by Kim Fielding
Table of Contents
Blurb
Sneak Peek
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
About the Author | By Kim Fielding
Coming in May 2018
Visit Dreamspinner Press
Copyright
A Full Plate
By Kim Fielding
Opposites come together for a spicy surprise.
Bradford “Tully” Tolliver has everything—money, a great car, a beautiful condo, and a promising career as one of Portland’s hottest young lawyers. Sure, he puts in long hours and has no social life to speak of, but who needs romance when corporations pay top dollar for his expertise? He hesitates when a colleague asks if her cousin can live with him, but the arrangement will last less than a year, and then the cousin—Sage Filling—will return to his tiny hometown.
But Sage is handsome and intriguing, and his cooking makes Tully swoon. Sage has obligations back home, though, and Tully has offers he might not refuse from a persistent—and very wealthy—ex. Since Tully and Sage each have a full plate, can they make room for a side of love?
Tully rarely hugged anyone. Sage was warm and solid in his arms, his skin and hair smelling of herbs and spices. And Sage seemed in no hurry to end the embrace, clutching Tully tightly and even letting Tully bear a little of his weight.
Then they pulled back enough to capture each other’s gaze. Something sparked so suddenly and so hot that for a split second, Tully thought the stove might have caused a fire. But no—the only fire was smoldering within him.
And apparently within Sage as well.
The kiss was surprisingly sweet and tender, spiced with piri piri and cardamom and lavender. Sage wasn’t grabby. While they kissed, he kneaded his fingers gently into Tully’s shoulders as if he were dough that needed shaping. And Tully liked the feel of him, substantial and somehow… honest.
Then Sage backed up a few inches and gazed solemnly at him. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
Chapter One
BRADFORD Tolliver knew something was up as soon as Carrie spoke.
She had a voice that echoed across the biggest courtrooms, carrying such an authoritative tone that even the most hesitant jurors would find themselves agreeing with her. So she shouldn’t have had a problem making herself heard as they sat in a bar packed with people freshly released from their offices and eager to jumpstart the weekend.
But when Carrie spoke, he couldn’t catch her mumbled words. She wouldn’t meet his eyes either, which was another bad sign. Carrie didn’t back down from anyone. Yet here she was, sitting right next to him at a table and evidently fascinated by her moscow mule.
Tully glared at her. He wasn’t as effective at it as she was, although he wasn’t bad. More than a decade of negotiating contracts had taught him well, and strong men quailed before his steely gaze. Carrie was usually immune, but now she ignored his look and stared resolutely at her copper mug.
“What is it, Carrie?”
She glanced up at him and tried a smile. “I need a favor.”
“I am not working on the Harrington case. I don’t care how sweetly you ask me or what you promise me in return.”
“It’s not a case I need help with. It’s something personal. And Harrington’s not so bad. Overconfident and pushy, maybe. I’ve certainly dealt with worse.” She gave him a sidelong look. “You just don’t want his case because you slept with him.”
“Once. I slept with him once, and it was two years ago, and that’s not the point. He’s an entitled, self-centered, manipulative jerk, in bed and out.”
“But he’s kind of cute,” she replied, grinning wickedly.
“He’s not your type. Mine either, actually.” Tully wasn’t sure what his type was. Evidently not a zillionaire tech whiz who insisted his date windsurf on weekends.
He downed the last of his drink, a craft cocktail with tequila, cilantro, and a cutesy name he couldn’t remember. He wanted something stronger and more straightforward to fortify himself for Carrie’s request, whatever it might be. “Want anything?” he asked as he stood and gestured toward the bar in the center of the room.
“Yeah. Grab another dish of those wasabi almonds.”
Despite Tully’s wide shoulders and long legs, it took some effort to work his way through the crowd. It didn’t help that a good portion of the people wore messenger bags or expensive backpacks. He could forgive them a little Friday-evening exuberance since most of them would probably spend a chunk of the weekend chained to their laptops—as would he. But man, he wished they’d get out of his way.
Eventually he stood at the polished wood counter, and some vigorous arm-waving finally caught a bartender’s attention. The guy had a beard to make ZZ Top proud, and his plaid cuffs were rolled back to display impressive sleeve tats. “Whiskey, please. Best you’ve got. A double.”
While Tully waited, he considered what Carrie might want from him. Not money. He had some, but she had even more. Not only was her salary bigger than his, but her wife, Leah, was a cardiologist from a wealthy family. They had a fancy house in the hills, a weekend cabin at the coast, and a matching pair of Benzes. They weren’t exactly going hungry.
But if not money, what?
The realization hit him so hard he blinked. She wanted him to donate sperm so she or Leah could get knocked up. Made sense. They were both fortyish, their biological clocks undoubtedly ticking-tocking deafeningly. Tully would make a good donor. He was healthy, reasonably good-looking, and smart enough to graduate sixth in his law-school class and then land a junior partnership at a prestigious firm before his thirtieth birthday.
Tully had never given much thought to fatherhood. He’d always been too busy to settle down with a steady partner, let alone contemplate a kid. Maybe this was the way to go. He’d simply have to squirt in a cup, right? And then all the work of raising Junior would fall on the doting mothers. Tully could show up once in a while if Carrie and Leah wanted, maybe take the kid to the zoo. Buy the kid fun presents like camera drones and PlayStations.
That might be… kind of cool.
The bartender delivered a generous pile of green almonds in a small bowl and a glass of elixir that had undoubtedly been distilled in a golden bathtub within an enchanted castle in the West Hills. Tully tipped well—he might be wanting a refill soon.
Working his way back to the table without spilling nuts or drink was a challenge, but he made it successfully and plopped into his chair. Carrie grabbed the almonds, and he took a healthy swig—the stuff was smooth as silk—and mentally girded his loins. Or maybe, considering the circumstances, ungirded them.
“You can have my sperm,” he announced.
Her mouth fell open. “What?”
“I’ll be happy to make a donation for you guys. Um, which of you plans to, uh, have the bun in the oven?” Not that it mattered. He imagined he’d make an interesting child with either of them.
“Oh. My. God. Are you saying you want to be our baby daddy?”
“Yeah, sure. We can work out the details of how involved you want me to be in his or her life. It’s best if I don’t draw up the contract myself, but we can ask Ramirez. She’s almost as good as me. And then we can—”
“I don’t want your love juice, Tully.”
“Oh.” He grabbed his glass and swallowed deeply
.
He was disappointed—which was weird—and it must have shown, because Carrie rested a hand briefly on his arm. “That was really sweet and generous of you to offer. If we wanted rug rats, you’d make a spectacular donor. But we’re not exactly the maternal types, you know?”
He nodded. “Then what do you need?”
It was Carrie’s turn to seek a little liquid courage. She made a face, then slurped at the straw before speaking again. “My cousin Sage came to stay with us a couple weeks ago, but he and—”
“Sage?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s his name, okay? And he—”
“Wait. Wait. Does he have the same last name as you?”
“Yes. His dad was my dad’s younger brother.”
Tully almost choked on an almond. Then he was laughing so hard he could hardly speak. “Sage Filling? Really? Isn’t that something you put in a turkey at Thanksgiving?”
“Oh for God’s sake! What are you, twelve? And you’re hardly one to talk, Bradford, seeing as you’re named after a company that sells commemorative dishes.”
“Okay, fine. Your cousin Stuffing is here to visit, and…?”
“Not visit. He’s staying for a year or so—earning some money to help his family back home.”
“Where’s home?”
“Same place as me—lovely Hair Shaker, Oregon.” She grimaced and ate a handful of almonds.
Tully had heard Carrie’s stories, but he’d never had the pleasure of visiting her birthplace. It was located in one of those mostly empty spaces east of the Cascades and boasted considerably more sheep than humans, which explained some of the weird town names. She’d escaped the day after she graduated high school and had never looked back. Apparently her cousin hadn’t been so lucky.
“Not much of a job market in Hair Shaker, huh?” Tully asked.
“Hardly. Which is why he moved here. Since he’s trying so hard to save money, we don’t charge him rent.”
“That’s nice of you guys.”
She shrugged. “We have a couple extra bedrooms, so I figured no big deal. Plus he’s sort of been playing houseboy for us—keeping the place clean, mostly. Oh, and cooking. That’s what he does for a living; he works at a restaurant.”
“Sounds like a good deal all around.” Or maybe not. He’d been to Carrie and Leah’s house several times, and unless their maid service had visited recently, the place generally looked like the aftermath of a minor disaster. A couple of years ago, he’d gone over there to work on a case with Carrie. The state of the living room had grated on his nerves so badly that he’d eventually started straightening piles of books and paper and gathering dirty dishes. Carrie hadn’t been amused. After that, they met at his tidy condo if they needed to work after hours.
“Yeah,” Carrie said, “we all thought it sounded good too. But it’s not working out. Sage works late, and he tries to be quiet when he gets home, but Leah’s a light sleeper and super sensitive to noise. She has to get up early. Plus when they see each other, they argue. And let’s just say Sage isn’t going to convert to vegan cooking anytime soon.”
Tully snorted. Leah was one of those people who not only chose to eat a specific diet but loved to preach its wonders. Perhaps it was extremely healthy—as a cardiologist, she would know—but it tasted like gerbil food. Even Carrie periodically snuck bacon cheeseburgers for lunch.
Tully hadn’t had dinner yet, so he became momentarily lost in the thought of a burger and neglected to follow the conversation to its logical conclusion. As a result, he was dumbstruck by Carrie’s next question.
“So can he move in with you?”
“I— What?”
“You have extra bedrooms. You’re hardly ever home. You sleep like the dead. And you’re fully omnivorous.”
“But—”
“It’s only for a year. Well, eleven months. He lasted four weeks with us. And he’s eager to get back to Hair Shaker as soon as he’s paid off some debts.” She shook her head, clearly boggled that anyone would voluntarily return. Then she grinned. “And he’s a good cook. Wouldn’t it be great if someone actually used that fancy kitchen of yours?”
Tully had never learned how to cook as a boy and didn’t have time for it when he grew up. If pressed, he could heat something from a can or manage boxed mac and cheese. On a really good day, he could boil an egg. Mostly he relied on restaurants, takeout, and the grocery store deli counter. He downed the rest of his whiskey and folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t do roommates.”
“Right. You are the lone wolf, constantly surveying his high-rise territory and battling with claw and fang anyone who dares to trespass.”
“Hah. I like to think I’m more of a jungle cat, actually. Lithe and sleek, looking down at his prey from the treetops.”
“Whatever, Bagheera.” She leaned in and captured him with a pleading gaze across the table. “Look. He’s a nice guy and his family’s been through some rough times lately. His dad—my late uncle Doug—helped pay my way through college, so I owe a pretty big favor. Help me with this and I’ll owe you the favor instead. At least try it out for a couple weeks. If it’s a disaster, we can figure something else out. Please?”
And the thing was, Tully was the cat that walked by himself. Always had been. He liked being that cat. But Carrie was a good friend who never asked for anything.
He narrowed his eyes. “Two-week trial period. I have the option to rescind this agreement at any time and without prior notice. I also have the option to amend this agreement at any time without prior notice. If Cousin Sage turns out to be an asshole, this agreement is immediately null and void.”
Smiling widely, she held out a hand with wasabi-flecked fingers. “You drive a hard bargain, Counselor.”
They shook, her grip as firm as his. Then he pointed toward the bar. “Next round’s on you.”
Chapter Two
IF he’d had any spare time on Saturday, Tully would have regretted being so agreeable. But he woke up at first light and, slight hangover notwithstanding, went down to the building’s gym. He had the place to himself and put in a long run on the treadmill as he stared out at the Willamette River and thought about the work he needed to finish before Monday. He headed back up to his condo, showered quickly, and sat down on the couch with his computer in his lap and coffee and a protein bar nearby.
His living room furniture was expensive and comfortable but spare. Only a few big pieces and a couple of smaller ones. Minimalist décor let the floor-to-ceiling windows serve as the primary ornament. He was sitting on the couch with the best view, so when he glanced up from his laptop, he saw Portland’s high-rises in one direction and, in the other, bridges arching across the stretch of gray river.
But for the remainder of that Saturday morning, he glanced up rarely. He focused instead on the intricacies of COBRA requirements as they applied to an early termination agreement. One client, a large tech firm, had decided to lay off a bunch of local employees and send the work to India. Much cheaper in the long run, even if they had to pay out some large severance packages as a result of breaking employment contracts.
Was this what he had dreamed of years ago as he diligently applied to law schools? No. Back then he’d pictured himself fighting valiantly for justice—a superhero with a suit and briefcase instead of spandex and a cape. But he’d soon learned that fighting for justice paid peanuts. Barely enough to cover the student loans he’d unexpectedly been forced to take on. The real money was in corporate law, so that was where he’d ended up. It was important work. If he screwed up, the client could be liable for millions. And the job—plus a surprise inheritance—allowed him to afford that very expensive view.
He was partway through drafting a memorandum when his phone buzzed. It was Su-ji, the weekend day concierge. Mr. Filling is here to see you.
Tully stared at the text in confusion for a moment, wondering why Carrie was here and when Su-ji had become so careless in her texting. Then he remembered the discussion at t
he bar.
Crap.
Send him up, please.
Really, Tully wanted to order Su-ji to send the guy away. But Tully wasn’t the type to back out of an agreement, even if it was only a handshake deal. And definitely not when it was a promise to a friend.
He didn’t have to be happy about it, though. When his doorbell chimed less than a minute later, Tully walked over and opened it with a scowl.
Sage appeared to be somewhere in his early to mid thirties—around the same age as Tully. He was as tall as Tully too but heavier. Neither fat nor musclebound, but… substantial. His sandy-colored hair was bleached lemon yellow near the tips and arranged in a neat, short cut. Stubble darkened his jawline and upper lip, and his eyes were a warm hazel. He wore jeans, and a T-shirt with a faded Coors logo. A battered suitcase and khaki duffel bag lay at his booted feet. Sage was handsome, dammit, which Tully hadn’t expected.
“Uh, did I come at a bad time?”
Realizing he’d been staring like an idiot, Tully shook his head. “No. Sorry.” He stuck out his hand. “Bradford Tolliver. Tully.”
Sage had big hands, rough with calluses. “Sage Filling. Obviously.” He smiled uneasily and, as soon as their handshake ended, rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just gonna—”
“Come on in.” Tully picked up the suitcase, waited for Sage to enter with the duffel, and then shut the door.
But Sage stopped in the small entryway. “Are you sure this is okay? Carrie can come on awful strong. It’s real hard to say no to her.”
“I’ve noticed. Was she always like that, or was it law school that ruined her?”
Sage had one of those crooked, boyish grins that never failed to make Tully a little weak in the knees. Tully had once spent time staring into a mirror, trying to cultivate a similar smile. But he ended up looking either demented or evil, so he gave it up. He had the feeling Sage came by his grin naturally.