Cold steel and a fresh start
Donovan exited the cab and waved off the driver. So this was it, he thought as he tilted his head back for a better look, eyes squinted against the sun: Cold Steel Tattoo & Piercing. The company he'd owned for six months without ever stepping a toe through its doors, or without even seeing the men he hired to work there. Online pictures failed to quite capture how rugged and tarnished the exterior was with its stained sign above the door and thin-framed windows on the room upstairs; a room that would be his own for the foreseeable future.
He let out a small breath and stepped inside, ducking his massive frame through a door that was four inches too short.
It was neat, he noticed with a pleased grin. A well-kept workplace with clean floors and an oddly welcoming scent of sanitizer. Underneath that laid an even sweeter scent, that of an Omega, assuming its strength, Donovan supposed it belonged to one of his workers. His light brown eyes were quick to spot the coffee machine in the corner and he moved over, boiling himself a brew.
Coffee was life and just the smell of it was enough to ease his nerves and assure him this move had been what he needed, and not a mistake. He sighed into the warmth of his drink, light brown eyes flicking up as he saw someone walk past the window.
