Illegal Contact (The Barons)

by Santino Hassell

  I cringed. “That’s not exactly the way I’d like to describe it, but yeah. This guy hasn’t taken care of his house in ages, and now I have to come in and find service people to take care of the land since he apparently had issues with the people who were working on the property for the past year. I’ve never lived in anything beyond a seven-hundred-square-foot apartment, so knowing which landscaper or pool person or whatever to hire is . . .”

  “You got no clue what you’re even looking for. Right. I feel for you.” The mechanic stood. “I’ll give you a tip—call his manager and ask if they have a list of people approved with their agency. They probably do their own background checks and shit. I know this shop is on a few lists like that.”

  “Wow, thanks. That literally did not even occur to me.” It meant talking to Joe, but at this point I was desperate to do something well.

  He flashed a smile. “No problem. Leave me the keys to the car, and I’ll have my little brother drive you back for the next vehicle.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yep. He’s not doing anything, anyways.”

  “That would be really fucking helpful, man. Thank you so much,” I babbled. “And if there’s any extra fee to tag on for that, just do it. I know my boss will be fine with it.”

  “Nah. No fee. Except one thing.”

  “Anything.”

  “Get a drink with me some time.”

  My jaw dropped, but I managed to peel it off the floor. “Uh, sure. Yeah. Definitely.”

  “Great.” The hot mechanic reached out to shake my hand. “I’m Case, by the way.”

  “Noah.”

  “Glad to meet you, Noah. I’ll get my brother over here, and we’ll get you sorted out as soon as possible.”

  ***

  Gavin

  I’d received six phone calls in the past two hours, and I’d refused to answer any of them. Four were from Joe, so my desire to do so had shrunk even further. He was likely just checking up on the situation with Noah. Or asking what I was doing with all of my newfound time.

  Considering I’d spent the day working out way too much, and then picking through a couple of fan letters, I couldn’t explain what I’d done for hours. Although, it had been the mail that put me into a total funk. One incorrectly spelled letter from a preteen living in a shitty foster home in Newark had brought back so much of my past that I’d shut down, refused to read any more, and had gone back to the gym.

  I didn’t know what it was about me, but I always got letters like that from kids. And it crushed me every time. They said I was an inspiration, but I knew I’d gotten fucking lucky and they probably would never get the same break. They’d end up with the future I probably deserved.

  God, what a morbid train of thought. And it’d plagued me for half the day, which is why I’d started ignoring my phone.

  The other two calls were from Mel, my agent, but at least she had the decency to leave a voice mail. Shit about my lack of social media accounts and the fact that I still hadn’t picked a charity to support. She wasn’t my least favorite person, but the topic of improving my image and reputation didn’t really get my juices going either. Why couldn’t people let me play ball and leave me alone?

  When Noah came rushing into the living room in the late afternoon, I was slumped on the sofa and watching Simeon’s training-camp story on Snapchat. He was being his typical hilarious self, teasing the new guys who were doing their best to not get cut, and I missed it all so sharply that I felt sick. Even if eighty percent of the guys in the locker room were irritating d-bags in one way or another, they were still like family to me. And I’d never had a family before.

  In college, my relationship with the guys on my team had been tense. The chip on my shoulder had prevented me from too much bonding. It was different on the Barons. Different with Marcus and Simeon. But now they were busy and likely wouldn’t be able to come kick it with my house-arrested ass for weeks.

  “Hey.”

  I didn’t look up. “What?”

  “I’m about to go, but I got the cars all finished.”

  Now that got my attention. I shut Snapchat and glanced up at Noah. He’d finally changed out of his stupid button-down and was wearing a T-shirt that fit closely to his lean torso. He looked better when he wasn’t trying to impress me.

  “Did you wreck any of them with your shitty driving?”

  “No, but the Triumph had to wait. The shop I found doesn’t do motorcycles, and also I really have no idea how to drive one.” Noah ran a hand through his hair, causing thick black strands to fall over his forehead in an unruly swath. “But I have a landscaper and a pool guy all lined up for this week, and a stylist will be here tomorrow. They’re all vetted by Joe’s people, so there are already privacy agreements signed off on. They work for his other clients.”

  I frowned. This was supposed to have been a challenging week, but Noah was practically glowing. “How’s my fan mail doing?”

  “Can’t say. You still haven’t unlocked your office for me.”

  “Get on it next week.” I slumped further on the couch. “What are you so happy about?”

  “Me? Nothing.”

  “You’re a bad liar.”

  “I’m not lying.” He was looking so pleased with himself that he seemed to sense it was an obvious lie. “Well, if you need to know, I have a date.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes. Really. I met him in town today. He works at the shop where I took your cars.”

  “You’re picking up dates while running my errands? Cool. Guess you get points for multitasking.”

  “He picked me up.” That defensive fire reentered his eyes. “And it wasn’t on purpose. We were talking about cars, he asked me if I wanted to get a drink, and I said yes.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight. Now, actually.”

  “And where’d you find this winner? Which shop?”

  “Out in the world. What does it matter?”

  “I think I have a right to know who’s gonna be strolling up to my gate to pick you up for dates.”

  “He doesn’t have your address. I’m meeting him at the train station.”

  And now I was out of ammo.

  I dragged my phone against my lower lip and looked him up and down, wondering whether he was going to get laid.

  “What’s he like?”

  Noah was starting to look incredulous, which turned into him giving me this hilariously sassy eyebrow arch. He really was cute as hell.

  “Is this a real question?”

  “Yup. I’m curious about the type of guy my snotty assistant swoons for.”

  “First off, I don’t swoon. Second, my personal life isn’t up for discussion unless we’re also going to talk about yours.”

  I snorted. “That’s easy. I don’t have one. Do you see anyone lining up to come visit me?”

  Noah looked all geared up to say something mean but frowned as if realizing my point. “Do you have friends who aren’t football players?”

  “No.”

  “Well then, there you go. They’re all at training camp, aren’t they?”

  “Yes,” I said, pointing at him. “And I thought you didn’t know anything about football.”

  “I don’t, but my father is a fanatic and doesn’t stop talking about it. So.” Noah shrugged, but his expression flickered when he mentioned his father. “Anyway, I’m going to go now.”

  “You’re really not going to tell me about your mystery man?”

  “I’m really not going to tell you,” Noah said.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and studied him. I’d been lounging around in states of undress for the past week, and despite checking me out from time to time, he still seemed to hold me in at least some contempt. My personality was enough to detract from my looks, and always had, but my ego still chafed at the thought that some rando had caught his attention with barely any effort. I didn’t even know why I cared. He was hot, but not my usual type, and high-strung as fuc
k.

  “Well,” I drawled, because I couldn’t let it go. “If you start spending nights on the Island, I hope you’re going to start being on time.”

  “We’re just getting a drink, not moving in together.”

  “Yet. You look like the hit-it-once-and-settle-down type”

  Noah gave me a flat stare. “You must be really bored.”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “Yes, but I’d try my best not to be insufferable to others. That might be the reason no one is rushing to come visit you.”

  Ouch. That had actually stung. I slumped lower on the couch since no witty retort sprang to mind.

  Noah sighed. “Sorry. I need to work on not being an asshole.”

  “‘S’okay. It’s not like I don’t bring it on myself.”

  His eyes opened wide, shocked that Gavin Brawley would admit to being wrong. His lips moved like he was working out a good response, but instead of addressing my pity party, he changed the subject.

  “Is there anything you want done by next Monday that I can get a head start on during the weekend? It would just be more time efficient if I could research mechanics and service people at home and then arrange for them to come in advance.”

  “That would be going outside of your hard-won schedule,” I pointed out. “Isn’t that what we said?”

  “Yeah, well, obviously, that doesn’t work with a job like this. I can be flexible.”

  “I bet you can. Lover boy will probably benefit from it tonight.”

  Noah gave another of his award-winning flat and unimpressed stares.

  “Don’t be so uptight,” I said.

  “Stop commenting on my private life.”

  “You brought it up,” I said. “But I guess you finding dates at work is sort of your MO.”

  Noah’s face went blood red and the veins in his forehead bulged. Likely from the way he was keeping himself from cursing me out. I wouldn’t blame him if he did. I was being a miserable bastard just because I was lonely and depressed.

  “I’m going,” he said. “Text me if you need anything.”

  He turned on his heel, shoulders tense and hands curled into fists, and I was struck by a sudden desire to not have him be incredibly pissed at me. I’d been giving him a hard time for days, and he’d yet to truly complain. Not to mention, he’d done everything I asked except show up on time.

  “Hey.”

  “What?” he snapped.

  “Can you look up some charities? My agent wants me to pretend I’m a philanthropist so people can stop thinking I’m a monster.”

  Noah glanced at me over his shoulder. “You want me to do this?”

  “Yeah. That’s your thing, right?”

  “Right. And you don’t have any particular preference?”

  “No.” I frowned. “Well, maybe have it be for kids.” Another pause. “Kids in group homes or homeless kids. That’s a thing, right?”

  All traces of his irritation were replaced with curiosity that was clearly piqued. He’d half turned back to me with his head cocked. “It’s definitely a thing, and I’ll enjoy doing it.”

  “Good.” I looked down at my phone but could still feel his eyes on my face. “Now go get laid. I expect an entertaining anecdote on Monday morning.”

  “Not gonna happen, Gavin. Text me if you need anything else.”

  I said nothing and, once again, stared at his ass as he walked out. Even if he didn’t give me the details, his hookup would be fodder for me later. Trying to figure out whether he got loud in bed, or if he just laid there and bit his lip trying not to give anything away, would make for fun fantasies.

  Which was a pretty good indicator that I needed to get laid myself.

  Chapter Six

  Noah

  Gavin Brawley was trying to drive me insane.

  Monday had started with him in an awful mood. He’d been barking orders at me one minute and then asking me probing questions about my life the next. In fact, after all that, Case had rescheduled our date at the last minute, but Gavin would still not let go of the topic. Then he’d sent me back and forth to the store because the bread I’d purchased was two grams of protein off from the perfect kind. Not to mention he’d finally let me into his “office” so I could start organizing the space and had failed to mention there were literally thousands of envelopes sitting in a giant Rubbermaid container on the floor.

  I hadn’t even gotten to the point where I could contact Joe or Mel to start figuring out how they wanted to work with me in terms of shifting off scheduling and correspondence. Apparently, Gavin was notorious for never replying to anyone or returning their calls.

  After a stressful morning, I decided to escape the house by cooking lunch on his grill. It belonged in a professional restaurant and, judging by the price tags still dangling when I’d first opened it, had never been touched by anyone other than me. After summers of barbecuing on our fire escape or in the park, I was a pro at grilling. I fired the damn thing up after finding charcoal and lighter fluid, threw a few turkey burgers on, and hunched over my phone.

  “Hey, boo!”

  “I’m going to quit.”

  Jasmine rolled her eyes at me. Seeing her facial expressions was the top reason I used FaceTime with her.

  “You haven’t even gotten a paycheck yet. Why would you quit?”

  “Because this is stressing me out.” I slumped back on one of the lawn chairs and glared down at the pool. “Between his hot-and-cold attitude and the fact that I’m stacked two weeks deep in to-do lists, and me having to get up at the crack of dawn to make it over here, it’s just not going to work. There’s no way I can do it for six months.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jasmine frowned at me. “Are you sitting in front of a swimming pool?”

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  “So you’re sitting in the lap of luxury and still bitching. Mmm.”

  I huffed out a breath. “It’s not like I get to use this shit, Jasmine. I just run around sweating all day to play catch-up while he breathes down my neck. Half the time he gives me conflicting things to do, and I don’t have time to do both by the time he wants me to do them. And God forbid I correct his majesty, because then he gets all pissy. I feel like he must have gone through life with no one ever putting him in his place.”

  “Well if anyone’s going to do it, it will be you. After you get paid.” Jasmine flashed a smile. “Look, I know this sucks, but the money is good. And it’s temporary. The only time I will cosign on you quitting before you even make a dollar is if he is honestly aggressive towards you and it’s not just you being flustered and overwhelmed.”

  “He—”

  “Nuh-uh. Think about it first, boy. I know how you do when you’re overwhelmed. Assume everyone is against you and the world hates you.”

  Okay, she had a point.

  I scowled at the grill and went over Gavin’s and my interactions of the past few days. He snarked at me, I snapped at him, he snarled in return, and then made up some other asinine task for me to do. And the asinine make-believe tasks prevented me from doing the important tasks. He was so far behind on everything, including stocking his home with food and basic toiletries and supplies, that I’d spent the majority of the previous week just trying to make sure he had everything accessible to him.

  It was a constant thought in the back of my mind that, come each Friday, he’d be on his own and would not be able to leave the house. But instead of appreciating my efforts, he sat around moping and looking miserable before looking for a reason to complain. I didn’t get him. You’d think he’d try to help me help him make this house arrest go by easier, but he seemed determined to antagonize me.

  Unless . . . that was his way of drawing me into conversations. For all that Gavin had initially growled about not wanting to talk to me or see me, he sparked up conversations more often than I did. Was sarcasm or shitty “jokes” the only way he knew how to get someone to pay attention to him if football didn’t do the trick? That was pretty sad. His soci
al skills were seriously lacking.

  And then there was the fact that half the time he appeared uncomfortable about me doing my job. Not because of me in particular, but he fidgeted and frowned every time I cooked or cleaned up after cooking. Like it bothered him to have me waiting on him. Then he’d reiterate that I was the one who’d insisted on this being added to my tasks so I could earn more money. Basically saying, “I never asked you to be my chef.”

  I hadn’t known what to make of it at first, but I was starting to put together the fact that he genuinely did not like having household help. Even though he really needed it. He couldn’t seem to keep his own schedule straight, forgot things constantly, and would often start one task only to abandon it in the middle and move on to the next. I wasn’t sure if Gavin Brawley had ADD or had just never learned basic functional living skills such as grocery shopping and organization, but he was definitely struggling to get along by himself in this massive house. No wonder he lived out of hotels during the season.

  “Did you just zone out?”

  “No. Sorry.” I eased to my feet and walked over to the grill. I wasn’t one for turkey burgers generally, but these looked amazing. I planned to put them on multigrain bread with aioli, avocado, bacon, and Swiss cheese. Three for him. None for me. “He’s not aggressive. More like constantly pissy and unhappy that I’m around at all, or pissy and unhappy because he’s trapped here and not at training camp. None of this was his idea.”

  “Does he try to intimidate you?”

  “Uh, if you count walking around half-naked like eighty percent of the time. And he calls me ‘baby’ and asks about my personal life.”

  Jasmine smirked. “Is he flirting?”

  “Very unlikely.”

  “Mmkay. Well, two things: one, if your panic mostly stems from you being overwhelmed, you need to relax. You were the same way at your last job. Didn’t know what to do and flew around freaking out that you didn’t have it down pat by the first day or even week. And then you were fine. You’ll be fine again this time if you stop letting him get under your skin. At the end of the day, you’re there to do a job that will milk some of that blond bastard’s fat bank accounts. And after a while, he’ll realize you are helping him. He just sounds like a giant, beautiful brat.”