We visit for another two hours. After dinner, the brothers volunteer to wash up the dishes while I talk with their mother. She goes outside, where she lights up for a moment before staring at the cigarette in her hand and crushing it underfoot. “Nope, no more of those. I want to see grandbabies someday, and I won’t be doing that with cancer sticks all the time.”
“Thanks,” I concede. “So Oliver told you almost everything, huh?”
“Almost,” she says, chuckling. “Never has told me just why the hell you two took a dog for a walk for all those hours, but I’m sure you had your reasons.”
I blush in the deep purple twilight, nodding. “Yeah, well, your son . . . he’s good for me.”
“You’re good for him too,” she says, smiling. “When he came to town, he was so bitter at his father, and I can understand that. But he was going down the same path his father did, all business and no heart . . . until he met you. So thank you. And Mindy?”
“Yes?”
Oliver’s mom comes over and gives me a hug. “I’m going to love having you as a daughter-in-law.”
I hug her back, happy. “I’m going to love having another mother, it seems.”
Epilogue
“How’s it going guys?” I ask, sticking my head in the door. I don’t work the line anymore. Mindy’s Corner has grown fast enough that we hired a real chef and staff within six months, and now, two years after opening, we’re going strong.
“Doing well, Mr. Steele,” Jake, the head chef, says. “Hey, when you’ve got a minute, I want you to try something.”
“What?” I ask, curious. “So I can prep my stomach while I unload the van. I know how you are.”
Jake laughs. He knows I’ve had to work doubly hard the past year to keep my body in good shape. The man’s a good cook. “Yeah, well, I’m going to put it on the menu starting Monday, so if you don’t want to try the Trenton now, I can’t be blamed if your son doesn’t like it. Where is he, anyway?”
“Hanging out with his godparents,” I reply, stepping closer. The pizza looks delicious, and I have to smile as I cut a slice and sample it. “Jesus, this is good. Has Mindy tried any?”
“Of course, the Boss is upstairs being the Boss,” Jake says. “So any tweaks for the recipe?”
“Not a one,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. “You know, when you said you wanted to start a line of pizzas, I thought you were nuts. I thought you were double nuts when you decided to name them all after famous steels and swords. Thank you, I don’t know if this one’s going to bump the Valerian from the popularity list, but it’s damn good. My son will be proud once he has teeth.”
Jake gives me a grin, and I go upstairs, letting the kitchen staff unload the van of tonight’s supplies. I find Mindy, looking more radiant than ever, making up a frozen drink. “Okay, the leprechaun rainbow frappe,” she tells the two new girls who we just hired to work the coffee bar. In the corner is Sarah, who we snatched from the Beangal’s Den and made the front of the house assistant manager, prepping for opening. “Now watch carefully. You don’t want to mint-nuke someone.”
She’s confident and sexy, and I have to admit my cock stirs in my pants watching her at work. She finishes, tucking the shamrock stirrer into the glass and presenting it. “Remember, if you screw it up, just grin, give the customer a little bit of charm, and you’ll be cool most of the time. Now practice for me.”
“I always thought it was the low-cut blouses that got you out of trouble,” I tease her as she comes over and wraps her arms around my neck, giving me a kiss. I reach down to squeeze her ass, growling lightly. “Don’t make me spill chocolate on you as an excuse to get you upstairs to the shower again.”
Mindy chuckles, wiggling her hips against me until my cock is throbbing in my pants, and I’m glad that I’m wearing my cafe apron. “Yeah, well, maybe we can look at that idea of getting Trent a little sister tonight.”
I pat her ass, grinning. “For sure. By the way, Bri says that our Trent and her Alicia are meant for each other.”
Mindy laughs, shaking her head. “Remind me again how lucky we are not to have taken Roxy’s idea on our son’s name?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, laughing. “Maybe if our next child’s a boy, we can go with her idea. After all, Richard’s a fine name for a boy.”
“I am not naming my son Dick Steele,” Mindy says, shaking her head.
I have to agree with that one, both of us turning as there’s a crash from the coffee area to see a pile of green slush on the floor. One of the new girls, Rose, looks at us with fear in her eyes. “Mrs. Steele, I’m sorry, I just . . .”
“Did the same damn thing I’ve done a hundred other times,” Mindy says calmly. “Get it cleaned up and try again. Sarah will give you a hand. Remember, you’ve got afternoon shift tomorrow, and with St. Paddy’s Day coming up, those things are flying out the door.”
“On pink unicorns,” I joke, earning a stuck out tongue from Mindy. “Hey, guess what Martha told me? She found us a house. Or, as she called it, Step One of the Steele Estate Project.”
“No way,” Mindy says, grinning. “Where?”
“A couple of miles out on the other side of town,” I tell her, laughing. “It’s not as big as Gavin’s ranch, and it’s nowhere near the size of John’s mansion, but it’s got plenty of space and three acres for Trent and however many more we want to play and grow.”
Mindy bites her lip, nodding. “When can we go see it?”
“Sunday afternoon,” I tell her. “Now, get this . . . you won’t believe who the owner is.”
“Who?”
“Your favorite banned customer.”
Mindy gawks, then grins at me, shaking her head. It’s been a running joke between us, one that’s crept to the whole staff, really. “No freakin’ way.”
Motherhood’s finally found a way to tone down Mindy’s foul mouth. At least a little.
“Way. Martha confirmed it herself. Apparently, Miss Fake Fur and Attitude has been banned from every coffee shop in town for the past six months. The last one, she went on an epic rant where she threw an iced pumpkin swirl and swore that they totally sucked and she was coming to Mindy’s Corner.”
“Too bad we have a very strict no fake fur, no fake bitches allowed policy.”
I laugh, pulling my wife in for another hug. “Yep. But her husband’s being transferred somewhere for work. I’d hate to be that poor schmuck, but it’s not my problem. I’m only worried about two things—my queen and our new castle.”
“Castle, huh?” Mindy purrs. “I like the sound of that, my king.”
It’s good to be the king.
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Did you miss Gavin and Brianna’s story? Keep reading for a preview of their story, Anaconda!
Preview: Anaconda
by Lauren Landish
They say size doesn’t matter...
Football star and internet sensation Gavin “Anaconda” Adams is the biggest celebrity our little town has ever seen.
But I had no idea who he was when I accidentally walked in on him naked.
I was shocked, seeing all of him, a cocky grin on his face. I didn’t know what to do.
So I ran.
Now I’m in a world of trouble. No matter what I do, I can’t get that image out of my head. His strong muscular thighs. His washboard abs. His big, throbbing, toe-curling… Jesus!
To make matters worse, Gavin wants a date with me. He’s seen the lust in my eyes, and he’s not taking no for an answer. I should tell him to get lost. He’s nothing but trouble, and he’s only here for a week.
But with one look, I go weak in the knees. And whenever I hear his deep, rich voice, I feel my defenses crumbling.
It’s only one night. What could it hurt?
Chapter 1
Brianna
“This is fucking disgus
ting,” I mutter with revulsion, looking around the hotel room and barely able to hold back the nausea twisting my stomach from the foul stench. I clamp a hand over my nose, trying not to breathe the acrid air in through my mouth and shaking my head at the horror before me.
Actually, disgusting is an understatement. The room looks like a frat house after a night of binge drinking and wild orgies. There are pizza boxes, crushed beer cans, and dark stains everywhere.
Jesus Christ.
No wonder the smell is so bad. These guys are pigs. My eyes continue to roam and I spot at least one smashed bottle of vodka before…
“Oh, hell no!” I croak, almost dry heaving and turning away from the revolting sight of several used condoms. I can even see something white and sticky nearby. I grab the top of my uniform and pull it up over my nose, no longer able to bear the stench. “They don’t pay me enough for this shit!” Holding my breath, I beeline for the door. I gasp as I exit the room and enter the hallway, letting go of my shirt and sucking down a lungful of air. I normally can’t stand the air in the smoking section of the guest rooms, but right now, this air is sweeter than a double-fudge chocolate chip sundae.
After a few grateful breaths, I pull out my walkie talkie from my side pocket and shake my head as I press the microphone button. “Maintenance, this is Housecleaning.”
“Whatcha need, Bri?” asks a familiar scratchy voice, and I sigh, relaxing. It’s Jimmy, an older man who still wears corduroy and thinks he’s in the 70s. But besides his penchant for living in the past, he’s pretty cool and will empathize with my pain. This isn’t the first wrecked room that I’ve walked in on, and it certainly won’t be my last.
“We have a problem,” I tell him, letting the direness I feel seep into my voice. “A big, big problem.”
“Is it that bad?” Jimmy asks. There’s a slight note of hope in his voice. I know what he’s thinking. He’s hoping that maybe it’s nothing a little bleach and elbow grease won’t fix.
I feel sorry for him. And to think I didn’t even step foot into the bathroom.
I shudder at the gross images that flash in my mind as I reply, “Yes! Your boys will have their hands full. Room 333. Bring steam cleaners, a sandblaster . . . and maybe a hazmat suit.”
Jimmy groans over the radio. I hear him inhale as if he wants to say something, but the transmission cuts. He knows that he can’t say much about it. Our radios aren’t monitored like the police scanners, but they can still be listened to. And with what’s going on, we can’t take chances. A crackling sound pops my ears.
“If you guys get it done, I’ll worry about the towels and sheets,” I add.
“Grand Waterways Hotel . . .” Jimmy says forlornly. “Grand Water Sewer Way would be a more apt name.”
I huff out a chuckle at that. Jimmy shouldn’t have said that over the line, but it’s the damn truth. “Can’t argue with that,” I say wholeheartedly. To the hotel’s credit, though, it can’t help what guests like a team of pro and collegiate ballers do to its rooms when they’re hosting drunken parties. I’ve heard that they stay here instead of in the city to keep the players ‘out of trouble’. But they still have their parties.
“I’ll handle it, Bri. We’ll be up in a half hour. Maybe you can catch the rest on the back half of your shift?”
A feeling of relief washes over me. The man is a lifesaver. There’s no way I could handle these types of situations without him.
“Thanks, Jimmy.”
“No worries. Maintenance out.”
“Poor man,” I mutter, tucking my walkie talkie back into my pocket.
Grateful to be free of that disaster, I make my way to the elevator, press the down button, and wait for the doors to open. Once inside, I mull over which floor I should go to, but my watch beeps, reminding me that I need a break.
I jam the button for the basement, leaning against the wall as the carriage starts to go down. My back aches, my feet ache, and I’m pretty sure that my skin needs to be scrubbed with something stronger than soap and water after just walking into that filthy room. The image of the used condoms on the floor flashes in my mind and my skin crawls.
I can’t wait until I finish my degree and never have to step foot into this place again, I think with disgust.
I definitely don’t feel like working the rest of my shift after that. I’m aching and sore all over. I’m seriously overworked, and I don’t think I can take any more surprises.
But at least I’m mostly finished, and I’ve got the next thirty minutes to chill out, try to get myself back together, and maybe pop a Tylenol or two before I do the last set of regular rooms, the suites, and then the floor that I normally hate most because I never know what to expect, the penthouse suites. They can range from sparkly clean to a pigsty as bad as the room I just left… depending on who’s been staying there. Sometimes, the ballers are too damn cheap and just trash a regular room.
The ding sound and opening doors pull me out of my reverie. I walk out of the elevator and head to the maintenance room. I wash my hands using rubbing alcohol and some germicidal stuff from the medicine cabinet in the staffroom before I apply two coats of lotion, praying that maybe this time I won’t be bleeding from between my fingers like the last time I had to do this.
I look up in the mirror and sigh, shaking my head at the reflection that looks back at me. Bra-length, dark brown hair, tired eyes, and a grumpy countenance. I look like I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in over a week.
I don’t need this shit, I say to myself. I can’t wait to get out of this place. Hell, I’ll take just about any job with benefits over this.
But more than benefits, I need money. Doing twenty-nine hours of maid work in a hotel just doesn’t cut it when you’re like me—Master’s degree student with no family, no credit cards, and about two thousand dollars left from a student loan. Somehow, I have to stretch this small amount of money to cover the gap in my living expenses for the rest of the year.
I shake my head again as I think about how close I’d been to that internship.
One computer error. That’s all that kept me from landing a paid internship. One idiot at school who typed in my GPA wrong, saying I had a 1.8 instead of a 3.8. By the time I got it all sorted out, it was too late. All of the internships were already snatched up.
“Face it, girlie,” I grumble to myself, “if this keeps up, you’ll be going down to the food bank for canned goods by Christmas.” I rub the last of the lotion into my hands. The sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor causes me to turn around, and I see my best friend, Mindy, holding a mocha latte in one hand and a cup of green tea in the other. She wiggles the latte at me.
I take it from her, feeling grateful for her thoughtfulness. “Tell me you put cinnamon in it,” I say.
Mindy steps back to survey me, shaking her head, her dark brown hair that’s cut into a side bob glinting under the lights and her large brown eyes flashing with a mischievousness that almost makes me smile. I have to say, she looks hot as hell in her uniform—a white dress shirt, open at the front, a short black skirt, an apron, and stockings, her feet adorned with black glossy heels.
“You bet your sweet ass I did,” Mindy chirps before going over to the free table in the staff break room and kicking out a chair with her foot before sitting down. “Double cream, double sugar, double cinnamon, basically double everything I could get my hands on. Come on, I know your schedule as well as you do. It’s the least I can do.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” I tell her, raising the cup to my lips and taking a sip. I close my eyes as the warm liquid hits my tastebuds and I let out a groan. It really is sweet.
“You know, you keep moaning like that, and people are going to think you’re up to no good during your coffee breaks,” Mindy jokes, sipping her green tea. “I mean, I get it. You skipped breakfast like you always do, but damn, girl, should I leave you and the latte alone with a necktie hanging on the door?”
“You keep making drinks like thi
s and bringing me scones, and you may just have to,” I joke. “But how’d you know?”
“What? That you’d be tired?” Mindy asks, laughing. “Uh, in case you forgot, for the past two weeks, we’ve all been wiped out. I’m sure that V-man loves the money, but he’s not the one busting his ass” —Mindy glances down at her thighs critically— “or in this case, big ass.”
“Oh, come on, you’re a size two!” I protest.
Mindy scowls. “A big size two.”
“There’s no such thing!” I scoff.
“Want to see my ass?” she offers.
“I’ll pass.” I chuckle. Mindy always does this, complaining about her weight when there’s nothing to complain about. I just argue with her to get kicks. I take another sip of my heavenly latte before adding, “And if Mr. Vandenburgh hears you call him V-man again, you know he’s going to blow his stack.”
Mindy laughs and screws up her face, looking remarkably like John Cleese as she pitches her voice perfectly to match the hotel manager’s. “Ahh . . . yes, Miss Sayles, we’ve noticed that you’re taking your job far too seriously, and I’m going to need to make sure you don’t have a broom handle lost inside your buttocks. Please bend over and spread your cheeks for me.”
I laugh, barely holding onto the coffee in my mouth as I set my cup down, trying not to cough. I can’t help it. Mr. Vandenburgh does look a lot like a very short but chubby John Cleese, and Mindy’s got the voice down to a tee. Mindy lets up, and I swallow before sitting back, wiping at my eyes. “Girl, thank you. I so needed that. You don’t even want to know what I had to deal with today.”
“What, the production monkeys aren’t appreciative of the fine rooms we’ve made available to them?” Mindy asks. For the past two weeks, The Grand Waterways has been rented out by a Hollywood studio that’s producing a film in town. While the production team staying at the hotel haven’t exactly been the cleanest guests, they’ve been a hell of a lot better than the sports team that just trashed that room.
Mr. Fiancé Page 21