Sexy Suit: A Cocky Hero Club Novel

by Croix, J. H.

  Sexy Suit

  A Cocky Hero Club Novel

  J.H. Croix

  Contents

  Introduction

  1. Ryan

  2. Addie (Adelaide)

  3. Ryan

  4. Addie

  5. Addie

  6. Ryan

  7. Ryan

  8. Addie

  9. Addie

  10. Ryan

  11. Ryan

  12. Addie

  13. Addie

  14. Ryan

  15. Ryan

  16. Addie

  17. Addie

  18. Ryan

  19. Addie

  20. Ryan

  21. Addie

  22. Addie

  23. Ryan

  24. Addie

  25. Ryan

  26. Addie

  27. Addie

  28. Ryan

  29. Addie

  30. Ryan

  31. Ryan

  32. Addie

  33. Addie

  34. Ryan

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  * * *

  Copyright © 2020 J.H. Croix and Cocky Hero Club, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs

  Cover Photography: Wander Aguiar

  Cover model: Travis S.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Introduction

  Sexy Suit 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.

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Ryan

  My eye caught on the poster. LOST DOG!!!! The all caps words with four exclamation points were in bright blue font. I didn’t know why, but I presumed the author of this poster would’ve added more exclamation points if there’d been enough space.

  Stopping in front of it, I lifted my phone to snap a quick picture of the poster, immediately wondering why. On any given day, I passed plenty of announcements papered all over the place and ignored them. This was New York City, after all.

  Yet, something about this poster snagged a tiny hook in my heart. The dog in question was an interesting looking dog. Barnable, as the poster labeled him, had the build of a Corgi with a bread loaf sized body and sturdy little legs. However, unlike the typical ears that stood up on Corgis, this little guy had two ears that half-flopped down. He was mostly black with brown and white markings.

  The woman in the photograph with her hand curled around the dog’s leash was something else altogether. She had a mass of dark curls tumbling around her shoulders. Her skin was a creamy bronze. Even in this not very good photograph, her dark chocolate eyes popped out. She looked like a country girl misplaced in the city with her cowboy boots, denim jacket, and white eyelet skirt over a pair of tights.

  I shook my head and kept on walking, telling myself I’d keep an eye out for the little dog. Minutes later, I settled into a seat on the subway and perused my emails as I zoomed from the Upper West Side to my office in downtown Manhattan. A short ride later, and I arrived at my office building, immediately throwing myself into my first meeting of the day.

  Many hours later, during my final phone conference of the day, I stared at the phone on my desk, narrowing my eyes. “I don’t think so,” I said, my words clipped.

  “Ryan, I’m sure—”

  I cut the idiot off. “Oh, I’m sure. No deal.”

  At that, I tapped the button to end the call and stood from my desk, shaking my head as I did. There wasn’t much I hated more than having my time wasted, and this fool had done just that.

  I owned Talton Tech Industries. My grandfather started the company, well before the early days of computers. Things had changed quite a bit since he’d passed away, and I’d taken over the management. We navigated software, security, and the like. After I turned the company’s fortunes around over the last few years, I found myself fielding requests with frequency to consider all kinds of funding for tech projects. This call hadn’t been anything more than someone’s pet project without a plan.

  My eyes landed on the clock above my door as I turned to snag my suit jacket and walk out. The hands on the clock were barely a minute past 9:00 p.m. It didn’t even faze me that I’d been in my office since before sunrise. I was a workaholic, and I didn’t care.

  “Come on, Barnable,” a female voice called with a distinct southern twang.

  Standing in front of my brownstone in the Upper West Side, I eyed the pair of cowboy boots sticking out from under my stairs. The sound of glass breaking reached my ears, and anger flashed through me. Stepping close to that pair of cowboy boots, I looked down and was greeted by the sight of a woman on her knees with a delectable bottom encased in denim.

  What the hell was going on?

  “Excuse me? Are you actually breaking into my house right here on the sidewalk?”

  The woman let out a squeak. Her bottom shimmied as she scrambled back on her knees. Turning, she clambered to her feet, wincing and grabbing at one of her hands with the other. “Oh no! I think I cut myself.”

  “On the glass from breaking my basement window?” I asked dryly. I supposed I should’ve felt threatened, but there wasn’t anything threatening about this woman. If she was a thief, she was remarkably terrible at it.

  Her eyes whipped up to mine, and I was struck with a jolt of recognition. She was the woman from the missing dog poster. I’d noticed she was pretty in that grainy photograph. Up close and personal, pretty didn’t even come close to capturing her. She was arresting.

  Her eyes were wide as she peered up at me. Her dark hair glittered under the streetlights. I’d bet she had on the same cowboy boots I’d seen in that photograph. Her boots were paired with fitted jeans that hugged her curves and what I could only describe as one of those poet shirts. It was deep blue and swung around her hips loosely, teasing me with a hint of curves underneath.

  “I wasn’t trying to break in!” she blurted out.

  “No? Then, why did you break the window under the stairs?”

  “Okay, okay, I know it’s going to sound crazy, but one side of it was already broken. I was just punching out a little more glass.”

  She said this so earnestly I couldn’t help but believe her. That said, I tended to be skeptical. Habits die hard, and all that.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  She shook her head wildly. “No! My dog is in there. I heard him barking. He must’ve gotten cold. Maybe he got in the basement through another way, but I heard him bark. Look under there. I swear I’m not lying,” she said, gesturing toward the window under the stairs.

  Against all common sense, I silently decided she might be telling the truth. I also happened to know my brownstone’s basement connected to the one next door, and I’d spoken with the neighbors about getting their broken bulkhead repaired just last week.

  It was then I noticed she was definitely injured. The trail of blood running down the side of her hand shone under the streetlights above. I didn’t want her bleeding out here o
n the sidewalk. “Come in,” I said, turning and striding up the stairs.

  When I didn’t hear footsteps behind me, I glanced over my shoulder and saw her waiting on the sidewalk.

  “Barnable is down there,” she explained.

  A sharp bark reached me. I presumed Barnable was the dog from the poster I’d seen. “I’m well aware. But I’m not crawling through a broken window when I can get into my own basement by going inside and walking down the stairs.”

  “Oh!” She hurried up the stairs behind me. As I fit my key in the lock, she stood beside me, actually bouncing up and down on her heels.

  The motion sensor lights came on the moment we stepped into the foyer. I couldn’t have said why, but the moment I shut the door and glanced over at the woman with me, I became acutely aware of just how cold and impersonal my place was. Marble tile echoed under our footsteps.

  I tossed my keys on a table by the door and turned to get a better look. “Let me see your hand.”

  “Can we check on Barnable first?”

  “Your dog will be fine. I’d rather make sure the bleeding isn’t too serious.”

  She let out a huff and then shrugged before holding her hand out. There were two deep gashes—one on the outer edge of her palm and another further up on the outside of her wrist. Both wounds were bleeding quite liberally.

  “Just give me a paper towel. Let’s go check on Barnable because he might be bleeding too,” she said quickly.

  “Mind telling me your name?” I replied wryly.

  “Addie, Addie Castille,” she said rather enthusiastically as she held out her bloody hand for me to shake.

  I shook my head. “I’ll pass on the handshake.”

  “What’s your name?” she asked as I turned and began to stride down the hallway into the kitchen to fetch the requested paper towel.

  “Ryan Blake,” I called over my shoulder.

  I was irritated—at the situation and at myself for having such a powerful reaction to this woman. Under the soft lights—atmospheric because that’s what the decorator I’d hired had insisted on—Addie went from arresting to stunning. Her rich brown eyes stood out against her dark hair. Her southern twang set every cell in my body alight.

  She was like a sunflower sprouting through a crack in the sidewalk in winter. She was that out of the ordinary. In my world, she was an utterly bracing breath of fresh air and absolutely, positively nothing like any woman I’d ever encountered.

  Most people, when caught actually breaking a window into someone’s home, might be worried at how it could be perceived. Not her. She was so certain it made sense to try to get her lost dog out of my basement that she wasn’t worried I might call the police.

  We walked into my kitchen, which felt even more echoing than the rest of my place. Tile floors, stainless steel appliances, and granite counters didn’t lend any softness to the space. Addie was right behind me and stuck her hand out. My eyes landed on the tattoo curling around her wrist, with the gashes and blood running over it, I couldn’t quite make out what it was. Black lines that curled sensuously before they disappeared behind the blood.

  I handed her several paper towels. She snatched them and quickly wrapped them around her injured hand before asking, “Can we go into the basement now?”

  Although I was concerned she needed stitches, I could tell she was probably going to find her way to my basement on her own if I tried to delay any longer. “Word of warning,” I began as I turned away. “This brownstone has been updated within an inch of its life on every floor but the basement. It’s a one hundred and fifty-year-old basement. It’s dark, dank, and not the cleanest place. I can’t even remember the last time I walked down there.”

  Undaunted, she simply nodded. “I grew up in New Orleans. I’m used to old buildings and haunted houses. As long as you don’t lock me down there, I’ll be fine.”

  I led her down the hallway to the laundry room where the entrance to the basement was. I was relieved the light actually worked in the basement stairwell.

  The moment Addie called out on the steps, the very dog I’d seen on the posters in the area came barreling towards us across the stone floor. He was covered in dirt on one side, and he was beyond ecstatic to see Addie.

  With blood seeping through the paper towels hastily wrapped around her hand, Addie knelt down on the floor and scooped the little dog up in her arms, talking a mile a minute. “Oh Barnable! I’ve been so worried. You got lost, and I thought I’d never find you!” Her hands stroked over his wiggling body. “You seem okay. Sweet boy, what happened? Are you cold? Are you hungry?”

  As I watched their reunion from the foot of the stairs in my dim, dusty, dank basement, I marveled at the fact that my heart squeezed just a little at the amount of love Addie so clearly had for her dog.

  Addie stood, bundling the little dog in her arms and looking over at me. “Do you know where the closest vet is?”

  Chapter Two

  Addie (Adelaide)

  Sexy Suit—as I’d immediately dubbed the man the moment I got a good look at him inside the entrance to his rather sterile and cold brownstone—stared at me blankly.

  “A veterinarian?” I prompted as I tried to keep a hold of Barnable in my arms while he wiggled madly and licked my chin.

  Sexy Suit gave his head a little shake before replying, “There’s one a few blocks away. Before the vet, we need to get your hand looked at.”

  “No.” I tried to inject as much authority in my tone as I could muster. Everything this man said came out all stern and authoritative, like he just expected people to obey him. “Barnable’s got blood on his side. I’m afraid he’s hurt.”

  Sexy Suit simply shook his head and turned to ascend the stairs. “Follow me.”

  Seeing as I didn’t really want to hang out in the basement too much longer, I followed him. When we got upstairs, Barnable’s wiggling proved too much for my hold. He slipped free, landing on the floor with an inglorious thump. Like a boat righting itself in the water, he bounced up and began licking the toes of my boots excitedly.

  Sexy Suit kept on walking straight into the kitchen. I followed because I didn’t know what else to do. Slipping his phone out of an inner pocket in his suit jacket, he tapped the screen and lifted the phone to his ear. “Mr. S–” I began, catching myself in the nick of time before I called him Mr. Sexy Suit to his face.

  His sharp gaze met mine. “It’s Ryan.”

  “Ryan, just tell me where the vet is, and I’ll get out of your hair. Actually, I’ll look it up,” I said, fumbling for my own phone and belatedly realizing I didn’t even have my purse on me.

  Ryan ignored me. “Ryan here,” he said to whoever answered on the other end of whatever phone call he was making. “Can you come take a look at an injury?” His eyes flicked to me, icy blue and inscrutable.

  After another minute, he nodded. “Thank you. See you soon.”

  I eyed him. “I need to go to the vet.”

  Ryan looked down at Barnable and lifted his gaze to mine. “You’re definitely bleeding more than him.”

  My belly did a full-blown tumbling routine the moment Ryan’s eyes locked onto mine. It was all rather unsettling. Needing a distraction, I yanked my eyes free and looked down at Barnable. He was a little dirty, and there was something oily smeared on one shoulder.

  Kneeling down, I ran my hand over his back. “Hey, buddy, what’s going on over here?” I asked conversationally. When I reached the area on his shoulder where he had blood smeared, he paused in cleaning his chubby feet and looked up at me. “Does it hurt?”

  “He’s not likely to answer,” Ryan said wryly.

  Irritation zipped through me. I might’ve thought Ryan was, well, sexy, but he was also arrogant, cold, and not the least bit amusing. Flicking my eyes to him, I replied tartly, “Maybe not in words, but if he gets a little cranky, he’s probably in pain. Obviously, you’ve never had a dog.”

  Returning my attention to Barnable, I was surprised to hear Ryan’s r
eply. “I’ve had a dog.”

  I filed that little detail away. Sifting my fingers carefully through Barnable’s wheat brown fur, I spread it apart to see a thin cut. The blood had already dried, and it didn’t appear he would need stitches. I still wanted to get him checked out though.

  Barnable emitted nothing more than a little sigh when I touched the cut lightly. Relief washed through me. Barnable had gone missing three days ago, a single day after he moved here to New York City with me. I’d hardly slept since he’d been gone and had been walking the unfamiliar streets by myself looking for him.

  “He’s probably okay,” I said, glancing up to Ryan. “I’ll still take him to the vet just to make sure it’s clean and everything.”

  Ryan nodded, his eyes coasting over my face and down to my boots as I straightened. If I didn’t know better—and I definitely knew better—I’d wonder if he was checking me out. But that’s not how it felt. I knew I didn’t quite fit in this pristinely clean kitchen with stainless steel appliances polished to a sheen, dark gray counters, and black and white tiles.

  I took a moment to absorb the sight of Ryan. He wore a navy blue suit. Aside from me, that navy was the brightest speck of color in this room where everything was black, white, and silver. I imagined his shoes were quite expensive. His slacks were pressed, and he even had a vest on underneath his suit jacket. When my eyes reached his face, one side of his mouth kicked up at the corner.