by Kayt Miller
Sexy Savior
A Cocky Hero Club Book
Kayt Miller
Copyright © 2020 by Kayt Miller and Cocky Hero Club, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Editor: Hot Tree Editing
Proofreading by: Hot Tree Editing
Formatted by: Kayt Miller
Created with Vellum
Cocky Hero Club
Information
Sexy Savior is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s Stuck-Up Suit. It's published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward's New York Times bestselling series.
Also by Kayt Miller
For more information: www.kaytmiller.com
Bedhead
Redhead
Deadhead
FarmBoy
Game Changer
One of a Kind
The Virginia Chronicles
Our of the Blue: The Flynns Book One
Mick’sology: The Flynns Book Two
Vested Interest: The Flynns Book Three
The Importance of Being Ernie: The Flynns Book Four
The Importance of Being Kennedy’s: The Flynns Book Five
Quirky Girl: The Flynns Book Six
The Art of the Game
Lainie: The Palmer Sisters Book 1
Agatha: The Palmer Sisters Book 2
Sadie: The Palmer Sisters Book 3
Cortland: The Palmer Sisters Book 4
Keely: The Palmer Sisters Book 5
Violet: The Palmer Sisters Book 6
Molly: The Palmer Sisters Book 7
The Portrait Painter
Hopeful Romantic (Link coming soon.)
Thanks to Margie Dill (Link coming soon.)
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
More from Cocky Hero Club
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Thank you!
Sneak Peek: Deadhead
Chapter One
Ben
“Schilling. What the fuck happened to your face?” asks my boss Graham Morgan—in front of a roomful of my colleagues—just as I’m ready to begin a presentation I’ve been working on for weeks. A presentation that’s sure to lead to a promotion.
Damn it. I thought I’d done a pretty good job minimizing the damage. I iced it as soon as I got back into the office and caught a glimpse of the swelling. Hell, it was already turning purple by that time. And since I lost one of my contact lenses during the… well, the ordeal, I had to dig out my old glasses—old glasses that one of my former girlfriends laughed at and dubbed “nerd glasses.” Honestly, they are pretty nerdy with their thick black frames, but I figured they were big enough to disguise my injury.
Apparently not.
With a heavy sigh, I turn to Graham and attempt a smile, but it hurts like hell, so I wince instead. “Had a little accident over lunch break.”
Graham chuckles. I guess I should be pleased he’s laughing about this, because if the same thing happened a month ago, before he met his girl, he’d have kicked my ass, metaphorically speaking. “You got punched in the face at lunch?”
I smile, or try to, pretending to find his line of questioning amusing because even though Graham is in a much better mood since meeting Soraya, he’s still an asshole on a good day. “I wasn’t punched.” No, I was elbowed. Hard. “It was a misunderstanding.”
Yeah, the misunderstanding was on her part. I mean, seriously, who elbows a guy in the face? Especially a guy who’s trying to keep a woman from falling into oncoming traffic. Am I right?
“I figured you’d say, ‘You should see the other guy.’”
I’m not sure who says that, and I don’t really give two fucks. I just want this conversation to end.
“What happened? One of your heroic moments take a bad turn?”
I whip my head left in time to see my assistant nudge the guy next to him. He knows the backstory here. He knows about my little hobby—the one that was thrust upon me one rainy day. I never meant to be a superhero. It just happened.
But I can’t get into that right now. Instead, I glare because… fucking traitor. I hate my assistant. He’s a suck-up and an asshole. I swear he wants my job.
“No.” I glare at Clive. Yeah, that’s what I said. His name is Clive. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“Go on.” Graham waves his hand like he’s shooing away a pesky rodent. “You might as well tell us the whole story. We’re never going to be able to pay attention to your presentation until we know what really happened.”
I stare at my boss, and the only thing I can tell you for sure is my fight-or-flight instinct is firmly in the flight category. But I can’t run away. So, I do what I always do whenever shit isn’t going my way—I smile.
“Sure.” I fake chuckle. “I was heading out to lunch.”
“We know,” someone from the back of the fucking peanut gallery deadpans.
Ignoring that, I continue. “I was at the light ready to cross over 42nd when I happened to see someone with their shoe caught in a grate.”
“Someone? Or a woman?” Peanut gallery again. The fuckers.
“A woman.” And not just any woman. This one, well, let’s just say she had my attention long before her shoe got stuck. No, I noticed her a couple blocks back, probably due to the tight red pencil skirt she had on. I’ve no idea about anything else, just her gorgeous ass and curves in that skirt. Oh, and the heels. Spiky stilettos. The kind that makes a man pause and picture those wrapped around him. Well, not the shoes, the legs attached to said shoes. Her heels were black and shiny and were connected to gorgeous, curvy legs. There was a line that ran down the back like a forties film star. That’s why I noticed.
“She wasn’t able to pull herself free, so I stepped over to her, reached down, and, well, I tried to help her.”
She didn’t like it. Not one bit. I guess I shouldn’t have grabbed her leg. Maybe I should have reached for her foot instead. But I wasn’t thinking. My first instinct was to help her—to save her from certain death. S
ue me.
I snort and it’s loud. She wouldn’t have died. I’d never have let that happen. “When I tried to pull her foot free, she got startled.”
That’s a lie. She wasn’t startled. She was pissed.
“She reacted, and her elbow came back and got me right in the eye.”
Twice.
“Why are you limping?”
Fucking Clive.
“When her foot got free, it came down on top of mine.”
Another lie. It wasn’t an accident. She stomped down so hard, I wanted to cry on the spot, but I held it together. I guess I should be happy she didn’t aim for my nuts.
“Who is this girl?” Graham asks, looking like he wants to hire her. I guess he could always use a good security guard, because that woman is lethal.
“I don’t know.” I barely saw her face. But what I did see was beautiful.
Her dark hair was all messy, falling around her face, probably from the struggle to free the shoe. The whole thing took only a couple of minutes before she was off, stomping across the street at a fast clip. Part of me was relieved she was gone while another wondered if I’ll ever see her again.
Chapter Two
Ben
“Great job today, Ben.”
I’m standing next to my desk, looking at my notes from the meeting when I hear his voice. Clive. He’s leaning against my doorway with a smug look on his face. And no, I didn’t miss the hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Oh, yeah?” I can’t think of anything else to say to him because I’m pissed enough to fire the asshole. Well, I would if I had that kind of power, which I don’t.
“Yeah. Once everyone got done laughing at you getting beat up by a chick—”
I can’t take it. “First of all, that’s sexist. Women aren’t chicks. And if Graham heard you say shit like that, you’d be out on your ass.” Maybe I should be recording this asshole.
He’s mumbling as he turns back toward his desk, but I’m still able to make out his words. “Whatever. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, asshole?”
“I heard that,” I yell out my office door.
“Good.”
Wow. When did Clive turn into this insubordinate asswipe?
I move to my doorway. Clive’s sitting at his desk, rummaging through a drawer. “Maybe you should put in for a transfer. I don’t think this is working.”
The man stops doing whatever he’s doing and slowly turns to face me. It’s rather creepy the way he’s doing it. And his expression, well, let’s just call it ominous. “That’s not going to happen, Ben.” He practically spits my name out.
What the fuck? What did I ever do to make this guy resent me so much?
He’s got a smirk on his face now. “I’d like nothing more than to be away from you—the wannabe superhero.”
Wannabe superhero?
Well, he’s wrong about that. I didn’t want to be a superhero. It was thrust upon me. I had no choice. One day I was just Ben Schilling, average marketing guy; the next, I was Ben Schilling, savior of all mankind.
Okay, perhaps I’m exaggerating just a tad, but the main idea is true. I was walking home when it happened the first time, on my way to the subway after working late. I always take the R to my neighborhood in LIC, or Long Island City, an up-and-coming part of New York that’s a good fit for me. Sure, my apartment building is crap, but I’ve got everything I need around me and it’s fairly safe.
So I was walking along, minding my own business, when I heard this yipping sound. Kind of like the sound the wind makes when it’s pounding against a thin piece of sheet metal. Anyway, it was getting louder by the second, so I stopped walking and looked around me. When I realized the sound was above me, I looked up and saw something falling. Without thinking, I held my arms out and adjusted myself so I could try to catch whatever it was. The closer it got, the more I realized it wasn’t metal making that sound but something alive. I ended up launching myself forward, onto the sidewalk, in time to catch a small ball of fur.
That’s how I met Sky, my dog, my sidekick. She fell from the sky that day and into my arms like it was meant to be. Well, not at first. At first, I did what I could to find her owner. I figured she had to have lived in one of the two buildings she fell between, but there were no balconies on either building, and they were tall as hell. I’m talking thirty stories each. She either fell from an open window, from the top of the massive structures, or from something flying overhead. But I left my information with management of both buildings and put about a hundred signs around, but not even signs out on the street for a week produced her owner. So, I did what anyone would do: I kept her. And I’m so glad I did, because she’s the best friend a guy could have.
Shit. I smile just thinking about her. I’m not sure what kind of dog she is, but I’m positive she’s not a purebred. She’s definitely a mix of something, like a Yorkie, a Pomeranian, and a rat. Sure, she’s not the prettiest girl in the world, but she’s the most loyal. The best part? The reaction I get the second I walk into my apartment after work. She’s euphoric, jumping all around, barking and happy. Happy to see me. I can say with 100 percent certainty that no one has ever been that excited to see me. Ever.
Sky goes with me just about everywhere. Everywhere except work, that is. Sure, Graham has changed since he found his girl, but he hasn’t changed that much. Until hell freezes over and we’re allowed to bring pets to work, I make it up to Sky by taking her to the park almost every night. In return, I get unconditional love and adoration from her.
A bonus is the attention she gets me from the beautiful women of New York City. She draws them like flies when we’re out and about. And when I tell said ladies about how she came to be mine, well, that seals the deal. Yep, Sky Schilling is my lucky charm.
“Clive,” I say with as much constraint as I can muster. “I’ve told you about my… activities in confidence.” I don’t want everyone to know about my special set of skills. “I don’t appreciate you making light of it.”
“Jesus, you saved a dog. You help old ladies cross streets, and one time”—he holds up one finger—“one time you stopped that bank robber.” He rolls his eyes. He actually rolls his fucking eyes. “One time does not a ‘superhero’ make.” He uses air quotes around superhero, and I want to punch him in the face.
“Oh yeah, well, you forgot about the time I ran into the burning building—”
“It wasn’t a building. It was a kiosk.”
“That sold magazines and newspapers. Do you realize how flammable those are?” Why am I bothering to defend myself? The truth is, the woman who ran the kiosk was very appreciative. She thanked me for saving her.
“Ben. Please.” Clive’s voice is starting to sound a wee bit condescending.
“What?” I snap back. He’s really pissing me off.
“Face it. You’re no more a superhero than I am.”
I scoff at his words. This guy? A superhero? Ha! “For the record, I never called myself a superhero. That was you,” I say, pointing at him. “I’ve never given myself a label.” Not out loud, anyway.
“Yeah you did. That night we went out, you labeled the hell out of yourself.”
“I. Was. Drunk.” I mean, come on. We all say stupid shit when we’re drunk, am I right?
“Still.” Clive smirks. “You’ll never be able to live down ‘Sexy Savior.’”
Wow, he’s right. That really is a stupid superhero name. Couldn’t I have at least come up with something more dignified?
Sexy Savior.
Christ.
I was done with my conversation with Clive. I was over his attitude and smugness. He just didn’t understand what it was like to be me. I should pity him, really. He’s just average Clive with the receding hairline and premature paunch. The guy is only mid- to late twenties or something and he already looks like he’s fifty.
He’s jealous. Yeah, that’s his deal. He’s just jealous.
I scoff. At myself. When did I become that guy? The one who f
inds physical faults in other guys? I’ve never cared about what other men look like, so why start now?
It’s because that guy has changed. We used to be sort of chummy, Clive and me. He’s been my assistant since I got this job, and at first, I felt a real sense of camaraderie with him, but over the past year or so, that’s deteriorated to look more like all this shit today.
Clive could be more than an assistant. I know he can; I’ve seen his résumé. It’s a hell of a lot more impressive than mine. I mean, graduating from a Big Ten school is good, but he’s Ivy League. I grew up in small-town Illinois and he’s from Boston. And he’s totally Boston, accent and all. The guy is a fucking Patriots fanatic, plus he loves the Bruins.
The Bruins.
The thought makes me shiver.
I had every intention of giving the guy a leg up when the time was right—until he turned into this sniveling asshole.
Damn it.
This isn’t me. Truthfully, it all makes me feel a little sad for the guy, and for myself. I considered him a friend. Honestly I did.
When did it all change?
Chapter Three
Ben
Stepping back into my office, I shut the door for some privacy. I need to get back to work and quit thinking about Clive. Worrying about what went wrong with my assistant and me isn’t going to change anything now. No, I need to work on the notes Graham gave me after my presentation. A presentation that went further south than I ever imagined after they were done laughing about my black eye.