It's Complicated: A Reservations Story

“I have a casual dining grill in the front lobby area. Can you meet me there in about an hour and a half?”

Beckett’s salon appointment was at five. His reservation at Reservations wasn’t until eight. So yeah, he technically had time to meet Thane.

Fuck. Why couldn’t he be better at lying? “I’m just not interested in a bunch of bullshit with you.”

“Great. I agree.” Thane clapped his hands together once as if Beckett had said yes to their dinner date. “Just you and me, and maybe another friend—the owner of Escape—if he’s free.”

Beckett’s hand tightened around the pole. Just what he needed: two of them. He stared at Thane, who had dialed back the attitude he usually projected. That could have been a good sign. Or maybe Thane thought having the other man would give him a better chance at hiding a body—Beckett’s. The macabre thought made him smile.

“Did you give Julian my message?” Beckett asked, only to know if Julian had purposefully ignored his phone call.

“Let’s talk tonight.” Thane nodded once as if Beckett responded favorably then turned away. “I’m late for a meeting. I’ll see you at six thirty.”

“Dog, you’re not listening to me. I’m telling you that you must stay inside this conference room. Look, it has a soft chair you can curl up on. That’s your favorite thing to do.” Julian snapped his fingers then with a sweep of his arm through the doorway, pointed to the chair. Woofer took a seat on one of Julian’s shoes—one he was wearing at the time—his big body knocking against Julian’s leg. His tail gave a single wag as the big chocolate eyes stared up at him.

Julian scrubbed both hands down his face until his fingers rested on his cheeks. He stared down at the dog. Great, now they were in a staring competition. He wasn’t an expert on emotional support anything, but the damn dogs he’d seen on television had always responded to verbal commands and never went off course of their master’s directives.

Julian finally caved and brought Woofer to work with him tonight in the first place. He felt guilty for leaving Woofer at home alone all the time.

Ricco, the club’s head bartender, came around the corner, carrying his pay stub in hand. The bartender stopped short at seeing the enormous German shepherd then looked at Julian, in obvious confusion. He took a giant step backward when Woofer gave the slightest growl.

Woofer had a naturally menacing look, one of the reasons Julian had chosen the dog in the first place, but he didn’t have an aggressive bone in his body, not that Julian had witnessed. The growl could have been a rumble in his stomach for as sweet as the dog was.

“Whoa, what’s that?”

“My dog, Woofer, and he’s being a giant pain in the ass,” Julian added for Woofer’s benefit.

Ricco looked surprised as he shook his head as if trying to understand. “You don’t strike me as a dog person.” Ricco then gave Woofer a wide berth as he edged past the dog into the break room.

“You think? Of course, I’m not a dog person,” Julian confirmed readily.

“Then what’s he doing here?” Ricco dropped the paystub at one of the tables on top of Julian’s portfolio.

“Aren’t you full of questions, Mr. InMyBusiness?” Julian asked, eyeing the stub. Today was payday, which always meant something was wrong somewhere. “Why’re you back here?”

“They didn’t put my raise on this check. It was supposed to be there. You need to check it out for me,” the bartender said while, again, skirting past Woofer, who stayed happily glued to Julian’s leg.

The dog shed like crazy, and Julian looked down at the hair already covering his dress pants. He immediately reached down, swiping at the stray hair, remembering the deshedding appointment Woofer had missed during Julian’s hospital stay.

“Woofer, get in the room,” Julian barked. He had to find some tape or something to remove the hair from his dark-colored pants.

“Woofer, like Woof?” Ricco asked, lifting his brow and shaking his head as he spoke. “Of course, you would name him that.”

Julian smiled at Ricco’s statement. At least someone got the meaning behind Woofer without him having to explain it.

The buzzer and twirling red lights went off, alerting everyone in the kitchen that the back delivery door had been opened. Julian glanced up as a cool summer breeze blew through the open door, ruffling his hair.

A memory flashed seconds before the blinking lights dulled, taking Julian’s sight with it. He was transported to a place with muted sounds of conversation, and the hum of fluorescent lights piercing his skull, sending pain vibrating over every inch of space inside his head.

His body hurt too badly to move. Everything was spinning, and he felt groggy. This wasn’t right. Why was he hanging over a guy’s broad shoulder? He couldn’t see much from his position, only the back of a pair of cheap black jeans. The air around him filled with even cheaper aftershave. The breath rushed from Julian’s lungs as he was tossed over something hard. Blinding pain shot through his ribcage. He could barely open his eyes and had no control over his movements. Three or four men surrounded him. He couldn’t see their faces, but they called Julian by his name.