Page 144 of Rut Bar

“And one is all we need,” Brendan says. “What’s this investor’s name?”

“Hmm?” His question pulls me out of my quiet panic. “Oh. The Orello pack. The alpha, Marcus, works in the financial district in a well-established international firm his father founded, but his pack is independently wealthy with deep roots in the UK.”

That’s why I picked them, and also why I saved them for last. While my primary goal is to establish a Rut in at least ten states spread out across the country, I haven’t written international expansion off the list either. This pack’s connection to Europe won’t hurt.

Although those are plans for later. Much later. Still, it’s good to have an end goal in mind.

“Planning for global domination?” Brendan chuckles as we find our seats again.

“Exactly.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

I can’t keep my grin off my face. He knows me well. It’s not long before the final pack arrives. A lanky beta shoves his way in front of the burly alpha whose bulk is barely contained by his tailored, expensive suit. The beta, Tom, is tall, slim, and handsome. He has dark hair with light eyes and a twinkle in them, which instantly reminds me of Anthony.

My chest pinches with longing. I’ve only been away from my pack, my nest, for two days, but it’s quickly becoming unbearable. Having Brendan come along has helped. His presence is enough to keep me steady. I thought all the hushed talk about bond separation sickness was junk science, but there might be something to it. I’ve never been a needy, clingy partner before.

“Pleasure to meet you, luv,” the beta says as he reaches to take my hand. He doesn’t shake it so much as cup it in both of his before finally letting me go. “I’m Tom, and this handsome alpha is my mate, Marcus.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I say, nodding at them. “I’m Veronica, the founder and owner of Rut and this is my mate Brendan. He’s taken over our accounting division recently. Please join us. Would you like a drink?”

I motion for the waitress to come our way. After taking up this table in her section all day and tipping her well after every client we’ve met with, she heads over quickly and takes our drink orders.

The Orellos order a glass of wine and a scotch that are way too fancy for my tastes, and I get a refill of my orange juice in a bar glass that I’m pretending is a cocktail. We’ve been at this all day. The last thing I need is to get drunk.

My feet pinch in these heels, and the chair squeaks as I adjust in my seat. We make idle chatter about the city and the best places to eat and sights one can’t miss until our drinks are delivered.

“My mate tells me you have an investment proposal,” Marcus says, flicking the button of his coat open and relaxing into his seat, one hand dropping to rest on his beta’s leg. He directs the question to me, his attention focused as he waits for my answer.

My gut tightens in response and my dark mood lifts. This is promising. He’s the first investor who didn’t immediately start interrogating Brendan.

“Before we get started, I have a standard nondisclosure agreement for you to sign.” I pull two packets from my bag and hand them over. They skim the documents briefly before Marcus pulls a pen from his pocket and signs while Tom follows suit. I tuck the signed papers into my bag.

My heart knocks against my ribs with anticipation instead of dread as I launch into my carefully rehearsed presentation. I tell him about our annual returns and quarterly growth, market potential and how we serve an untapped portion of the market. There are thousands of strip clubs for alphas and betas and almost none for omegas.

Brendan adds details about earning projections when I get too excited at finally being taken seriously and ramble. “And that’s why New York would be the perfect place for our second location.”

Marcus frowns, his thick brows drawing together, and the fragile feeling of hope in my chest cracks a bit. “This is an entertainment venue? I thought it was a social club.”

“It’s both, darling,” Tom chimes in. “There are social hours for members only, then it opens to the public. Have you ever been to a rut bar? I could have sworn I brought you to one in England after my graduation from A-levels. Across the pond we call them stag bars, so maybe that’s where the confusion lies.”

Marcus shakes his head. “I’ve been to my share of rut bars, but I don’t remember any sort of members-only social club aspect. They’re mostly…”

“But this rut bar isn’t like one we’ve ever been to,” Tom says. “It’s better.” His lips curl into a cheshire grin. “I’d love to see it in person. It looks like such delicious fun. You’ve really flipped it on its head. Alpha dancers performing for omegas. It’s cheeky. I like that.”

My customer service smile turns into a real one. “If you’re ever in LA, we’d love to have you join us. Or if you choose to invest, you’ll always be welcome at the club, of course. My choreographer is originally from Brooklyn. He went to Julliard and cut his teeth on Broadway and he’s eager to be home again. I’ll be looking at potential sites in the West Village while I’m here.”

“Oh, the West Village,” Tom croons. “What a perfect location for a naughty little club like this. I have a friend who works in real estate. He got me the absolute best building for my gallery. I’ll see if he can put any feelers out. Maybe find something that’s not on the market yet.”

Marcus shifts in his seat, his pointer finger tapping against the side of his tumbler. “I’m not sure that this sort of venture is for us. Nightclubs and bars are risky. Especially since you don’t have a location secured yet. It’s also not something we’ve ever invested in before. We’re mostly focused on the arts at the moment.”

He shifts like he means to stand up and leave. They can’t. They’re exactly the sort of investors I was looking for. That Rut needs. And it’s time to show them I’ve done my homework. That I’m serious. I’m not some little omega who succeeded by accident. I’ve put in the work, cried, sweat, and bled for Rut, and I won’t stop now when everything I’ve worked so hard for is right within my grasp.

“Your mate Emily would like my proposal,” I say. “If she were here, she’d tell you to invest.”

His gaze snaps to mine, and the friendliness disappears from his face. Ah, here he is.The alpha underneath the businessman. It’s never far, no matter how much they cover it with tailored suits or charming smiles. Brendan leans toward me in his seat, his body language competing with the male that his hindbrain says is a threat.

“She serves on a committee for omega-run businesses, right?” I ask him. “Last year she helped run a charity fund that benefits omega victims of domestic violence and trafficking. Rut isn’t just a social club for omegas, or an alpha strip club. It provides a commercial front of the house that funds my nonprofit.”

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