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Big, blond, and besotted with his wife, Evander glanced at Merrick apologetically. “I’ll give you the website if you want. Don’t feel obliged.”

Ignoring him, Callie continued, ticking points off on her fingers. “There’s pink, and blue, and yellow like a buttercup. Oh, and one has ducklings!”

Sierra’s eyes lit across the table. “Ducklings?”

“Ducklings!”

When the girls squealed in tandem, Tamsyn flinched at the noise and snuggled deeper into Merrick’s chest. He’d learned that when she was tired, truly exhausted, she became sensitive to sound, as though her brain couldn’t handle any added stimulation.

Callie’s suggestion, however, wasn’t a bad one. As Callie’s attention veered away into an animated discussion on ducklings with Sierra, Merrick jerked his chin at Evander, keeping his voice low. “These onesies, are they soft?”

“Ridiculously. Fluffy, too.”

“Text me with the link.” He liked the idea of her being warm and cozy after a scene; an aftercare onesie fit the bill.

“No problem. We’re working on rectifying the exposure issue between play areas—Denver winters are something we underestimated. Eli’s slotted time in at the next staff meeting to discuss it, but while we’re here, have you got any thoughts?”

Merrick picked up the bottle of water, twisting off the cap as he constructed his answer in a way that wouldn’t offend his boss. Evander and Eli were friends every bit as much as employers; crapping on their dream didn’t benefit anyone. “It’s a flaw, you know that. Ideal in good weather, but snow, rain, wind… it’s problematic.”

Elias’s interest in a conversation between Grit, Jasper, and Mack waned, switching to Merrick instead. He was the dominant husband out of the pair, Evander’s righthand man in business. “Problematic?”

“The external pathways,” Evander explained.

“Ah, yes. Problematic indeed.”

“Here, little owl,” Merrick murmured, tapping the bottle against her lips. “Drink up.”

With a soft mewl of protest, she opened her mouth. After the first couple of sips, she laid her hand on his wrist and drank obediently, slowly chugging the entire bottle.

“Your current options seem to be limited—covered walkways are the obvious choice. It would be a maze, given how spread out the club is. Glass is probably gonna be the way forward; one of the main draws for a lot of the clients, from what I’ve heard, is the access to nature, especially for those who work long hours indoors. They enjoy the fresh air, the natural light. Losing that access won’t damage your volume of foot traffic, but it would disappoint some of the membership.”

Setting the empty bottle down, he wiped a drop of water from Tamsyn’s lip, then pressed a kiss to her head. The quiet sigh of contentment she gave him in return was worth everything. “Another option would be tunnels, but that’s gonna cause disruption for months. Not to mention the safety aspects, structural and security concerns.”

At the mention of tunnels, Anarchy’s head popped up, followed by Tabitha’s. While a predatory expression crossed over Tabitha’s face, there was a flash of fear on Anarchy’s.

Intriguing.

“Not a member,” she said hurriedly, “but I vote no on tunnels.”

Evander smiled at her. “All of Avalon’s Masters are members here too, Archie. You’re welcome anytime, and your opinions are valid.”

The smile she offered didn’t reach her eyes, which was unlike her. She was a vibrant, bubbly brat ninety-nine percent of the time from what Merrick had seen. “Tunnels are bad. Horrible things happen in them.”

Jasper curled his arm around her shoulders, his hand gripping her throat lightly. Light glinted off his wedding band as he whispered something in her ear that made her relax. There was a similar glint in his eyes when he regarded Merrick, then flicked his gaze toward Sierra. “I’ll tell you the story one day. It’s long and complicated. My kitten is right, though—tunnels probably aren’t the best choice.”

Tabitha’s grin was cunning, slightly… demented. “Unless you like to go hunting.”

A shiver ran down Merrick’s spine; he wrapped his arms a bit tighter around Tamsyn. He didn’t think Grit’s submissive was talking about stalking a deer or a goddamn turkey; knowing what he knew about her now, it was fucking weird to think she hunted people for a living—pedophiles, murderers, rapists, the scum of the earth, but people nonetheless.

“Don’t freak everyone out, little tiger.” Grit sipped his beer.

“But it’s fun.”

“For no one but you,” he admonished.

She rolled her eyes, leaning into him with a huff.

“Walkways might be the way forward,” Merrick continued as though the brief detour hadn’t happened. “Some of the other Masters might have ideas; asking the regular clients would be smart, seeing as they’re the ones you’re catering to at the end of the day.”