Beckett leaned against the bar, arms crossed, ears twitching in response to any noise that sounded out of place. He watched The Den pulse with life, the place wasn't much--yet. The converted industrial space was tucked into the city's nightlif edistrict, dimly lit and humming with base-heavy music. It had character, a rough charm that kept drawing in more people each week. Not enough to call it a success, but enough that Beckett knew he was onto something. 

The Den was his, a haven he carved out of this world just for himself. If he could keep it running. 

The problem was supply. Liquor, food, even the right kind of lighting; all of it needed a steady flow. His last distributor had been an unreliable ass clown, cutting corners and delaying shipments. Beckett had zero patience for that kind of incompetence. He needed someone who could handle business cleanly, efficiently, no excuses. And there in, was the second problem. 

Very few wanted to work for an omega, even less when said omega didn't put up with bullshit. Beckett's only visible issue with such nonsense was the fact that it made things irritatingly more difficult. 

"This is stupid...." an agitated sigh slid from his thin lips. Short tail twitching, the lithe male raked his fingers through his short black hair before taking a deep breath; exhaling from his nose. 

Vincent, one of his bouncers, had set up a meeting. He knew a guy, bit of an asshole, but he delivers. Or so he claims. Beckett didn't trust recommendations easily, but he was out of options. He checked the clock and saw this asshole was late. The short hairs on the back of his neck raised as his irritation flared. 

The Den wasn't open for the night yet. The staff in the background prepping for the evening crowd. Beckett had taken time out of his already busy schedual to handle this business, he'd started pacing, he sure as hell wasn't going to waste any more of it waiting around. If this clown didn't show up in the next two minutes, Beckett was moving on. 

The large double doors swung open. There could be no doubt that this was the guy. 

The stranger sauntered in like he owned the place. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp golden eyes and thick red hair that looked just as defiant. As if this man didn't draw enough attention, there was a blonde streak in that unruly mop. His long tail flicked lazily as he took in the space, like he was already making judgements on how it measured up. When his gaze landed on Beckett, his smirk widened. 

Typical. Fucking. Alpha. 

"Didn't take you for the waiting type." the man said, striding up to the bar. 

Pushing off the counter, Beckett scowled, "Didn't take you for the punctual type." 

The man barked a laugh, sliding onto a stool without so much as an invitation, "Touche," he propped his elbows on the counter, still wearing that smug expression, "So, you're the omega trying to make a name for himself. Lockwood, right?" 

"You did your homework." 

The alpha shrugged, "Only when it's worth my time." 

Beckett's fingers drummed against his arm, he looked completely unimpressed. He hated guys like this -- the ones who thought confidence and a lazy grin were enough to get them through life. He wasn't here to play games. 

"Let's skip the bullshit," he stated flatly, "I didn't catch your name, but Vincent says you can get me what I need. I don't deal with amateurs so tell me now if you're wasting my time." 

That smirk didn't falter. If anything, it deepened, like he enjoyed the challenge, "Gabriel," he held out a hand, one that Beckett didn't take, unbothered the hand lowered, "You want supplies, I can get them. Top shelf liquor, specialty imports, bulk orders. No delays, no watered-down stock. You pay on time, you get what you need. Simple." 

Beckett's gaze narrowed, "and what's the catch?" 

Gabriel spread his hands, "No catch. Just don't screw me over and we won't have a problem." 

Studying the alpha; the way he spoke, the ease in his posture -- Gabriel believed every word he was saying. Cocky as hell, but not a liar. Beckett exhaled through his nose. He didn't like him, but he needed a supplier, not a friend. 

"Fine," he said, "We'll try this out. But if you screw me over --"

Gabriel grinned, all teeth, "I'd never dream of it." 

Beckett had the distinct feeling that might have been a lie. But the deal was made, and whether he liked it or not, Gabriel was going to be around for the foreseeable future. 

Drumming his fingers on the bar, Gabriel's gaze still held onto Beckett's like he was testing him, trying to figure him out. Beckett had dealth with plenty of cocky alpha types before, but something about Gabriel's brand of arrogance rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the way he made himself comfortable without permission, or the way his tail flicked behind him like he had all the time in the world. 

"Alright then, boss," Gabriel said, amusement thick in his voice, "Since we're in business together now, why don't you tell me exactly what you need. Let's set some expectations." 

Beckett bristled at the word boss, was he being made fun of? Shaking his head and igoring it for now, he grabbed a notepad from behind the bar and flipped it open, dragging a pen down the list, "I want top-shelf liquor, not the cheap shit most distributors try to unload. That means imported whiskey, high-quality vodka, gin, and rum. Wine selections are non-negotiable, I want variety, not just whatever's easiest to stock. And I need shipments on time, every time." 

Gabriel whistled low, "You've got expensive taste."

"I have standards," Beckett corrected sharply, his foot tapping, "Think you can manage that, or do I need to find someone who can?" 

Undaunted, Gabriel grinned, leaning in slightly, eyes glinting, "Oh, I can manage it. The question is, can you afford me?" 

Jaw tightening at the challange, Beckett had expected this. A guy like Gabriel wasn't working for scraps. "You get me what I need, when I need it, and I'll pay. No negotiations on quality. If you try to cut corners, I'll find someone else." 

Gabriel tilted his head, "Fair enough, but I'll need guarantees from you too. You don't stiff me, you don't drag out payments, and you don't come crying if your business outgrows your budget." 

Beckett just scoffed, "If I wanted charity, I wouldn't be running a club." 

The laugh that came from Gabriel was a warm and rich sound that Beckett hated how easily it filled the space, "Good. I like a client with a backbone." 

Rolling his eyes, Beckett grumbled, "Are we done here?"

Gabriel tapped his fingers on the counter in mock thought, "Almost. See, I'm curious -- how'd a guy like you end up running a club? You don't exactly have the look of someone who enjoys making people happy." 

And there it was, the fur on Beckett's tail puffed up slightly as an annoyed scowl stretched across his face, "Why? Because I'm an omega? I don't need to make people happy, I just need to run a damn good business." 

"Not what I was getting at, but alright; strictly professional," leaning back on the stool, Gabriel stretched out like a satisfied cat, "guess I'll have to stick around and see for myself." 

Beckett narrowed his eyes, "You're my distributor, not my guest."

"Right, right...strictly professional." 

====

Two nights later, Beckett stood in the back alley of The Den, arms crossed, waiting. He wasn't expecting much. Every supplier he'd dealt with before had made promises they couldn't keep -- delays, substitutions, excuses. He was prepared for Gabriel to be the same. A stray sewer rat skittered by, but Beckett ignored it as a truck pulled in. 

Beckett didn't react as Gabriel hopped down from the driver's seat, landing lightly on his feet, his usual smirk firmly in place. Behind him, a couple of workers started unloading crates, each one stamped with high-end labels Beckett recognized immediately. No cheap shit, nor corner-cutting.

"You look like you're about to say something snarky," Gabriel said, wiping his hands on his jeans, "Go on, I can take it." 

Beckett's gaze flicked over the shipment, his ears pinned down as he took silent inventory. Everything he'd ordered and then some. A few specialty brands he hadn't even requested but would sell well. The bastard had actually listened when he had mentioned his standards. 

"I'm just making sure you didn't screw up." Beckett finally stated, stepping forward and running a hand over one of the crates.

Gabriel chuckled, "Oh, ye of little faith." 

Beckett signaled for his staff to start hauling the boxes inside. He didn't let the moment linger, didn't let Gabriel see the subtle nod of approval he gave the inventory. If Gabriel was expecting gratitude, he'd be waiting a long time. 

"You've met expectations." he finally said. 

The alpha let out a low laugh, "That almost sounded like a compliment. Careful, Beckett, you might hurt yourself." 

Beckett just shot him a look, "Don't push your luck." 

Gabriel grinned, "Wouldn't dream of it. But I will expect my payment on time." 

"You'll get it when I decide the shipment is up to standard." 

Gabriel leaned against the truck, watching as Beckett's crew finished moving the last of the crates. Beckett could practically smell the arrogance radiating from the alpha, having had his fill of Gabriel's presence, Beckett turned on his heel. 

"For the record, you were late." 

The alpha laughed, "You're a terrible liar, Beckett Lockwood." 

Beckett didn't dignify that with a response. He wouldn't admit it, but Gabriel had proven himself -- at least for now.