13. Chapter 13
Frankie
One night in mid-January, the pub’s annual holiday staff party was well underway. It was one of the few times throughout the year that Frankie closed to the public, and the only time when she allowed her staff to drink for free. This year her generosity came at a price.
“I’d cap everyone at two freebies, boss, or at least limit the evening to drinking only what we have in surplus.
Some of our domestic beers haven’t been selling well, and the same goes for some of our cooler flavors.
” Sloane tapped the laptop screen, showing January’s estimated income in comparison to the inventory.
“Since you lost three batches of microbrew, we’ve already got a deficit in your supply.
We’ll already have to stretch what’s made, and order in a larger quantity from Barry’s Brewery in case we run out. ”
Frankie’s lips thinned at the news. She’d known the spoiled batches would have put a damper on the following month—all they ran was a microbrewery, after all—but she hadn’t foreseen it possibly affecting tonight’s party.
“I don’t know what happened.” Frankie shook her head. “I can’t cap the drinks. I haven’t done that since I took over from Danny.”
“Hey, as much as we all love the free booze, we aren’t gonna fault you for it.” Sloane pushed out of the office chair and shrugged. “The customers come first, or else we won’t have a job to go to.”
“I know , Sloane. Quit being cheeky.” Frankie eyed Sloane’s outfit for the night.
The moment the pub had closed at four, she’d swapped her black-on-black uniform for a leather skirt and a gothic style mesh skull crop top with individual, matching slip-on mesh sleeves.
She was in what she liked to call her “emo era.” Since they’d met, Sloane had shown many other eras of fashion to go along with her eccentric personality.
Frankie pointed to the vintage leather heeled Dr. Martens on her feet and tsked.
“And hey, don’t get so trashed tonight you break an ankle in those. ”
“Ugh, you’re such a mom right now.” Sloane rolled her eyes and started for the door, laughing over her shoulder. “And besides, ‘trashed’ with what high income? I’m a broke bitch, boss.”
“Such a brat,” Frankie huffed, watching as Sloane shut the door behind her on the way out.
Frankie groaned, turning her attention back to the numbers on the screen.
Her microbrew flavors were her best sellers, hands down.
She didn’t want to think about how it might impact her business if any further batches were compromised.
A professional had been by to service the tanks, but they had found no issues.
It had been Jon that suggested the ruined batches tasted like dust from the mill table.
Somehow it must have gotten into brew tanks.
Unfortunately, Sloane was right. Tonight would be the first party since opening the microbrewery that Frankie wouldn’t have the means to give her staff free rein over her commercial selection. She sighed, closing the laptop and heading out of the office as well.
There was something not many knew about Frankie.
Something she’d struggled with since she was a little girl, a reluctant personality trait she’d fought tooth and nail to conceal since she’d allowed Emily to talk her into going to that damn party as teenagers.
In a lot of ways, she was a people pleaser, to the point where her fear of disappointing those she cared for had gotten someone she loved killed.
I’d just be offering up my less popular inventory, not ending the world.
When she reached the front of the pub, Frankie spotted Evan almost immediately.
They were dressed in the black shirt and blue denims she’d purchased for them, wearing a black beanie over their buzzed blonde hair, and looking so cute that it took a moment to realize Evan wasn’t alone.
The twins stood holding pool sticks on either side of Evan, and the trio were in deep conversation.
Andy sat with his hip perched on the opposite end of the pool table, chatting with Dakota.
Frankie’s other staff and their guests for the night were scattered around the rest of the pub.
Some had pushed the tables back in one section and made a makeshift dance floor, and others were drinking in the booths and playing cards.
Balloons and party banners were strung up on as much surface as Sloane and Lian had managed earlier that day, completely covering the typical Irish pub theme in places.
And sitting alone in a booth adjacent to the pool table was Sawyer.
McCoy’s girlfriend was well dressed in a cardigan and navy-blue denims, with her thick black hair cascading just past her shoulders.
From what Frankie had seen so far, Sawyer seemed like the no-nonsense type.
A complete opposite of McCoy, and yet, exactly her type.
“Not enjoying the party?” Frankie asked, sliding into the booth across from Sawyer.
“Frankie, hi.” Sawyer paused the glass of water that was on the way to her mouth, slowly setting it back down on the table before scrutinizing Frankie. “No, it’s lovely. You’ve given me some ideas for staff parties at Desmarais.”
“Great.” Frankie smiled, recalling how McCoy had told her Sawyer was the owner of the French fusion restaurant on Vancouver’s west side. Her ex-lover certainly had a type. “However, I don’t deserve any of the credit. It’s Sloane who’s been organizing the staff parties for years.”
“Really,” Sawyer deadpanned. She pointed past the booth to where Sloane was trying to climb on top of the pool table while McCoy held her back. “ That Sloane?”
Frankie chuckled, watching the twins a moment longer, especially the way McCoy remained gentle even while lifting her sister over her shoulder.
“You’d be surprised. She’s also my bar manager and handles all the bookkeeping.
When I hired her, I swore her business management certificate wouldn’t go to waste. ”
“I’m sorry, but I think we know two different Sloanes.” Sawyer leveled Frankie with a hard stare. “That girl did her best to break McCoy and me up.”
Oh, Frankie was aware of what Sloane was capable of. McCoy herself had told her all about the first date sabotage, but Frankie also knew what it was like to feel deserted. It made the best people do ridiculous things they weren’t necessarily proud of.
“Tried and failed, remember.” Frankie tilted her head in the twins’ direction.
Her gaze softened slightly when she saw McCoy standing by herself, watching her and Sawyer, but her heart didn’t race like it did with Evan.
Frankie swallowed, turning back to Sawyer to say, “Think of it like this. You won over the best person imaginable, and now, your prize is putting up with her family.”
“I suppose so.” Sawyer’s lips twitched, and she finally took a drink of her water. “McCoy’s been … not like herself since Christmas. I think the tension between her and Sloane gets stressful at times.”
Frankie’s stomach tensed, and she inhaled sharply.
It had been a constant struggle to detach herself from McCoy since they’d parted ways.
Cutting ties with a sub was every bit as torturous as Natasha had warned so long ago.
Even now, while Frankie spent much of her free time fantasizing about Evan, with just one mention of McCoy not doing well, the urge to go full Domme was a powerful thing.
“What do you mean ‘not like herself’?”
“I think a part of her misses a part of you.” Sawyer’s response was crisp and to the point, but the feigned confidence was no match for the sudden tic in her clenched jaw.
“It’s not necessarily me she misses, Sawyer.
” Frankie took another deep breath, letting her eyes close for a second before refocusing on the older woman.
“More than likely, McCoy misses what I represent. Is there a part of her feeling guilty over the issues with Sloane? She might be feeling adrift because a part of her longs to be punished.”
“Punished?”
Slowly, Frankie nodded. She glanced at the bar, wishing she’d poured herself a beer before coming over.
She sat up straighter, wringing her hands together on the tabletop as she eyed Sawyer.
“Yes. BDSM is more than restraints and blindfolds, more than anything else the average light kinkster enjoys. It delves into the mind, far beyond what some can imagine. And every sub is different. Over the years, I learned what McCoy responds to the most. What scenes she likes or how they vary depending on her mood. Have you spanked her yet? Used a flogger?”
“No, not yet. It was mentioned in the beginning …” Sawyer trailed off, her storm grey eyes clouding over. “What if … I can’t be what she needs?”
The tightness in Frankie’s chest dispersed a little bit with those words. Sawyer’s dedication to understanding McCoy and her obvious love for the much younger woman was everything McCoy deserved.
Frankie gave her a wan smile, reaching across the table for Sawyer’s hand. She gave it a gentle squeeze. “So long as you’re open to learning, I can teach you the basics.”
The look of disbelief on Sawyer’s face was comical. “ You will teach me?”
Frankie shrugged before sliding out of the booth.
She brushed off her suit. “McCoy means the world to me, so yes. Let’s keep in touch, but for now,” Frankie leaned down to whisper into Sawyer’s ear, “I suggest you learn how to use a strap-on. That’s simple enough.
” Pausing, she smirked. “McCoy likes her wrists and ankles to be restrained while it happens.”