Shit. No. I didn’t even think about that. I just searched places that looked good to eat.
“Ah no.” I rub at the back of my head.
“I’m sorry sir, but we only take reservations. And we book weeks in advance. Unfortunately we won't be able to seat you tonight.”
“Rachel!” another woman hisses out, rushes over, her eyes wide and panicked. She looks at me apologetically. “We’re so sorry, Sir. She’s new here.”
My brows furrow. Okay?
“So, I don’t need a reservation.”
“You do,” Becky says. “He does,” she tells the other woman.
“Not for the owner of the restaurant's son.” She glares at Becky. Now it’s Becky’s turn, her face turning white.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
Huh. Guess dad owns this place. Would have been nice to know beforehand.
“How could you?” I give her a friendly smile. “I’ve never been here before and I didn’t even give you my name. I’m Beckham Kennedy. My father said he was here?”
“Yes. He’s already at his regular table. My name is Kelly. Let me take you to him.”
Before I go, I lean towards Becky. “Breathe,” I say softly. “It’s okay. You did nothing wrong.”
She gives me a wobbly smile and nods. “Thank you.”
Poor girl. But I understand her panic. While I’m not some big scary guy, my dad is. To me, he’s just a teddy bear. To the world? He’s a stone cold killer hidden behind a charming smile.
Following Kelly through the place, I take a look around. It’s your typical fancy steak house. Everything is clean, sleek, and modern looking.
When I see dad, I can’t help but smile. “Thanks,” I tell Kelly and take a seat.
“Glad we could come out,” Dad says, smiling.
“Me too.”
“So. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Me too,” I tell him.
“You go first." He waves his hand towards me.
Swallowing hard, I nod, trying to take a few breaths to calm my nerves. “What do you think of Jameson Cross, Alaric Gable, and Tatum Walsh?”
His brows furrow as he scratches at his jaw. “From what I’ve seen and heard, they’re good men. For their age, they know what they’re doing. Set to take over for their fathers some day.”
“Do we have any bad blood with their families?”
“No,” he says slowly. “Why?”
Here we go Beckham. You can do it. “Because they’re my scent matched alphas.”
His eyes go wide. “Come again?”
“I ah, I found out they’re my scent matches. A few weeks ago.”
“Well I’ll be damned.” He huffs out a laugh. “Congratulations! That's amazing news.”
