Page 7 of Rut Bar

“What’s the point of being the boss if you can’t break a few rules?” he counters.

I’m forgotten about as they flirt. The bartender rakes his artfully tousled hair back and all I can wonder is how long he takes to look like he rolled out of bed after pleasuring a good woman all night long. I’ve never been able to perfect that post sex aesthetic.

“Google it up when you get home,” the bartender says, snagging her empty glass from her. “And call me if you find anything interesting.”

She bites the bright red cherry off the toothpick with her pink lips and chews it. “Hmm.”

I get back to my sums until the room falls silent and I realize he’s asked me a question. “Well?” he asks again. “I hope you’re not too much of abig bad alphato drink a fruity beverage.”

A gut instinct tells me he’s used to getting what he wants, and he won’t leave me alone until he gets it. Sometimes it’s easier to play along. Get it over with. If he’s trying to goad me into reacting, it won’t work. I’m a professional.

I grab the drink and take a small sip to make sure it really doesn’t have any alcohol in it. It doesn’t, so I suck in a deeper pull, enjoying the mix of orange, peach, and pineapple.

“It’s good.”

Good doesn’t cover it. It’s a tropical paradise in a glass. I can practically feel the warm sand under my feet and the breeze in my hair. My mind wanders to the mental image of licking it off her stomach as he pours it down her naked body in a body shot, the cocktail mingling with her own natural orange essence until I can’t tell what’s the drink and what’s her as I lick her pussy. His grin tips into a smirk as if he can read my filthy thoughts.

“Just good?” He arches a brow and taps the empty glass against his thigh. “Come on. Surely you can do better than that. Give me a word that’s not monosyllabic. I deal with enough grunts and one-word answers from the alpha dancers.”

“Anthony,” Vee chides, frowning at her bartender.

“It’s fine,” I interrupt before things can get out of hand. I’m going to be here for a few weeks. This paperwork and Janet’s half-assed notes are a nightmare. The last thing I want is for things to be more tense than they normally are during someone’s first audit. If letting the bartender tease me in this one-sided competition makes my life easier, then I can play along.

“Delectable,” I tell him. “Or is that two syllables too many?”

“No, that’s perfect. Delectable… I couldn’t agree more. That’s what I’m going to write on my menu board.” He flicks his eyes to my glass. “Drink up. You wouldn’t want to waste a single drop.”

And then he’s gone. I stare at the empty doorway before shaking my head and getting back to work. The drink sits forgotten as I wade back into the familiar realm of numbers where everything makes sense.

People are confusing. Numbers don’t lie.

“Let me know if anyone bothers you,” Ms. Taylor says, interrupting me from my work. “Or if I bother you. Sometimes I don’t realize I’m humming until someone points it out.”

The sum I was building in my head disappears like a cloud scattered on the wind. Normally the interruption would bother me—that’s why I work in the field instead of next to my noisy cubicle neighbor Sharon—but the excuse to catch the omega’s wide, honest eyes and take in the stubborn tilt of her chin soothes the irritation. She’s so fucking pretty.

She gives me a polite smile, and I’m hit with the sudden urge to say something that makes her smile at me like she looks at the bartender.

Stop. You can’t flirt with her.

Against my better judgment, my mouth opens before my brain can stop me. “There’s nothing you could do that would bother me.”

I hold her gaze, keeping her attention on me. It feels good to have it. She’s a beautiful woman. Of course it’s pleasant to have her attention. And that’s all this is. Base attraction to a pretty little omega because it’s been too long since I went on a date.

Her mouth softens and she blinks before she recovers, her cheeks pinkening with a delicate blush. “Oh,” she exhales in a soft puff of air.

The bloom of her perfume fills the room, and I clench my hand tight until my pen creaks.Don’t break another one, idiot.It took an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol to get the stains out.

“I’m used to working around distractions, I mean,” I add. She can’t know that’s not what I meant at all. It’s unprofessional conduct.

“Oh. Yes, of course.” She gives me a strained, polite smile.

Well, at least my half-mast erection dies. We both go back to our own work until the noise from the club reaches a crescendo of female screaming that’s louder than the thumping club music. Veronica doesn’t glance up from her computer. I guess this sort of thing is pretty common in a place like this? How does she not go deaf?

She pushes away from her computer.Is she going to go check on the club? Flirt with her bartender?

My chest pinches at the thought, although I understand it’s stupid. I have no claim over her and even if I wanted to, I can’t. I shouldn’t want her attention like this. Shouldn’t imagine licking cocktails out of her navel or burrowing my face in her cunt. Fucking her up against the large glass windows that look out on her club.

Shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t. But that forbiddenness makes the fantasies harder to resist.

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