Capture & Surrender (Market Garden, #5)(58)

Brandon laughed. “One way to put it. So would you keep that part running if you moved the club?”

Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably not. That side seems to attract the really sleazy clientele, and I don’t want them anywhere near any of my employees.”

“Thank God for that.” Brandon nodded. “I’d just as soon not deal with some of the creeps I’ve seen over there.”

Frank bristled at the idea of any one of those f*ckers laying a hand on Brandon.

“Something wrong?” Brandon looked amused. “You don’t like your own clientele?”

“Well.” Frank hesitated. “I’m . . . not a huge fan of the types of men who wander in sometimes.”

Brandon chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Frank finished putting the leftovers onto plates, poured them each a mug of tea, and they moved into the dining room. Funny how empty and quiet the room seemed; it always did after an evening with Mike, Geoff, Emily, and now Brandon. Between the wine and their personalities, this place echoed with laughter whenever the group was here.

But now it was only the two of them, and the quiet tap of a plate being set on the table echoed off the walls.

In between nibbling on the ciabatta, Frank kept going back to their conversation in the kitchen. He hadn’t quite relaxed since they’d brought up the creeps who stuffed money into G-strings on the other side of Market Garden. Sitting across from Brandon, Frank suddenly had a hard time stomaching the idea of him being in the same building as those arseholes.

Of course Brandon was an adult. Though he had his vulnerabilities, he could take care of himself. He was one of the few Frank didn’t have to worry about when he left with a john, but he worried about him nonetheless.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Frank forced a smile. “Penny isn’t worth much with the going exchange rate.”

Brandon laughed. “Well, I could ask for your two cents instead.”

“You could, yes.” Frank looked down at his plate for a moment. “I’m curious.” He folded his hands on the table and met Brandon’s eyes. “What are you planning to do? In the future?”

“Drive a flying car and visit the moon, hopefully.”

Frank rolled his eyes. He tried to look disapproving, but the kid knew exactly when and how to bat his eyes and make him laugh. “Okay, very funny. I’m serious. You’re working for Market Garden now, but do you have ambitions? Dreams?”

“None that I can really afford to pursue right now.” Brandon picked at his food and avoided Frank’s eyes. “This is a temporary gig, you know? Something to tide me over until I get a visa squared away and don’t have to sweat over money quite as much.”

“And if money wasn’t an issue? Then what?”

“The only thing I’ve ever really been good at besides bartending and the military, which I don’t want to do forever, is photography.”

“Really?”

Brandon nodded. “I had to sell my camera, though. When money got tight after I came here. But someday . . .”

“Think that’s something you want to do for a career?”

“If I can break into it, yeah. Definitely.” Brandon picked up his mug of tea and cradled it between his hands. “None of that photojournalism stuff. Just, you know, commercial. Custom shoots for people. Weddings, if I have to.” He sipped his tea and, as he set the mug down again, sighed. “One of these days.”

The solution’s so easy.

Frank flattened his risotto with his fork, played with a piece of broccoli. “I don’t really believe in waiting for things like this.” He leaned forwards, elbows on the table. “If that’s what you want to do, you should do it. If money’s the issue, I know somebody who’d fund that.”

Brandon frowned slightly. “Money is the issue.”

“Not for me.” I have more than I’m likely to be able to spend.

“You’d give me the money for a professional camera and all the trimmings?”

“If you need a reason why, call it a Christmas bonus or a loan or whatever. A birthday present, whenever you’re due.” Frank took a forkful of food and chewed thoughtfully. “We could drive to one of the tech shops and pick it up tomorrow, and you’ll get the various bits and pieces once you know exactly what you need. Filters, lenses, a computer to clean them up.”

Brandon looked surprised. “That’s not small money.”

“Beats buying you a car.” Frank set his fork down for the moment. “Or a watch or . . . I don’t know. I’ve never done that kind of thing. That was usually Andrew’s job.”

Brandon frowned. Frank only hoped he hadn’t just gone hand-to-hand with the man’s pride. But pride . . . after what they’d done, after what Brandon did . . . seemed like a waste of energy.

Say yes.

Brandon met his eyes. “Answer me one question?”

“Okay.”

“Do you want me working at the Garden?”

Frank swallowed the next mouthful of food and coughed. “Not in your current job, no. I wouldn’t mind if you were a barkeeper or a bouncer, or someone who sat in my booth staring at me adoringly . . .” He grinned and winked. “But I don’t think the bankers deserve you.”