Page 1 of Rut Bar

ChapterOne

VERONICA

I’min a room full of gorgeous half-naked alphas yet nothing is going right today. What a pity.

The front door squeaks on its hinges as it opens. The sound is loud in the otherwise quiet room. All eyes turn to watch our resident himbo alpha with the body of a Greek god walk in.

“You’re late,” I say to Jamie. My teeth clench as I resist the urge to manhandle him to the center of the stage by his ridiculously gorgeous long blond hair. I don’t know how he does it, but he always looks like he stepped off the cover of a romance novel. All he needs is a billowing, gauzy white shirt open to his lickable navel to complete the look.

“Sorry, Vee. Traffic.” His smile is lazy and beautiful, his face lighting up as he looks at me. The corners of his eyes crinkle. His serene expression and calm demeanor are the norm. Nothing gets under Jamie’s skin. No matter how much I bark or snap or snarl, he always looks at me with those big brown puppy eyes and smiles beautifully, then promises to do better. Then it’s like he hits the reset button when he turns off his morning alarm.

He’ll be late again tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.

“It’s LA. There’s always traffic.” I give him an unamused stare, not that he notices or cares.

“I’ll be on time for rehearsals tomorrow,” he says as he slips into his empty spot in the middle of the alpha pack. “Promise.”

I sigh. “Fine. But let’s get on with rehearsals. I want this new set ready to go for this weekend.” Pivoting, I look up at my office on the club’s second floor and try to find my wayward choreographer. Enormous floor to ceiling windows keep the noise out while letting me watch the club while I’m working. “Nate!”

“Coming!” There’s a metallic bang and clatter, and then a moment later Nate appears at the railing and looks over the balcony. He claps his hands together and grins before rubbing at his nose and sniffling.

Damn it. He’d better not be doing coke in the office again.

I’m gonna kill him if he is. They all know how important it is that everything goes smoothly this week, and each and every one of them seems to be set on sabotaging me.

Nate takes the stairs two at a time and stops before his pack of alpha dancers. “Good. Places, everyone.” Nate’s grin widens as he sniffles again. “Mike, cue the music and… three, two…”

The pack of alphas start their rehearsal, their biceps bulging and abdominals rippling. I take my cue to leave them to it. Nate does the movements with them, barking out corrections and critique as the alphas flow from one dance move to the next.

The Tarzan set is going to make the crowd lose their ever loving minds when they see it on Friday. What’s better than a ripped alpha? One in nothing but a teeny tiny leather loincloth. What’s better than one? A whole pack of them. Each one a different flavor to suit all tastes. We have a diverse cast here at Rut.

Jamie turns left instead of right and walks right into Margot, our resident female alpha. They collide with an audibleoomph, and then Nate curses and yells at them to stop and reset. The pulsing music stops abruptly as Mike rewinds the track to the beginning. The cast groans softly.

I head to the bar and slap my palms on the counter. “I need the receipts from last night.”And a fucking drink.And another week for rehearsals so they can get the new and more complex routine down. Time we don’t have. The event flyers are already plastered on every streetlight and brick wall we could find.

Anthony studies me as he finishes wiping a glass dry and sets it down. “Sure thing, boss.” He goes to the till and punches the drawer open, pulling the zippered pouch out from under the plastic bill divider. He hands it over.

While I rummage through it and check the contents, he pours me a drink, mixing alcohol and juice together without me having to ask. He sets it on a coaster and adds an orange slice as a garnish. The drink’s a peachy pink color and there’s a mashed maraschino cherry at the bottom under the ice.

“What’s this one called?” I grab it and swivel the straw around and take a sip. “Oh, it’s good.”

He grins and goes back to wiping glasses. “Bliss on the beach.”

I’ve never heard of it before, but then again, Anthony enjoys making his own variations of popular cocktails. He likes making everyone try a lesser known mix that becomes his signature drink of the night. He uses chalk markers to draw a picture of the drink and write out its name in fancy script on the large chalkboard that he hung above the register.

“Not sex on the beach?” I take another sip, savoring the blend of pineapple and cranberry juice with the vodka.

“If you want sex on the beach, I can do that for you,” Anthony says, leaning forward on one heavily tattooed forearm. “Let me know when you’re free.” He grins, flashing impossibly nice white teeth, and my heart skips a beat.

He’s not hitting on me. Not really. Anthony’s just a terrible flirt.

Between the tattoos, the floppy dark hair, and his baby blue eyes, my head bartender is gorgeous, and he absolutely knows it. The women who come here more than once don’t care that he’s a beta. Not when he smirks at them likethat. Like he wants to throw them on the dirty floor and hike up their tight little skirts and do wicked things to them. He calls this smile the panty melter. He’s not wrong. There’s a reason he gets more tips than any of the other bartenders here and why he’s worked here longer than the rest combined.

I frown at him because the staff is off limits, and despite his flirting, he knows that.Don’t shit where you eat.He knows I won’t call his bluff no matter how much I sometimes wonder what would happen if I did.

His grin widens to blinding levels and my traitorous pussy throbs as I push away from the bar, taking my bag of receipts and drink with me. “I’ll be in my office.”

“Sure thing, boss.” The way he saysbossis like an audible caress and I give a wide berth to the gyrating alpha pack so they don’t catch a whiff of my growing arousal.Talk about embarrassing.

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