Page 6 of Sweet and Salty

Owen

I've already been at my club since an hour before dawn when my best friend and number one employee, Caleb Banks, walks through the front doors.

“The hell man, did you sleep here again last night?” he asks as he comes to stand at the bar, looking at me where I sit on a stool going over some paperwork.

“I slept at my apartment,” I say, finishing checking over the list in front of me before I slide it over to him. “I just wanted to get the jump on things before I have to head out on assignment.” I tap the paper as he sits on a bar stool to look it over. “I know you've done this before, but it gives me peace of mind to go over it with you, so here's the checklist.”

“The same checklist we've gone over the last three times you've had to rush off on an assignment,” Caleb says. “Do you remember when I pulled you out of that enemy fire match in Afghanistan?”

“Yes,” I grumble.

“You think I can do that but not manage your club while you’re gone?” He has a shit-eating grin on his face. If he wasn’t a brother to me, I might consider punching him just to wipe it off.

“I know you can,” I say. “This shit isn’t for your benefit. You know I’m a control freak.”

“Oh, I fucking know,” he says, laughing. “You never let me drive when we were overseas.”

“We’re alive because I never let you drive.”

“Whatever, Salty,” he says, using the nickname he’d given me when we were first assigned to a unit together in our Air Force days.

I’ve never been a huge people person, and Caleb is as friendly as they come. He’d tried to make friends with me that first day on assignment, and I’d barely given him a two-word response. He’s called me Salty ever since. He shakes his head, motioning to the list.

“Let’s go over this so you can breathe,” he says a little more seriously.

“Thank you,” I say begrudgingly. He’s the one person I’ve remained in contact with since separating from the military, and since my parents passed years ago, and I have no siblings to speak of, he’s as close to family as I’ll ever get. I give him shit, but I appreciate his understanding when it comes to my control needs. Chalk it up to too much chaos when I was enlisted, but ever since I’ve been out, I’ve needed to execute my life with a severe level of control or I can’t breathe.

“This is what you trained me for,” Caleb says after we’ve gone over the list. “It’s why you partnered with me in the first place, besides the fact that you wanted to see your bestie every day,” he laughs. “I’m here for when you get called off on assignment for six months to a year at a time. I’ll take care of your baby.” He motions to the nightclub around us that’s empty. “This baby being your club.”

“You've never let me down,” I say. “And that reminds me, I want you to be sure to have somebody double check the roofaccess is locked every night. Someone forgot last week and I caught a few people up there.”

Caleb scribbles the note down on his checklist, nodding. “I'll handle it.” He smirks at me. “I know that’s an owner-only privilege.”

“Fucking hell,” I grumble, shaking my head. “I never should’ve told you.”

“Don’t say that,” he fires back. “I’m proud of you for doing something for yourself for once. Now if you could only get your mystery girl to meet up with you?—”

“Yeah, yeah,” I cut him off, trying to act casual when I feel anything but.

My fingers itch to reach into my pocket for my phone, already excited to send Kitten one of our daily texts. That night two months ago on the roof haunted my dreams in the best way. Sex has always been fun, but with her?

It’d been electric.

Addicting.

And once she returned my text a couple weeks after that night? I’d been hooked on her personality too. She’s the complete package, and I don’t even know her name.

I resist the urge to text, not wanting to wake her up since it’s still only seven in the morning. I know she gets up early for work—not that she's ever officially told me her profession, lest it take away from the mystery—her words, not mine—but I figure it’s still too early.

Caleb heads off to handle some of the items on his checklist, and I pull out my tablet, opening the email from Senator Casson. After officially hiring me yesterday, he’d sent over an email packed with information about his daughter and anything he had on the ex-patient of hers who was stalking her.

I do my best to focus, shoving thoughts of Kitten out of my mind in order to ground myself in the task at hand. Thisassignment will be six months, maybe more if I don’t handle the situation quickly. I spare a split second to silently grumble about the way this assignment will interrupt my daily flirtation with the girl who stars in my dreams every night. I can’t be texting her on the job like I can here at the club, but it’ll be fine. Knowing her, she’ll understand, and it’ll make connecting with her every night after the job is done that much sweeter.

I read through Senator Casson’s files, noting the patterns I've seen in several stalker cases I’ve worked before, though this one is a bit more personal since he’s an ex-patient.

“Anything interesting?” Caleb asks, returning with the checklist ticked off in full.

“Stalker case. Daughter of a senator. She’s a therapist. Stalker is a former patient,” I explain, having already gotten clearance from the senator to do as much. Caleb doesn’t just run my nightclub when I’m away on assignment, he’s also my go-to tech guy. Seriously, I’m good with computers, but he’s next level and assists me on cases if I’m ever in a jam.

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