well … I guess at least now I’m not bored or depressed.

The sound of the door opening makes me jump.

And now we have customers.

Of course we do.

I step back behind the desk quickly, hiding the fact that my pants are obviously tented.

“Welcome to Esposito Brothers’,” I greet the customers, smiling pleasantly and pretending like I don’t have slick-coated underwear and a dick so hard it almost hurts. I hope to hell Jack’s close enough to get here quick, because I seriously don’t want to have to play waiter while I’m this damn horny.

Chapter Eleven

Enzo

For the dozenth time this shift, I discard my gloves and pick my cell phone out of my pocket. I speed dial Arrow’s number and put it on speaker while I look at the empty ovens we paid a fortune to install. Three rings and my soft-spoken Omega answers the call.

“Esposito Brothers’ … Oh, wait this is my phone,” he murmurs, as usual it sounds as if he’s lost in a daydream. “Enzo, what’s up?”

“What’s up is I have no orders. Can you check if you sent everything through that you got in since twelve?”

“We’ve had one order since then,” he tells me. “That takeaway vegetarian pizza you made earlier. That’s it.”

“You’re serious?” I ask, feeling agitated.

“No one’s come through the front door since then, and the phone hasn’t been ringing. Oh, and I checked. There’s nothing wrong with the line.”

“Damn it,” I mutter.

It’s a Saturday afternoon, prime lunch-rush time, and the restaurant is empty.

We’re a little away from the busiest part of the city’s centre, sure, but nowhere close to far enough to be considered on the outskirts. We’re central, we’ve been advertising, and the food is excellent. Cook times are well within an acceptable average range, and our pricing is just right for the area.

The street outside is clean and well lit. The neighborhood is decent.

Yet, we’re struggling to pull in more than a few customers a day.

It just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know what we’re doing wrong.

Arrow clears his throat, reminding me he’s still on the line before he tells me, “Jack went out with the flyers this morning. He should be back soon.”

“Where’s G?”

“He’s … cleaning.”

“Arrow,” I say sharply, knowing he’s covering for our lead Alpha.

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