Sweet Distraction: Stag Brothers Book 1

by Lainey Davis

  Donna slides me the folder with this week's priority cases and starts to debrief me, but I cut her off. I'm suddenly starving, both for food and another chance to be near Alice. "Donna, let's put this on hold for a half hour. I'm going to get a muffin."

  She smiles and nods. I clap her on the back, adjust my suit jacket, and walk down the hall, feeling only mildly foolish as I check myself in the mirror. This isn't a date. She works for you. This is…an infatuation.

  I find Alice passing a tray of muffins and juice to a group of construction workers in the kitchen. I feel my inner Neanderthal rising when I notice the way they look at her. One of them is talking to her so familiarly that I want to punch his smug face, until Alice sees me. She smiles and the whole world stops. It's like one of those television moments, where everything else in the room fades away.

  Bob the Builder sees me glaring and quickly returns to his work. Good. Fuck off, I think.

  I walk toward her and she offers me the tray. "Fresh squeezed OJ and bran muffins today," she says. I am dying to know if she thinks about what we did yesterday. If it kept her up all night like it did me. If she is also hopelessly in over her head. Her face doesn't answer any questions, though. Her smile is just the same smile as always.

  "Only for you will I taste a bran muffin, Ms. Peterson," I say, letting my fingers touch hers when I accept the muffin. I feel that familiar sizzle where our skin meets and she blushes. I am in trouble, I decide.

  Her eyes hold mine, questioning, and it seems like she's about to say something when I hear a familiar voice say my name. "Tim, yo! This place looks totally different."

  I turn around to greet my brother Ty, who is standing in the doorway with our grandmother. My body tenses and I feel my vein tick in my neck. I hate surprises. They know this. "Gran," I say, trying to make my voice sound normal. "What are you two doing here?"

  She pushes into the room, touching the stainless steel counters and looking around. "Oh relax, Timber Stag. We're just here for a few minutes." Alice has retreated to her new work area and seems to be busily stirring a fragrant concoction of grains and vegetables. My grandmother takes in the new space and smiles. "I see you took my advice."

  Ty has a mouthful of muffin and chews as he looks around. "What the hell did you do here, bro?"

  Annoyed, I hand him a napkin and tell them how I've hired a corporate chef, who recommended a kitchen renovation. "Alice Peterson, this is my grandmother, Anna Stag, and I suppose you have yet to meet my brother Tyrion."

  He winks and shakes her hand, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Call me Ty, sweetheart." I feel my blood boil and I stare daggers at him, but my grandmother hits him with her purse.

  "Stop it, Tyrion. Behave yourself right this instant." He winces and rubs his shoulder as he finishes the muffin. My grandmother beams at Alice. "I'm counting on you to fatten up my grandson," she says. "He doesn't eat enough. He works too hard."

  Alice smiles at her and nods, saying, "They all do here! But don't you worry. I've got them all stopping for lunch every day at noon and eating breakfast and afternoon snacks, too."

  Alice starts to show my family around the new kitchen, talking about the quinoa salad she's working on for lunch, but I clear my throat. "Gran, Alice has a lot of work to do. I've given her quite a lot of responsibility."

  "Well, Sir," my brother says, mocking me, "We're just heading down the hall to sign the forms my new attorney has for my playoff bonus." He grabs another muffin and flashes Alice his most flirtatious smile, and I want to punch him in his smug face as he says, "It was real nice meeting you, Alice Peterson, muffin magician."

  She laughs at his joke, and I find myself swimming with feelings, ranging from rage that another guy made her laugh…to pride that she gets along well with my family…back to jealous anger that my sleazy brother is clearly trying to hit on Alice. I'm literally shoving him out of the room and he says, "Ok, ok. Hey, you want to grab dinner with me and Thatcher later? Mad Mex is dark enough that I shouldn't be mobbed by fans on a Monday."

  "If I say yes, will you get the hell out of my office?"

  "Timber Stag! You watch that mouth, young man," my grandmother scolds, and I mutter an apology. Some things never change.

  Twelve

  TIM

  T y is, predictably, late for dinner, but I'm actually glad to get some time alone with my middle brother. He's friendly and outgoing like Ty, only Thatcher is an artist. He's got his own glass studio just north of the city, and he's making a pretty good name for himself in the art world. From what I understand, he's also making good on his goal to screw every single woman in the city. Or at least all the ones who will swoon for his long hair and hipster beard.

  Thatcher and I snag a booth in a dark corner and order drinks while we wait for Ty. Thatcher can always tell when something's off with me, and right away he says, "What's got you all messed up, bro? You look like you're about to lose in court."

  I exhale, trying to decide how much to tell him. But this is more than a week I've been off my game, unable to focus. Distracted. I was so sure fucking Alice would just get it out of my system, but as the day wore on, and I kept thinking of her with those construction workers, I was more distracted than ever. Not just the idea of them staring at her, but the idea of her bossing them around, making plans. Organizing her space. She's in total control in there, even if her lighthearted demeanor suggests otherwise. "Thatcher…I'm in a predicament."

  He laughs and drains his beer, signaling to the waiter to bring us another round. "What's her name, Tim?"

  "What makes you think it's a woman?"

  "If it was related to work, you'd say, 'this fucking case, man,' and if it was about the family, I'd already have heard about it from Gran." He reaches for the chips and salsa and settles back into the bench. "So tell me about this girl."

  "She…distracts me." Thatcher laughs again, and I wish I hadn't said anything. "Fuck you, man. I don't know if a woman has ever gotten in my head like this before." I decide not to tell him her name, that she grew up in the neighborhood, or that she works for me. Instead, I settle on just describing her as someone, professionally speaking, I should not get involved with.

  He nods and taps his chips on the table, meeting my eyes. All three of us have the same gray eyes. We got them from our mother. "So you went and got involved anyway, hm?"

  "Something like that." I look over my shoulder to make sure Ty hasn't gotten here yet. If he caught wind of my situation, I just know he'd make the association with Alice from earlier. He has a sixth sense for about these things. "It's not just that she's sexy. She's responsible and organized and--"

  "Woah." He puts a hand up. "Organized is like porn for you, Tim-bo."

  I shake my head. "Thatch, I thought if I slept with her, I'd get her out of my system. You know? Just succumb to the sexual energy and be able to move on with my life?"

  "But now you just want her more?"

  I exhale deeply. "Yes. Shit, Thatcher, I didn't even use a condom. You know me! I've never in my life slept with a woman without a condom." His eyes go wide at this revelation, because that was something I drilled into all my brothers' heads all through our teenage years. Do not, under any circumstances, get a girl pregnant. Always cover it up, always. No exceptions.

  "You were like a broken record about that," Thatcher says. "You know, Ty and I used to joke that you were going to become a health teacher and spend your days scaring teenagers away from sex." I drag my hands through my hair, not feeling a bit better after this discussion with my brother. He grins, then, and asks, "So what are you going to do?"

  My eyes go wide at this. "I thought you were going to give me advice! What the hell am I telling you any of this for?"

  He shrugs, and then kicks my foot, because Ty comes slinking into the booth, looking guilty as sin. Thatcher laughs and throws his arms around both of us. "Ty," he says, grabbing our youngest brother by the chin. "Tell me you at least used a condom?" And all of us break out laughing.


  Thirteen

  ALICE

  F inally, I collapse into the couch when I make it home from the office. It's been two weeks since I slept with my boss, and I've barely had time to think about it. A few days after it happened, one of the baseball players Stag Law represents was arrested for drunk driving with a prostitute in his car. The office has been a mess for ten days--constant frenzied meetings behind closed doors. Everyone is tense. Tim even had to miss his trip to the Stanley Cup final because of a court date.

  I've been working long hours, not just to make sure there's food for the Stag Law staff, but Donna explained that we'd be hosting prosecuting attorneys and even city officials, not to mention MLB executives. I've kept the sophisticated fare flowing.

  My sister brings me a mug of tea and snuggles up next to me on the couch. I rest my head on her shoulder and sigh as she turns on the Great British Baking Show. My favorite. "Did he talk to you today," she asks.

  Of course I told my sister what happened during the hockey game. I shake my head. "I didn't even lay eyes on him. I never see him. So it's not like he sees me and acts weird…he's just neck deep in this baseball scandal."

  "And how are you feeling about it all?"

  "Honestly, I don't know! I still think he's hot as hell, Aim. That was the best sex of my life. Easily. No comparison. But what are we going to do? Fuck once a month and then go about our business? He works around the clock, and he missed his brother's world hockey final...whatever it's called. You know family is the most important thing to me. The most important thing." I give her shoulder a squeeze.

  "Is Ty upset that he couldn't be there? I mean…when you play sports for a living, maybe it means less if your family can't come to a game. And weren't you a willing participant the last time he missed some of his brother's game? Something about sneaking off and doing the nasty in the conference room in the arena?" She nudges my shoulder and I blush.

  I slurp my tea and watch the show, hoping to change the subject. My sister asks me about my menus, and I smile, proud of what I've come up with this week. I did three meals a day for the general staff while offering pastries, herbal tea, and--as Donna requested--calming, comfort food for the big wigs. I'd made everything from savory crepes to strawberry-rhubarb tartlets this week, highlighting local produce. I made simple quiche with ramps, cucumber sandwiches. Fruit salads with mulberries I picked right here in the neighborhood. "Aim, I know you don't know a ton about this stuff, but I did all the ordering, timed it all perfectly, took delivery of the eggs from the Amish farmer for God's sake."

  I sigh and she says, "When you talk about your day, you look so happy. I want you to be happy, Al."

  "I am happy! I had no idea it would feel this good to fully control a kitchen like this. Maybe I wish things would slow down a little bit."

  ~~

  Three more days pass and I only see Tim when I walk into the conference room to deliver the trays of lunch. He doesn't look up at first, because he's so focused on the paperwork he's reviewing with one of the Stag Law attorneys. Something catches his eye, though, because his head turns to where I'm setting out plates. I smile at him, shyly, and feel myself blush when he returns the smile. He doesn't miss a beat, though, and resumes analyzing the paperwork.

  I stop back two hours later to clear everything away and find most of the suits have gone. Tim and his staffer are still at the head of the table, and a man I recognize as one of the MLB executives is seated across from them. I smile and lean in to grab the empty tray and I freeze when I feel a hand on my back.

  "Are you the sweet thing who brought us these sweet things?" The MLB suit winks at me, his hand lingering. I freeze. Anywhere apart from work, I'd punch him and tell him off, but I'm very aware that I could jeopardize the company's professional relationship with the professional baseball league. What a fucking prick, I think, sliding away from his hand. I'm about to force a smile and duck out of the room when I hear a crash.

  I look up to see Tim bursting from his chair, the impact sending it flying into the radiator behind him. "Mitch," his voice is dark and menacing. "Get your hands off--"

  Mitch throws his hands up, a smarmy grin on his face. "Woah, woah, easy there. It's been a long day, fellas."

  My eyes dart to Tim, who is breathing heavily through his nose, lips pinched into a tight line. Mitch rises and gathers his things, saying, "I think we did all we're going to do for this anyway. I thank you boys and I'll see you tomorrow morning at the courthouse to file the motion."

  As he leaves the room, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. I grab what's left of the trays and head back to the kitchen to clean up. By six o'clock, I can hear the halls are quiet. I'm sitting in my office, bent over my notebook jotting down my thoughts for next week. I'm pretty engrossed in developing a new recipe, because I need to get my mind off that creep. That definitely wasn't the first time some asshole put his hands on me in the restaurant industry. I'm sure it's nowhere near the last, either. But it was the first time I felt like the choice to react to it wasn't my own.

  When I worked in the neighborhood restaurant, the owners didn't tolerate that sort of behavior and didn't mind losing a customer if he got handsy and I gave him a piece of my mind. This was a totally different power dynamic. I make a note to talk to Donna about having someone else deliver the food for the conference meetings. Surely there's an intern or something. I don't want to be near those jerks.

  I feel my brow furrowed as I try to concentrate. My notes are all over the place. I bury my fingers into my hair, twisting absent-mindedly. I hear someone open my office door, and it startles me. I forgot anyone else was here.

  I look up to see Tim, glassy-eyed and disheveled. His tie is loose, and his hair tousled. He leans against the doorframe and just stares at me.

  "Tim. Do you want to…come in? Can I get you some water or something?"

  He shakes his head slowly but doesn't move. "Alice Peterson," he says, hooking his thumbs into his pants pockets. "I've been…celebrating...our latest victory."

  I snort as the fumes reach my desk. It's a small office and he reeks of alcohol. "I can tell." I reach beneath my desk where I've got a case of bottled water. I walk to the door and hand it to him and his fingers linger on mine as the bottle changes hands.

  He drops my hand and takes a long pull on the water, leaning his head back against the doorframe. "I fucking hated seeing that fucker's hands on you, Alice. Did you know that?" I nod. He continues. "But then the whole time I was 'celebrating,' I kept thinking. I'm no different from him. I'm not better than him. I'm just some slimeball who fucks his employees."

  "Tim, no--"

  He scoffs. "I have lost all my control, Alice. All my discipline." He starts tapping his temple with the neck of the water bottle. "I'm distracted. You know what happens when people get distracted?"

  I shake my head, starting to worry about him. He must be really drunk. Should I call one of his brothers, maybe? I wonder if he'd give me his phone…

  Tim's voice drops to a whisper and he leans close, stroking my cheek. "People get hurt when I get distracted." He swallows and leans his forehead against mine. I've wanted to be close to him like this for weeks, but now I'm not thinking about sex. I'm worried about him. I wrap my arms around him and pull him down into a hug.

  "It's ok, Tim."

  He shakes his head, but wraps his arms around me. I hear him inhale deeply, feel his hands in my hair as he folds his body down into my arms.

  Fourteen

  TIM

  M y head is pounding. I crack one eye open and regret it immediately as the room begins to spin. Blinding white light streams through the blinds in my bedroom. Is this my bedroom? I take stock of my surroundings. It feels like my bed. Smells like my sheets. How the fuck did I get home last night?

  This is why I don't drink liquor. I can't be losing entire chunks of my day. I close my eyes again and try to retrace the afternoon. We reached a plea deal and an arrangement with the DA. Then I had that meeting w
ith Mitch from the MLB and he put his fucking hands on Alice.

  "Shit. Alice." I clap my hand to my forehead, remembering how I'd gone into her office after I drank most of a bottle of tequila with Ben. The two of us put something like 250 hours into that damn DUI incident over the past two weeks, trying to clear that hotshot pitcher's name as best we could.

  I try and dig and can remember nothing after I opened her office door. I take a deep breath and start easing myself out of bed.

  There's a glass of water on my nightstand, so I gratefully chug that down, wondering how I thought to leave that there for myself when I got home last night. I see I managed to strip down to my t-shirt and briefs, too. My suit is draped neatly over the clothes rack by my dresser. What the fuck?

  I stumble into the bathroom and groan as I take the longest piss of my life. And then I freeze mid-stream, my hand leaning against the wall behind the toilet. I hear the sound of footsteps in the living room. Someone is in my apartment.

  Panic sets in. Nobody comes up here except my brothers and my grandmother.

  What day is it? Is the fucking housekeeper here?

  "Tim?" A familiar voice floats down the hall. I shake off my dick and hurriedly stuff it back in my drawers as the bathroom door slowly opens. Alice Peterson is in my apartment, wearing my sweatpants and one of my University of Pittsburgh hoodies.

  "Alice? Um, I don't know…I can't--"

  She smiles. "Are you feeling ok? I was really worried about you last night." She reaches for my hand and I just stare down at her fingers rubbing mine reassuringly.

  "I'm a little hazy on the details." She laughs and tugs on my hand, pulling me into my own kitchen. I settle into a bar stool and Alice gets me another glass of water, explaining that she walked me home.

  "Walked? I never walk home," I interject.

  "Well, you did last night!" Apparently the doorman took pity on her and let us into my penthouse, since Alice couldn't find my keys and I wouldn't give her my phone. She penguin marched me into the bedroom, got me out of my suit, and made sure I passed out on my side.