Page 3 of Bad Boy for Hire
“No.”
“Please?”
“You’re pushing it.”
“Babe. That’s what I do.”
“Truer words,” May said with a laugh as she strolled toward her house.
Chapter Two
“Those chairs go around the fire bowl,” Xavier said to the two guys from the catering crew who were ambling down the stone steps leading to the dock. He ran a hand through his hair, not styled yet since he’d stepped out of the shower about four minutes ago. He wasn’t accustomed to having staff at his home, only at his bar, so this was a totally different ballgame.
Rich guy shit, he thought with a small chuckle. He was still adjusting, he supposed.
When he’d offered his house as the venue for the party, his friends had warned him not to do everything himself. They’d been busting his balls since finding out about his millionaire status, which he’d reluctantly shared when they’d pressed him about the sale of the app. They’d further advised that he needed to “stop doing so much shit” himself and live like the one percent. He’d laughed off the idea at first, but then thought, why not? Now, though, he noticed that letting people do what he was perfectly capable of doing himself was taking some getting used to.
He’d insisted on Brady’s party being here for two reasons: one, his yard was bigger than Brady and Elliott’s, which wasn’t a humblebrag as much as a fact. And two, Xavier’s house was tucked into a private part of the Cove, which made it ideal for parties. Not as many boat drive-bys and a lower likelihood of noise complaints. And, if he were adding a third reason, his latest brew had been kegged here, so it was ready to be tapped—no hauling necessary.
“You need more ice,” his buddy Ant informed him as he carried a cooler toward the dock.
“I hired staff so that my friends wouldn’t have to carry coolers.”
Ant feigned insult. “I can carry a fuckin’ cooler.”
“So can I. Wasn’t it you who told me to stop doing shit for myself?”
“’Twas I who told you you ain’t got to.” Ant grinned, proud of his combo of formal and informal grammar. “Besides, you’re hanging out with your friends tonight, not serving us. Too many times you’ve been on the wrong side of the bar at Salty Dog.”
True. Xavier worked not because he had to but because he enjoyed the people. His friends would come in to say hi, sip on his latest beer recipe, and shoot the shit. Gave him something to do with his time, and he liked most of it—save the occasional drunk he had to escort out.
Also, May came in fairly often, which made it well worth his while. Her being there was a good workaround for the no-hot-men rule she’d made that apparently applied to Xavier. That was a backhanded compliment if he’d ever heard one, but he could flirt shamelessly whenever she pulled up a seat at his bar. At least when she wasn’t showing up with a date.
“It’s like visiting you in prison,” Ant added.
“It is not like prison.” That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. Lately, working at the bar had been more of an obligation than a pastime. He’d perfected his brews and had plenty of recipes to rotate for the bar. He’d even hired Dean, a brewmaster, to take over brewing, aka glorified janitorial work. The scrubbing, sanitizing, and mopping weren’t as fun as crafting the recipes.
Ant, his ever-present fedora shading his eyes, called up the hill, “You work too much.”
When Xavier had moved to the Cove four—or had it been five?—years ago, he’d been relocating for a job. The startup had hired him for website development and computer programming. At the time, he’d been elated to escape Columbus—his primary goal—and the ex-girlfriend who had fucked him over.
He’d moved from his cramped downtown apartment into a cramped apartment here in the Cove, but the lakeside lifestyle had been a welcome change of scenery. Work had been…fine. The company fabricated metal for government defense contracts, not as sexy as his former job at a liquor distributor, but it had paid a hell of a lot better.
Fast forward a few years later, when he’d been itching to stretch his creative wings. The corporate hours had become as mundane and soul-sucking as his gray cubicle, and so he’d traded evenings watching TV for creating an app for happy-hour enthusiasts. In a few short months, he’d completed it, branded it, and launched it. It had soared to number one before he’d known what the hell had happened.
Once the bugs had been worked out, he was offered a couple of mill for the app from a huge corporation, which had shocked him sober. He took the deal, never expecting his current employer to lay him off shortly after.
After a few months of brewing beer for fun and losing his mind with nothing to do, Xavier heard about Salty Dog being sold by its original owner. Owning a bar solved his “nothing to do” problem. Working in the service industry had been a steep learning curve, but he’d taken to it like a natural.
Partygoers began filtering into his yard a few hours later, shielding their eyes from the brilliant orange sunlight bouncing off the water. Xavier hadn’t allowed the staff he’d hired to do everything. He’d moved a couple of tables and had directed the bar setup to his standards. He couldn’t help himself—no one set up a better bar than him.
That extra bit of hustle had caused him to sweat through his shirt, so he’d jogged inside to take another shower before changing and heading back downstairs to see if Brady, aka the birthday boy, had arrived yet.
As he wrapped his hand around the handle of the sliding patio door leading to his backyard, he heard a swell of cheers. The man of the hour had finally arrived. As he was opening the door, he also spotted May, and his heart hit his throat.
She was wearing a white dress with bold yellow, blue, and red flowers. The skirt was long—down to her ankles, but the top was strapless, leaving her smooth shoulders exposed. His eyes dipped to the knot tied at her cleavage, which only further tempted him. So, he did what he always did when May was around—rerouted his mind from the bronzed goddess before him and pulled himself the fuck together.
“Happy birthday, old man!” He clapped Brady on the back before leaning in to place a kiss on his wife’s cheek. Brady and Elliott had gotten married almost a year ago. Xavier was happier than hell for them. Before Elliott crashed into his life, Brady was a dedicated cop on temporary leave (for some bullshit that went down), a new dog dad (a byproduct of the bullshit that went down), and close with his grandpa. Xavier could state explicitly that Brady was not looking for a wife at the time. But he’d warmed to the idea fast.
