Page 22 of Pin My Alpha
“No, seriously. You asked for my help. This is me helping. You don’t get to hire someone to analyze the data and then get mad when the facts are inconvenient.”
“I’m not mad the facts are inconvenient.”
“You’re mad about the answer.”
“I don’t like firing people.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then stop talking about it like you’re just moving numbers between columns.”
The words land like a punch.
Because that’s exactly what I’m doing. That’s the whole point. If it’s just columns, then Mateo is just a line item. If it’s just a business plan, then I’m not a scared omega sitting in a borrowed shirt three feet from the alpha who put a permanent mark on my neck.
I flatten my palms on the bar, trying to keep the conversation on solid ground. “People are people, and payroll is payroll. You can’t save everybody if you lose the bar.”
Declan pushes off his stool. He doesn’t move fast—that would be easier to react to. He just unfolds, slow and broad and suddenly very tall, the bar towel slipping from his shoulder to land in one of his big hands. He starts wiping down a clean patch of the counter.
“You think I don’t know that?” His voice is low.
“I think you’re acting like the numbers will get their feelings hurt if you look at them.”
The rag stops moving. “And I think,” he says, his voice dropping even quieter, “you’re acting like this is just about numbers because you’re scared it might not be.”
Oh.
There it is. The unspoken thing, laid out on the bar between us like a bill I can’t pay. He didn’t say us. He didn’t mention the bite, or last night, or the fact I’m wearing his shirt like a walking, talking surrender flag. He didn’t have to.
“That’s a reach,” I manage, my own voice sounding thin.
“Is it?”
He isn’t angry. He isn’t even challenging me, not really. He’s just standing there, patient, letting me squirm. It’s infuriating.
I push my stool back, the legs scraping hard against the floor, and get to my feet. “We’re talking about staffing.”
“We were,” he agrees.
“Mateo is on the payroll three nights you don’t need him.”
“He’s twenty,” Declan says, his eyes fixed on my face. “He’s putting himself through community college.”
My mouth opens, then closes. Damn it.
“Okay,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “That’s a factor. It doesn’t change the math.”
“No. But it changes what the math means.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You can’t run a business on guilt.”
“I don’t,” he says, and his expression hardens just slightly. For a second, I think he’s finally going to snap. He’s an alpha. He’s bigger than me. This is his bar, his life, his problem.
But he just looks at me. That’s all. With those tired green eyes that see way too much.
“You came in here this morning,” he says, his voice perfectly level, “wearing my shirt, and told me to pretend last night never happened. You set the terms. I’m trying to stick to them.”
My stomach twists. “Then try harder.”
