It's Complicated: A Reservations Story

He found the navy suit and pulled the packet off the hanger, dumping the stapled papers into his hand. He flipped through the pages as she spoke, seeing her thorough instructions of all the different looks she’d sent him.

“Do you see the navy dress shirt? The suit and shirt are a perfect color match. That style of suit is considered an athletic cut. It’s designed to fit your body type. I sent several in that same cut. All the colors this season really compliment your complexion. You might be sorry you gave me free rein. I added undergarments and cuff links. Oh, and each suit is tailored to your exact measurements so don’t overeat all that delicious food they serve there…”

Beckett let Taylor drone on in the background as he refocused on finding the confirmation email from Reservations. His heart did a little pitter-patter when he found proof of his reserved table at the club for the next seven nights.

The striking blue-green eyes raced back into the forefront of his thoughts, and honestly, in his heart too. His boldness had paid off at their last encounter, and he planned to keep that luck going.

Beckett looked at the time on his screen then turned back to the clothing chart Taylor had sent. As if she’d sent an intricate blueprint, Beckett pieced together every item. She’d been clever to do it this way, obviously having worked with some left-brained clients in the past. The analytical approach allowed him to follow along easily. He had as many as fifteen unique looks for anything that might pop up, and boy, did he want something unexpected to happen.

He ignored the enormous price tag highlighted at the bottom of the eighth page. As far as he was concerned, she’d earned her commission. This collection of menswear was better than any before.

“Remember to expect everything to fit snugly and have Escape properties press your clothes. It’s a service they offer. I’m super excited about how this turns out for you. You have to call and let me know.”

Beckett barely said more than two words since she’d started her explanation. “Thank you for taking all this time to help me.”

His phone chimed, drawing his attention to the alarm notification titled Be Bold Initiative—make the call. His heart drummed against his ribcage in anticipation.

“I need to make a call. Are we good here?”

“Of course. Send pictures of yourself dressed up. I can’t wait. Ciao.” She disconnected the call.

He searched his contacts, found the bar’s telephone number, and pushed the call button before he had a chance to back down. His internal panic threatening to derail his intention.

He raised the phone to his ear and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. By the fourth ring, he was afraid he hadn’t timed the call properly.

“Reservations.” The greeting sounded more like a bark. Thane Walker. He’d know that voice anywhere. Shit. In a bitch move, Beckett thought about hanging up, but what if caller ID showed his name? “I said Reservations, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, can you hear me?” Beckett asked just as coldly. His eyelids slid closed while his heart dropped to his feet. In what world did the owner of all the Dishology restaurants around the world answer the phone at a bar? Obviously, in Beckett’s world. “Is Julian around?”

“Why?” Thane asked, his tone clipped and unyielding. Beckett’s restraint snapped. He glanced down at the phone in his hand and took a deep breath. His jaw set firm.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” Beckett tried harder than most to de-escalate any and every rocky situation, but he didn’t like Thane Walker any more than the man appeared to like him. After three days in the mountains in rough conditions, he didn’t have the energy or inclination to placate anyone.

“I don’t know you,” Thane fired back in a dismissive tone.

“Yet you speak to me in a tone I’ve never heard you speak to another person in that club.” Beckett balled his free hand into a fist.

Silence held between them for several long seconds before Thane gave a harsh laugh. “You’ve never heard me talk to Julian then, but you’re right, I don’t like you. So why do you want to speak to Julian?”

“It’s none of your damn business, Walker. Is he available?” His chest heaved from holding back all the insults he wanted to fling at this guy.

“I pulled your file. You’re squeaky clean,” Thane said with an edge of insult. What the hell was his problem? “You own some oil rights and have a survivalist camp. It’s the premier in the country…”

Beckett decided against pointing out how he could kick Thane’s ass seven different ways before the guy even knew what hit him. “Yeah, and I’ve spent a shit load of cash in your establishment. Do you take such an interest in every member’s business, or is it just me?”