Bran drummed his fingers at the corner table inside Prime, Club Tahoe’s steakhouse. Where the hell was that tech specialist?

Finally, the technical expert—someone named James—walked in the door, and Bran jumped to his feet. He met the guy in three strides. “Thanks for coming in. Not sure how many details you were given, but we’ve got a bit of a crisis with our new online ordering system. I’m hoping you can get it up and running by the end of the day.”

James set up his laptop on one of the dining tables near the back of the restaurant. “Let’s take a look. I’m sure it’s a simple software update. These things happen.”

Bran wanted to say he sure as fuck hoped so, given this was a brand-new system and all, but he held his tongue. “We’ve received forty incorrect orders in the last thirty minutes. Wrong food, wrong address, you name it.”

Bran ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t have a good feeling about the software malfunction. “All of the restaurants at Club Tahoe are high-end, the steakhouse in particular. We can’t afford this sort of screwup.”

James smiled placatingly, but instead of reassuring Bran, it sent prickles across the back of his neck. “I’ll get this taken care of in no time.”

The words were the right ones, but something was off. James wore smooth duds—a collared shirt with a leather jacket. He didn’t look like a tech specialist. He looked like a corporate shark, and maybe that was what was throwing Bran.

“I’d like you to take the system offline until the problem has been solved,” Bran said. “I can’t risk ruining Prime’s reputation.”

Everyone who had an order screwed up received a free meal, but Bran still didn’t like the mark this afternoon had left on the club. Not to mention the expense of covering forty incorrect orders.

Before Bran had taken over the restaurants at Club Tahoe, he’d managed a mom-and-pop restaurant in town. It was a busy local haunt, and by no means high-end. And yet here he was, not only running one of the finest restaurants in town, but four of them. His brothers trusted him. Relied on him. He didn’t want to fuck up the restaurants or sink them with a faulty new system he’d insisted they buy.

James glanced at his phone. “Give me thirty?”

It was three in the afternoon and the restaurants were in between rushes. “Fine. But if it’s not repaired in the next thirty minutes, shut it down.”

James the Tech Banquet expert hadn’t gotten the system fixed in thirty minutes. Nor did he have it fixed two days later. And now the tabletop tablets were malfunctioning too. Bran was about to lose his shit.

He paced Levi’s office. “I’m sorry, Levi. I screwed up.”

Levi and Emily stared at him from where they sat near the desk. “You didn’t screw up,” Levi said. “We did the research. The company you selected was solid. It was budgeted lower than some of its competitors, but that’s not always an indication of quality.” He turned to Emily. “What do you think?”

“I agree. I checked out the company. There was nothing to suggest we’d have the issues we’re having now.” She looked at Bran. “Are they sending in a new technical expert?”

“We’re one of their largest accounts,” Bran said. “The guy they sent is the expert. But he’s not working fast enough. I let go of ten servers and hired more chefs once the system was online, anticipating an increase in food prep and a reduction in service personnel. Now we’re back to taking orders by phone, which is far more time-consuming for my crew. The managers and I are putting in fourteen-hour days to replace the manpower I let go of. I can’t keep asking that of them.”

“Understood,” Levi said. “Let’s give this guy a few more days. Hire people if you need to.”

Bran nodded and headed back to his office at Prime.

Levi and Emily were being supportive; it was Bran who was freaking the hell out. His initial uncertainty about James from Tech Banquet had only grown. Bran needed to do something, and now.

He just didn’t know what.