Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(43)

“Espresso.”

Raoul stepped to the side to the machine they kept around for staff and flipped a capsule in. As elegant as he was, he could make working the bar look like something of his own personal dance show. Frank wouldn’t have been surprised in the least to learn that Raoul had a past either as a dancer or a bullfighter, though with his width, it would be quite a feat for a charging bull to miss him.

Raoul put the cup on a tiny saucer in front of Frank.

Frank kicked the black coffee back. The bitterness spread in his mouth and the hot liquid trailed down his throat. He blinked and swallowed again. “That hit the spot.”

“Did it?” Raoul’s tone was very nearly catty.

“Different spot.”

Raoul laughed.

“Okay, I’m off. Meeting a couple friends for a late dinner. Anything you needed from me?” He inclined his head and raised an eyebrow. “Or was it taken care of after you came by my office?”

Raoul focused extra hard on wiping down the immaculate bar. “Everything’s handled, boss. Don’t worry about it.”

“What was it?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” There was definitely a catty note in his voice now.

Frank leaned on his folded arms. “Raoul.”

The bartender looked at him. No, glared at him.

“Am I missing something here?”

A quiet and decidedly humourless laugh burst out of Raoul. “No, it would seem you’re not missing a thing.” He started wiping the bar again. Faster. Probably harder, like he wanted to rub away the lacquer finish.

Frank stilled Raoul’s hand with a gentle grasp on his wrist. “Raoul. Don’t play games with me.” He gestured with his chin towards the back door of the lounge, the one that led to his office. “Why were you coming by my office, and why are you annoyed with me?”

Raoul jerked his hand out from under Frank’s and tossed the rag under the bar. Then he put his hands on the edge of the bar and leaned over them, putting him nearly eye to eye with Frank. “If you knew I was at your door, why didn’t you answer?” His accent was always sharper when he was angry, and this time was no exception. “You ignoring your employees now?” His eyes narrowed and his gaze slid to the left, then came back and met Frank’s. “In favour of other employees?”

Frank didn’t have to look to know that Brandon had come back into the room. He kept his eyes locked on Raoul’s. “I don’t recall ever agreeing to some requirement that I had to answer to you.”

Raoul sniffed with snide amusement. “Answer to me? No. But I’m pretty sure all of these rentboys”—he made a sharp gesture around the lounge—“and us lowly bartenders signed on with the understanding our boss would treat us all equally. And not be indisposed when he was needed.”

“Says the man who practically set me up with Stefan. You knew he was my type, and you all but served him up to me hog-tied on a heart-shaped bed.”

Raoul’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you’d like him, but I didn’t think you’d put him ahead of Market Garden.”

Frank exhaled, pulling back a little. “You’re right. I’m sorry, it should have . . . should have waited until another time.”

Raoul blinked. “So you really are bang—”

“Quiet.” He glared at Raoul. “You and I both know it. There’s no need to say it out loud.”

“What difference would it make?” Most of the fight had already left Raoul’s voice and posture. “Everybody here knows. Everybody.”

Frank’s heart dropped. “They . . . they do?”

Raoul rolled his eyes. “Yes, idiot. Okay, maybe the johns don’t know, but every man who works for you has either put two and two together by now or is too stupid to find his own arse with two hands and an anatomy chart. And nobody would give a damn if it didn’t mean you were indisposed when someone—one of your guys who really believes you care about their safety—needed you.”

Frank’s blood turned cold. The espresso became a moot point; he was wide-awake now without any chemical assistance. He faced Raoul again. “Point taken.”

Raoul relaxed a bit. “And when I came by earlier, it turned out it was a little dispute over some money. Jared called. One of the johns tried to stiff him and Tristan, but Tristan took care of it.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘took care of it’ in this context, please.”

Raoul laughed. “Told the guy he’d picked up one of his business cards off the hotel room floor. If he didn’t pay up, the card was getting scanned and posted on the internet.” Shaking his head, Raoul laughed again. “I think he was a little disappointed the guy paid up right then and there. He had a whole list of things he was going to include when he posted it on the internet, and he didn’t get a chance to terrify the guy properly.”

Frank managed a quiet laugh. “That does sound like our Tristan. Listen, I’m headed out for the evening. Having some friends over for dinner. You’ll call me if there’s any more issues?”

“I will.”

As if on cue, Brandon appeared beside Frank.

“Ready?”

Brandon nodded. “Whenever you are.”

They started to go, and Frank glanced at Raoul one last time. The bartender wasn’t so irritated now, but his brow was knitted just right to ask, “Mate, you sure you know what you’re doing?”