Chapter 8
8
P ierce eyed the young man in his bed, already fast asleep. Well, his guest room’s bed, but it was technically his. Unease gnawed at his gut. Brett had been seriously ill—and he wasn’t sure he bought the whole GI issue thing, but time would tell. After his stint in the CC, Brett didn’t appear much better. He sorted through the paperwork Brett had been sent home with—which he knew was none of his business, but he couldn’t help worrying. Nothing he read there sent up any red flags. It was just as Brett had said.
He checked a few things on his phone and saw that Brett’s symptoms could be a digestive issue, but something told him it was more. His ears buzzed and his body tensed with a strange sense of foreboding. Maybe after all the worry, it was hard to let it go so easily.
He wasn’t a doctor. What did he know?
Lowering his phone, he stared at Brett again. The hint of bossiness and name-calling suggested that the beta might be improving a little. That helped allay some of his fears.
Brett’s breathing had slowed, and it was obvious he was gone to the world. Pierce brushed back the beta’s curly hair. It needed a cut as long as it was, but at the same time, Pierce liked the longer locks.
Something to grab hold of.
Pierce brushed the inappropriate thought out of his mind. His fixation on the young beta was going to be his downfall. Downfall or not, he couldn’t look away.
Pierce watched Brett a few more seconds, taking advantage of a moment he could look his fill instead of stealing glances. Brett’s features had softened with sleep. Brett looked more angel than devil—and was infinitely better-looking, which was saying a lot considering how handsome he was awake. His skin was smooth and even, a smattering of light freckles over the bridge of his nose. His skin normally appeared tanned and golden, as if he were sun-kissed even in the middle of winter. Yet Brett was deathly pale. Hopefully that would improve with the medication and rest.
Lashes that might almost be considered too long fanned over the upper swell of his cheeks. Chestnut eyebrows slashed over eyes a brilliant shade of deep blue when he was awake, reminding Pierce of the sky in the late afternoon, when the sun had almost fallen, and the blue moved closer to purple in twilight.
When those eyes turned his way, his body yearned for something it shouldn’t. He longed to lean down and taste those full, rosy lips. Brett was too handsome for his own good—as if a master had chiseled him out of marble and brought him to life. Pierce searched Brett’s face, noting a tiny hairline scar he’d never noticed before. A tiny birthmark on the side of one eye. One brow was ever so slightly higher than the other.
So, he wasn’t perfect.
Just damned close.
For years, Pierce had watched his customers flirt with Brett, some of them taking it to extremes like Grandville. He’d done his best to hide his jealousy, knowing it was unacceptable and inappropriate, but he’d also found reasons to interject and put a stop to the banter. He couldn’t sit back and watch Brett flirt with someone who wasn’t him—even if it was only to earn a better tip.
Over the years, Pierce had become overly hypercritical of Brett. When he was in the dining room, Pierce spent half the night inspecting everything he touched. He didn’t do that with any of his other servers. He hired well and once trained to his standards, he trusted them to do their jobs unless they gave him reason otherwise.
Pierce had told himself he didn’t trust Brett, but looking back, he could see it had been equal parts a lack of faith and possessiveness. He’d barked because he didn’t like how interested he was in Brett. He was tough because he was terrified someone would notice that interest.
He often reminded himself of Brett’s worst traits to keep from wanting the man, not that it worked all that well. Brett could be arrogant. He could be lazy. He liked to play too much. He half-assed things too often. Brett’s lack of seriousness had made it easier for Pierce to keep some facade of distance. They were worlds apart, and he’d told himself that Brett’s irresponsibility was proof it could never work.
When Avery had suggested Brett take over the bookkeeping, Pierce’s initial instincts had roared no. If Brett was as careless in the office as he was in the dining room, it would lead to Pierce’s ruin. Avery had worn him down with promises, though. It had taken him months to realize his reluctance hadn’t been only about poor work ethic. He’d also feared getting any closer and putting his control to the test—but he’d reminded himself of all those bad traits, sure Brett would only make his opinion even worse.
Maybe he’d finally be able to fire the guy and rid himself of the temptation.
Once in the office, though, Brett had changed. He’d taken on his new role with a newfound enthusiasm and a seriousness Pierce hadn’t expected. Seeing a thoughtful, hardworking side to Brett had chipped away at the wall Pierce had erected between them. What was left of that wall had shattered when Brett had grown ill. Lines were being crossed left and right, and Pierce didn’t know how to stop the momentum. The beta was in his home, in his bed, tempting him deeper toward danger.
Brett rolled to his side, a soft moan escaping his lips.
Pierce’s body quickened, memories of the dreams that had often plagued him drifting through his mind. He trailed a fingertip over Brett’s upper arm, the desire to slide into the bed and hold the man close dragging the very air from his lungs.
He was being ridiculous.
He was older and a widower, set in his ways.
Brett was nearly half his age and in his employ—and brought nothing but chaos to his life.
It had wrong written all over it.
Even if all those black marks weren’t against them, he knew Brett wouldn’t want him. He’d seen the flirtatious looks he’d given customers and even experienced them once himself, but he knew it was all show. Brett flirted to get what he wanted—be it tips or a rise out of him. The guy knew he was gorgeous and wielded it like a weapon. He could have any man he set his sights on.
He wouldn’t choose an old man like Pierce.
Pierce chuckled to himself. Brett loved to remind him that he was old. And he was, relatively. Brett deserved a young, vital man closer to his own age.
Avery’s mention of another man came to mind, and his jaw tightened. In all his worry that morning, he’d forgotten it. How could he forget? It had felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, torn into two, and shoved back inside the gaping hole to fester.
He had no right to feel jealous. There were too many strings between him and Brett to allow them to be more than temporary bedmates. Pierce knew that’s not all he wanted. He felt an intense pull. One just as strong as what he’d had with his omega—which was absurd—yet it was there, making him crave a life together.
That simply wasn’t possible.
Pierce forced himself to rise, giving one last longing look before he headed out to check in with the team. At the top of the stairs, he paused to eye an old photo of Simon and him hanging nearby. He saw judgment in Simon’s eyes.
Of course it wasn’t there. He was only projecting his own guilt at having another man in their apartment—one he had the wickedest desires for.
Long after Simon’s death, it had seemed impossible to move on or consider being with another man—until he’d started having vivid dreams of Brett. The first had been of Brett, round and pregnant with his child, cuddled close in his arms as they’d lain in bed together. The dream had started off sweet enough, but then the atmosphere had changed. He’d dragged Brett’s back to his chest and driven his cock deep from behind. It had felt so real, just as every dream he’d had of Brett, and he’d awakened in the midst of a massive orgasm and left his bed a total mess.
Guilt had nearly destroyed him after waking. Somehow, it had felt as if he was cheating on Simon, but as the weeks, months, and years passed—and more of those dreams starring Brett had plagued him—the desire for a second chance had grown. The guilt had faded some, though he doubted it would ever go away.
Pierce traced a fingertip over Simon’s smiling face in the photo.
I’ll always love you. Nothing will change that.
He cast a glance toward the closed bedroom door before heading downstairs. The looks from his kitchen team when he appeared spoke volumes. He wasn’t going to address Brett or the fact the beta was upstairs in one of his beds. If he did, it would only make him look like he was trying to cover something up.
“Anyone seen Chef?”
“He went out to the dining room to discuss service with Maurice,” one of the line cooks said.
Maurice.
Just the mention of the man’s name made Pierce see red. No, it would be hard for him to hold Maurice accountable for what he did to Brett five years ago, but hard didn’t mean impossible. Brett might think the guy hadn’t done it to anyone else, but who knows? He needed to investigate the situation. If he had a disease in his kitchen, he needed to excise it.
He found the men sitting at the bar, in deep conversation.
Pierce sidled up behind the bar. “How are we looking for tonight?”
“T prepped the wrong prosciutto,” Maurice snapped. “That guy is always fucking up.”
Chef raised a hand to Maurice. “That’s the vendor’s fault—and maybe ours for not noticing the wrong one came in.”
“He should know which brand we use by now,” Maurice said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Is it going to affect service?” Pierce asked, recognizing a pettiness he’d never noticed before—or was that simply him searching for fault in Maurice?
“You’ve already printed tonight’s menu with the other one listed. Either we let diners know there’s a change or reprint,” Chef said. “The dish will be perfectly fine with that brand.”
“I’m happy to reprint them,” Pierce said, glaring at Maurice. “Easy enough fix without leveling any blame.”
“A couple of the line cooks have been getting lax,” Maurice said, changing the subject. “I’m going to push them tonight. Impress upon them what our standards are.”
“Within reason. I don’t want a hostile tone in my kitchen,” Chef said. “Push but also guide. Find the balance.”
Maurice rolled his eyes. “Of course, Chef.”
“Maurice, can you give Chef and me a moment?” Pierce asked.
“Sure thing,” Maurice said, giving Pierce an odd look. “Before I go, this thing with Brett. What’s going on with him?”
Pierce clenched his jaw. “In what respect?”
“You never take people upstairs,” Maurice said. “Chef just said he’s only been up there once and that was when it was Pierre’s apartment.”
“What is it you’re implying?” Pierce asked, his hackles rising.
“The kitchen’s talking. It might affect service tonight if they’re all gossiping about you and Brett,” Maurice said.
“You don’t get to question what I do or don’t do in my establishment,” Pierce said to the beta. “But if you must know, I put Brett in my guest bedroom because he’s so exhausted he can’t stand on his own two feet. There’s no way I could let him drive home in that condition. If I drove him, there’s no one to watch him to make sure he’s okay. I’m simply ensuring the welfare of a long-term employee. That’s all. I can’t control the gossip or what anyone thinks, including you, so I don’t really care if you all have opinions about it. I did what was right. Period.”
Maurice nodded, but it was clear he didn’t like to be spoken to like that. “Understood.”
Once Maurice disappeared into the kitchen, Pierce eyed Chef. “Do you have issue with what I did?”
“Nope,” Chef replied. “None of my business.”
Pierce took a cleansing breath. “On another note, I’ve heard whispers of bad behavior on Maurice’s part. Do you have anything to say on the matter?”
“What kind of bad behavior?”
“Inappropriate touches that cross the line,” Pierce said.
An odd look came over Chef’s face.
“Antonio, if there’s something he’s done or is doing, I need to know.”
Chef sighed. “All I’ve heard are whispers myself. Every time I’ve asked anyone supposedly involved, I get nothing. All I can say is, I’ve not seen him step out of line like that. Can he be a hothead and is he a little rough on the guys at times, yes. I’ve been working with him on that and he’s doing better.”
“This is the number two you chose,” Pierce said. “I told you that I thought it was the wrong call, but I trusted your gut.”
“Terry is too…” Chef shook his head. “Look, the kid can cook, but he’s just not a good fit for my kitchen. He’s an even bigger hothead than Maurice. I needed someone levelheaded. Maurice has his issues, but in comparison, I thought he’d make a better leader.”
“T’s forty. He’s not a kid anymore.”
“He’s a kid to me,” Chef said. “I’m steamrolling toward seventy.”
Pierce hated hearing another hint that Antonio was getting long in the tooth. Maurice was supposed to be his replacement, but Pierce had questioned that before what Brett had told him. “You still have six or seven years before you reach that landmark.”
“Five,” Chef corrected. “And every day I wonder more and more about how many more months these knees have left in them. The kitchen’s hard on a body. I’ve done it longer than a lot of the men I went to culinary school with. Good chefs tend to burn out quick. The best, even quicker.”
Pierce clenched his jaw.
“I miss Pierre every damned day. He was the best of the best.”
“I miss him, too,” Pierce whispered, quiet a moment as he searched his memory for his brother’s face. It had been too many years, and he struggled to conjure Pierre’s face in his mind. Sadly, the same went for his mate.
“I can’t imagine a man like you retiring,” Pierce murmured, realizing they were coming to the end of an era.
“I can, though I’ll probably keep cooking somewhere. Maybe do some catering. I don’t know,” Chef said.
“Isn’t catering even harder? You’re serving five hundred at one time, not staggered out through the night.”
“Nah,” Chef said. “It’s a lot less stress. Days of prep. Simpler menus. I did catering for a while before I agreed to come and help Pierre as his temporary sous chef. Who knew I’d still be here running a line thirty years later.”
“I appreciate all you’ve done for this place—and me.”
Chef grinned. “I did it for Pierre. At first, at least. Then the idea of leaving just… faded over the years. That was because of you. You’ve been good to me. Good to all of us, really.”
Pierce smiled at Chef. “Take care of your people, they take care of you.”
“A motto too many owners don’t remember,” Chef said, sliding off his barstool. “I better get back in there. Front of the house will be coming back for the service meeting soon.”
“Yes, Chef,” Pierce said. “Oh, and if you hear any other whispers from now on, come and tell me about them, hmm? I don’t like the things I’m hearing.”
Chef nodded. “Will do.”
Once the servers came in, they’d had the back of the house meeting and dining room prep commenced. Within a half hour, they’d seated their first table. From that point on, the night was its usual speeding bullet. All night, he peeked in, never leaving Brett for more than an hour at a time. Each time he’d checked, Brett slept peacefully—except later that night when he’d found the beta tossing a bit and muttering incoherently. He’d been reluctant to leave after that, but the restaurant was nearly closed for the night. He slipped down long enough to walk through and leave some final instructions. Once the uncounted tills were locked in the safe, Pierce left his folks to finish closing procedures, something he rarely did.
When he returned upstairs, he found Brett awake, huddled and trembling in the middle of the bed. The comforter was wrapped around him like a cloak. The light from the hallway was the only illumination in the dark bedroom, but even so, what he saw unnerved him.
“Brett? What’s going on?” Pierce asked, rushing closer. “Are you okay?”
Brett’s head whipped up, his eyes bright and glassy. His pupils were blown. A fine sheen of sweat coated his face, with larger dots on his brow.
An unusual scent wrapped around Pierce. He drew it in, nostrils flaring.
Brett gazed up at him, panic in those deep blue eyes. “Help me…”
Pierce trembled, a growl rumbling in his chest. A shudder rolled over his body and a sudden need gripped him tight.
The need to rut.
He blinked a few times, fighting the urge to pin Brett down and mount the omega.
He’s a beta… not an omega. He can’t be in heat.
Brett climbed from under the comforter. Already naked, his hard cock jutted toward Pierce, leaking cum. The scent of slick soon filled the air, too. Again, Pierce growled low in his chest, the instinctive need to sate an omega’s heat screaming in his alpha blood.
He’s not an omega… he’s not…
Brett turned himself on the bed, lifting his ass high and arching his back perfectly—instinctively presenting himself to an alpha to be claimed. Pierce closed his eyes, the call to rut roaring in his ears. He reached for the doorknob, as if it was strong enough to hold him back.
“Breed me, alpha,” Brett whispered.
Pierce’s eyes flew open with those words. Brett stretched his ass cheeks apart to show himself to Pierce. His hole glistened with slick, the puckered flesh gaping open and closed with the need to be filled. Pearls of slick dripped from him, beckoning Pierce to drive deep and fill the man’s womb.
A womb? He has no womb…
“Please,” Brett pleaded, his voice subtly different. “It hurts… it hurts so much…”
Unable to look away from Brett’s hunger, Pierce panted. He took a single step backward before he was frozen in place.
“Fill me with your baby, my alpha…”
My alpha. Pierce willed himself the strength to walk away. He knew the words were instinct and only instinct. Nearly every omega begged to be bred while in heat, whether they wanted a child or not. It was a mating call, when none was truly needed. The scent of an omega’s desire was enough to trigger a rut, and Brett’s threatened to send him over the edge. It had been too long since he’d felt that call.
How…?
How had a beta gone into heat?