Made to Order by Brigham Vaughn
THREE
“Rachael.” Donovan nodded at the tavern owner as he took a seat in the chair across the table from her. She preferred to keep staff meetings casual and, like always, they were at a table in the bar side of the tavern.
“Donovan.” Rachael smiled brightly, tucking her dark hair over her shoulders. At times, he’d chafed at working for people younger than him, but she had more than proven herself over the past couple of years and really, it was only by about five years. They were both in their thirties. Donovan was just on the later side of it.
An introduction through a friend of a friend had put them in touch with each other, just as Rachael was searching to expand her business and Donovan was looking for a restaurant to get in on the ground floor of. Especially after the way he’d ended his last job and the shitshow of a breakup with Jude.
Donovan had been impressed by his first meeting with Rachael, even if it had been a casual chat at a backyard BBQ. She’d passionately spoken about the tavern her father had owned and the restaurant he’d always wanted to open. She talked about his death and the work she’d done to bring the restaurant up into the new century while preserving his legacy.
He’d been sold by her enthusiastic love of the place. By her passion for running a business with the kind of integrity and high standards he’d always held himself to.
She was an excellent business partner, and he hadn’t once regretted his decision.
“We’re just waiting on Tyler,” she said, crossing her legs. She smoothed her light summer dress down over her thighs. “Help yourself if you’d like.” She nodded to the pitcher and plate of cookies on the table.
A pitcher of mint lemonade—no, lime, he thought as he took a sip—and ginger molasses cookies. The cookies he recognized as being from the bakery downtown but the drink was probably something Rachael had made herself. He knew she used to have a bigger hand in working behind the bar before the expansion.
“This is good,” he said, lifting his glass.
“Isn’t it? Tyler’s been making more mocktails lately. There’s a trend toward them, people either cutting back on alcohol, or cutting it out completely, so we’re trying to offer more options for people than soda water.”
“Tyler made this?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” Tyler said drily as he slid into the chair to Donovan’s left. “I have been working here for, God, how many years, Rach?”
She frowned. “Well, my parents died in 2007 and you hired on just after you left active duty so … almost eleven years?”
“Must be. Wow.”
It irked Donovan that Tyler called their boss ‘Rach’. She wasn’t his buddy. She was his employer. And if anyone had a right to be on a more level footing with her, it was Donovan. He owned half of the restaurant side of the business, for fuck’s sake.
The business structure here was a little unusual and it meant the hierarchy was a bit lopsided. Donovan had some financial stake in the business, but overall, he still answered to Rachael. Tyler managed the bar side of the business, but he wasn’t an investor. Tyler had no right to be all buddy-buddy with her, even if they had grown up together.
But frankly, everything about Tyler irked Donovan.
His ex-Army tough-guy attitude got on Donovan’s last nerve. The first week they’d met, Donovan had come into the tavern for a meeting with the contractors about the restaurant remodel and seen Tyler lugging heavy boxes of booze. He’d offered to help but Tyler had looked him up and down and shaken his head like he thought Donovan didn’t have the strength.
Fine, maybe Donovan didn’t have the bulging muscles Tyler had. He ran toward wiry, lean strength. Maybe he didn’t have six-pack abs either. He was a chef, for God’s sake. He spent every single waking minute of his day thinking about food so he was a little softer around the middle than he’d like. But he tried to stay active and fit with martial arts, if for no other reason than he was often on his feet for ten or twelve hours a day and he had to be at peak physical and mental performance to run a kitchen with the precision and level of quality he expected of himself.
He could have helped lug around some boxes of alcohol, but clearly Tyler thought Donovan couldn’t manage it. Fine. He hadn’t offered again.
“Donovan?”
He glanced up to see Rachael and Tyler staring at him expectantly. “Ahh, sorry. I was thinking about the menu for next week.” He didn’t approve of dishonesty but a little white lie to avoid pissing off the bartender in front of Rachael? Yeah, that seemed forgivable.
Rachael nodded. “Well, the reason I wanted to meet with you both is because I’m going to be going out of town. Reeve and Grant have talked me into going away on vacation.”
Tyler smiled. “Oh, that’s great. You deserve a break. You work so hard.”
She gave him a little smile back.
Rachael, Reeve, and Grant weren’t the first triad Donovan had met. He’d spent some time in the poly and swinger communities and explored it a bit himself, because he’d thought opening up his relationship with Jude might save it, but in the end, the experience had left a sour taste in his mouth.
There was nothing wrong with the idea of open or poly relationships in theory. People like his boss and her partners made it work. He’d seen the genuine love and connection there but he’d seen it turn toxic too. No more than it did in monogamous relationships maybe, but shitty people were shitty people, and drama was drama, no matter what the relationship configuration.
He clearly wasn’t wired that way and adding complication to his life was not something he had the time or energy for. Still, Donovan could see that it worked for Rachael and her partners, despite the stress of running a business that undoubtedly made the relationship even more difficult.
“I’m glad you have the opportunity to get away,” he said graciously. “When will you be leaving?”
She listed a week in June that she and her partners were considering and asked if that worked for their schedules.
Donovan nodded. “That works for me.”
“Me too.” Tyler adjusted the baseball cap on his head.
Tyler always wore the damn thing. Donovan had never seen him without one, in fact. He idly wondered if Tyler was going bald. Ha. That would be funny.
Donovan might be a ginger but at least he had a full head of hair.
“Which leads me to my next topic.” Rachael cleared her throat. “Who is in charge while I’m gone.”
Donovan sat up straight and Tyler shifted in his seat as she looked between them.
“I’m going to be honest; this was a tough decision. You’re both fantastic at what you do. But I think it’ll be easier if there’s one single person in charge. It’ll be temporary. Only for a week and then you’ll go back to reporting to me.”
Donovan nodded. Well, that was fine. He could take on more responsibility if he needed to.
“After some careful consideration, I’m putting Tyler in charge.”
White noise filled Donovan’s head. “What?” he said hoarsely.
“You know I respect you, Donovan, but the truth is, you’re already doing so much. You’re running the kitchen and the front of the house. Kristin does a great job managing the servers but she’s answering to you as it is. So, it doesn’t make sense to put this on her.”
“I don’t mind taking on more while you’re gone,” he said stiffly.
“I know you don’t. And I appreciate that. But the truth is, Tyler has been here for more than a decade. He knows this place and our vendors like the back of his hand.”
“He doesn’t know the kitchen vendors,” Donovan argued. “I do.”
“And you don’t know the bar vendors,” Tyler shot back. “What is your problem, man?”
“My problem is that I’m part owner in this place. I don’t see why I should have to answer to a bartender.”
A startled expression crossed Rachael’s face and Donovan guiltily remembered his mom scolding him when he was a kid. Just because your hair looks like it’s on fire doesn’t mean you have to act like it is. Coming from a fellow hot-headed ginger, he knew it was good advice. He wasn’t always good at remembering it, however.
Sorry, Mom, he thought.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it.”
Rachael leaned forward. “Tyler is the bar manager, not just some bartender. Though, for what it’s worth, I’d prefer you don’t talk down to my bartenders either. Yes, Donovan, you are a co-owner in the restaurant. And I respect that, I absolutely do. But Tyler currently has fewer responsibilities than you do. He has more time to take on the extra work.” Her tone was kind but there was clearly no arguing with her. “And I think this is what’s best for the business overall.”
“Right.” Donovan cleared his throat, trying not to grit his teeth as he looked over at Tyler and his stupid smug face. “I want what’s best for the tavern too.”
“So do I,” Tyler said.
Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he? He’s won.
“Good,” Rachael said. “We’ll talk more in the next few weeks about the details, but I wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“I appreciate that,” Donovan said stiffly. He was definitely gritting his teeth now.
“We won’t let you down, Rach,” Tyler said.
She smiled at them both. “I know that.”
Donovan tried to smile back as pleasantly as he could. Because while Rachael was a kind, friendly person who looked out for her staff as though they were family, she was also a businesswoman who was doing a brilliant job running the place. She was the one in charge here and if she didn’t like Donovan’s attitude, it could get ugly for him.
Maybe not ugly—she didn’t seem like the vindictive type—but as of right now, he had almost full authority over the kitchen as executive chef. He decided the menus, he chose the vendors, he hired the new staff, he got to run the show. But if he wasn’t a team player, that might change.
Hell, if she really thought he was a problem, she might even buy him out and go into business with someone new. Someone less hot-headed. Someone who worked better with her bartender—bar manager—and Donovan couldn’t lose his position here. It was too important to him.
“The restaurant will be in great hands while you’re gone,” Donovan said, lifting his chin. “You won’t have a thing to worry about.”
Because I won’t let you fuck this up, Tyler.
* * *
By the time the restaurant closed for the night, Donovan was bone-tired. His feet and his back ached, but there was a buzz in his head that wouldn’t quit. It was always like that for him. Ever since he’d begun working in a kitchen in high school. There was an energy there unlike anything else he’d ever experienced, and a good night made his blood sing.
His ex, Jude, was the only person who’d ever understood. Jude Maddox was a chef too, a talented one, and they’d worked together for years in the kitchen of Plated, a high-end restaurant in Fort Benton.
They’d met there, in fact, both working their way up to sous chefs. They’d competed against each other, supported each other, and discovered a love of kink together.
They’d dove into that with the same ferocity they’d tackled everything else, only to discover that they weren’t as perfectly matched as they’d hoped.
Jude was a switch. Which was fine. It meant he could submit to Donovan. But Donovan was never going to meet Jude’s needs to top because Donovan didn’t submit to anyone. He’d happily let a guy fuck him, but get ordered around? Not in a million years.
Still, they’d tried to keep their relationship going. Kink was always the way they ended good nights in the kitchen. No matter how exhausted they were, the minute they got in the door of their apartment, they were on each other like they’d die without the other’s touch. It had been heady and powerful stuff, and the perfect way to wind down after a high-energy night in the kitchen.
It had quieted that buzz and let them sleep. Days off were different. Lazier, a little more loving. But those nights, high on the energy that was impossible for anyone outside the restaurant business to understand, they’d sizzled with the heat of the twenty thousand BTUs in a commercial kitchen range.
And then it had all gone sideways in a spectacular, ugly fashion, and he and Jude had barely spoken since.
Now, Donovan unlocked his apartment door, feeling the itch for that release he experienced as a dominant grow under his skin. It had been too long since he’d toyed with a willing sub. Teasing him. Tormenting him.
Donovan thought about it in the shower, washing off the sweat and kitchen smells that clung to his skin. He stroked his cock a little as he thought of binding a man. Putting him through his paces.
In bed after the shower, skin still damp and hair slicked back and darkened from water, Donovan propped himself against the headboard.
He scrolled through his kink app but found no one that pinged his radar. Almost no one on at all. Not surprising at this hour of the morning. It had been so much easier in Fort Benton. More men to choose from. More who fit his needs. But there were only a handful here.
Donovan frowned down at his phone. None appealed. He didn’t know why.
Truthfully, he had no idea what he wanted anymore. He just wanted something.
He scrolled through the profiles again, reading their words as much as looking at the pictures.
There were the guys looking for a sweet, loving dynamic, and he could do that. He’d done it in the past.
There were guys looking for a rough, wild night and yeah, since his breakup he’d done that too.
But none of them seemed right.
Donovan slowed as he stared at one profile, flicking through the photos. The tattoos reminded him a bit of Tyler. Donovan looked down at his own inked skin. Yeah, so that was probably the one and only thing he and Tyler had in common.
The guy on his screen definitely wasn’t Tyler. He’d posted a face shot and he was nowhere near as good-looking.
When did I decide Tyler was good-looking?Donovan wondered. But he supposed there was a certain appeal to him. His muscular frame would look great all trussed up in ropes and his dark stubble and piercing blue eyes would look gorgeous as they stared up at Donovan. But that was a terrible idea if he’d ever heard one.
Work conflict aside, they couldn’t stand each other. And Donovan knew he was at least partly to blame. He needled Tyler, just because he could. Because he enjoyed it.
Besides, Tyler was straight, at least according to all appearances, and he certainly didn’t look like the type to go down on his knees easily. Of course, that could be half the fun …
Donovan looked again at the pictures of the guy’s toned abs and hard cock and closed the app. Nah, if he was going to fantasize about someone, he might as well pick the better option.
So, if Donovan tossed away his phone, shut his eyes and stroked his cock while he pictured binding Tyler’s muscular arms, grabbing Tyler by his chin, and pushing him to his knees, well, no one would ever need to know.
