Page 145 of Rut Bar

“A front,” Marcus says, frowning. He scans the packet of documents I give them as if he’s looking for something he missed, but he won’t find a word of my actual business in there.

He’s the first investor I’ve told about this, although all of them signed the NDA.

Brendan sets his hand on my knee and squeezes, telling me without words to be careful. But my gut says I’m right. This pack is different. They’re the ones Rut needs.

“Yes, for my nonprofit. Don’t get me wrong, Rut works. It’s profitable. The market is thirsty for what it offers. Omegas are a quarter of the population and no other club caters exclusively to them. It’s a completely untapped market.

“But the real work is the nonprofit. I have a small collection of safe-houses and a network across four states to relocate omega victims of domestic violence. They come to us for many things. Abuse of every kind, physical, emotional, sexual, financial. Forced claiming bites. Sometimes with children in tow. Sometimes with nothing but the clothes they’re wearing.

“We get them out of dangerous situations and keep them separated so the claim can diminish. One in three omegas experiences domestic violence in their lifetimes. Yet our court system is archaic. They haven’t made much progress since the nineteen-forties.

“Omegas can file for a petition of separation, but that system takes months or years and if there are children involved, it’s nearly impossible. Omegas are most likely to be murdered while trying to leave. Did you know that? Imagine if someone unsavory had found your Emily first. Forced a claiming bite on her and held her captive through pheromones and emotional manipulation. Imagine if they were cruel. If she wanted to leave, but couldn’t.

“We provide safe places for them to hide and wait for their bond to fade. We help them with their paperwork and connect them with lawyers and doctors. The children are fed and schooled so they don’t fall behind. We help these omegas get established again. Get medical attention and job training. Give them time and space to heal. Get their life back.”

Marcus hears me. The stern edge leaks from his expression, and Tom grows serious, his smile slipping into a thoughtful frown. Marcus clears his throat and settles back into his seat. “That sounds like something she’d want us to help with. Our Emily has a soft heart.”

“You wouldn’t be involved in the nonprofit operations,” I tell him. “No alphas are. Not even my mates know the specifics of its operations. I’m sure you understand our need for absolute discretion.”

When they both nod in understanding, I feel better. Lighter. “Rut provides the front-facing business we need to operate in the shadows. And it’s a lucrative business. The projections speak for themselves. We’ve estimated your ROI at thirty-six percent. We’ll do well here in New York.”

Marcus and Tom share a look, and then it’s Tom who nods. He grabs a water ringed napkin and scribbles something on it, then lays it face down on the table. When they stand and button their jackets, so do we.

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Marcus says, shaking my hand with a firm grip.

“I’ll reach out to my real estate friend,” Tom adds, taking my hand next. He brings it to his lips and presses a dry kiss on the back before letting me go with a wink. “Welcome to the city, luv.”

We watch them go.

“That went well,” Brendan says after they leave.

“It did,” I mutter, distracted as I reach for the napkin. I flip it over and stare at the handwriting, my jaw nearly dropping at the 1.2M figure scrawled there. It’s more than double what I was hoping for and way beyond the twenty percent we’ll need to secure a location and licenses.

“Holy shit,” Brendan says, picking up the napkin to study it. He hands it to me. My fingers tremble as I take it. “You did it, sweetheart!” He scoops me up into a hug, his scent and arms warm. “I knew you could. You’re so smart and determined. You did such a good job researching investors.”

My cheeks are hot when the waitress returns to hand us our seventh and final check of the day. The sun’s set when we head outside onto the street for the first time in over eight hours. Brendan holds my hand as we walk, no particular destination in mind.

“Should we go get dinner, you think?” he asks.

My empty stomach demands food, and this time I want something more substantial than an overpriced food cart kebab. “Yes. Maybe somewhere in the West Village.” We need to eat, but there’s no reason we can’t multitask. Maybe we’ll see something perfect while we’re looking for food.

Brendan groans, but steers us toward the curb where he looks for a taxi that’s empty. “You want to scout for locations, don’t you?”

“Too much for one day?” I ask, pressing against him.

He smiles and shakes his head. “Your dedication and drive are some of the things I love most about you. You don’t let anyone tell you no. Far be it from me to be the first.”

“But is it too much walking for your knee?” I ask, biting my lip.

He turns to face me and leans down to steal a kiss while he’s still got one arm raised in the air to hail a cab. “No. Your massage last night really helped. I promise I’ll let you know if it gets to be too much.”

“You better.” I grasp the lapels of his new suit and pull him tighter against me. He looks good in it. Maybe we’ll find another bathroom to celebrate tonight. We have one-point-two million reasons to be happy right now. “I have plans for you.”

“Oh.” He grins, the lines around his eyes creasing. “You do, huh? What sort of plans?”

“The fun kind.” I press my hand over his broad chest and slide it down his body, grazing his cock through his pants. It fills my hand even though it’s not hard yet. I give it a squeeze, enjoying the way it throbs against my palm. “Oh, look, a taxi.” I step around him and flag it down.

The yellow cab pulls over, and I smile at the driver as I pull the door open and get inside. “West Village, somewhere with nice restaurants.” When Brendan climbs in beside me and tugs the door shut, our driver merges into traffic.

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