BULL (The Buck Boys Heroes Book 1) Read online

  I’m often running late, so my assistant will start her note taking as soon as everyone else is present.

  So far, reading through the minutes, I’ve discovered that Trina’s birthday is in May. Her favorite flowers are white chrysanthemums, she likes her coffee with cream and sugar, and the pepperoni and mushroom pizza from a small restaurant in Brooklyn is her favorite.

  I intend to continue my discovery mission until I’ve learned everything I can about my bride.

  “You caught her by surprise, Bull.”

  I glance to where Lloyd has settled on one of the couches in my living room. “Caught who by surprise?”

  With a slight shake of his head, he chuckles. “Your wife, of course.”

  I wasn’t sure if he noticed the shocked look on Trina’s face when I mentioned the pizza, but I should know better. Lloyd notices everything.

  “Those little things make all the difference,” he points out as he drapes his arm over the back of the couch. “Every year on our anniversary, I’d surprise Sela with a gift that she wasn’t expecting.”

  I make my way closer to him. “I bet she loved that.”

  Sela Abdon was a saint.

  She helped Lloyd build their company from the ground up, and during her last days, she held his hand as he wept over the loss of their life together.

  I admit, watching them say their final goodbyes tore me to shreds.

  I was outside the hospital room as she took her last breath. When Lloyd walked out, all I saw was a broken man.

  I still see that now.

  “She loved me,” he says quietly. “I loved her.”

  I take a seat in a chair across from him. “What you two had was rare, Lloyd.”

  His fingers skim over his cheek, chasing away a single tear. “I know it. I see the same connection between Trina and you.”

  What he sees is a commitment to make his final wish a reality.

  Trina is pissed at me for bailing on her right after she came on my hand in the library. I can’t blame her. It was a dick move. Pizza won’t make up for it, but since I’ve never tried to mend anything between a woman and me, I’m hoping food is a solid first step.

  I shift the subject because lying to the man who gave me a second chance at life isn’t on my agenda for tonight.

  The guilt gnawing at my gut since I married my assistant is only burrowing a deeper hole with every passing hour.

  “I’ve done some research on cardiac specialists,” I say, wading into the water that Lloyd warned me to stay out of. “I can pull a few strings and get you an appointment with one early next week.”

  His eyes lock on mine. “I told you not to worry about it.”

  Surrendering to the inevitable in this case isn’t easy for me.

  I want the old man to be here to celebrate the holidays with me. I want to see the smile on his face at the lighting of the enormous Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. I want to build more memories that mirror the ones I already hold close.

  And, I want my wife to be part of that.

  Surely, if Lloyd lives beyond the next three months, Trina will agree to prolong our arrangement.

  I’ll take an extra week or two, or a month or six. I want more of this. I want his wisdom and more time with the extraordinary woman who has made him happier than he’s been since Sela passed two years ago.

  “Do this for me, Lloyd.” The words sound foreign coming from me.

  I’ve never asked a favor of him because he’s always anticipated everything I’ve needed, even when I disagreed with what he believed was best for me.

  Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he sighs. “My heart is running out of steam, Graham. I’ve accepted my fate. I need you to do the same. Do it for me.”

  He stresses the last two words as if he’s asking a simple favor of me.

  He’s requesting the impossible, so I cast my gaze down.

  I can’t agree to that. I’ll keep pushing for him to see another doctor. Hell, if I have to, I’ll find one who will make a house call.

  Losing him will break me. It will crush Trina too, so I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him alive for as long as possible.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Trina

  I’m impressed and puzzled by the fact that Graham knew about my favorite pizza and where to order it. I first discovered this pizza when I was with my sister. Falon told me that our mom clued her into it, so I knew it had to be stellar.

  My mom may be the greatest baker alive, but she’s also a pizza aficionado. She once told me that she became an expert when she and her closest friend would buy pizza on their lunch breaks in high school.

  I look up and study my husband’s profile as he talks sales numbers with Lloyd.

  I won’t ask how he knew about the pizza because I believe I’ve figured that riddle out. It had to have been either Kay or Cecil.

  I shared a pie with Kay for lunch one day, and Cecil helped himself to what was left in the fridge in the break room.

  One of them must have mentioned to Graham that this is my all-time favorite.

  Lloyd breaks free of Graham’s gaze and the work-focused conversation to turn his attention to me. “You’re an excellent judge of pizza, Trina. This is delicious.”

  I take credit for the recommendation by smiling as I chew the final piece of crust left on my plate.

  “Your wife has exceptional taste,” Lloyd points out to Graham. “In food and men.”

  I work to swallow past the urge to cough when I hear that.

  The man he’s referring to is still on my do-not-fool-around-with-again list. I haven’t forgotten that Graham barged out of the library with my torn panties right after I came.

  He didn’t even have the decency to hang around and make small talk or pull me in for a standing, weak-in-the-knees cuddle.

  He bolted when someone on the other end of the phone registered higher on his importance meter than I did.

  I haven’t wanted to think about whether it was a woman, but I can’t stop wondering.

  If it was a woman, I don’t want to know because I’d feel even more humiliated than I already do.

  “She also has impeccable taste in martinis,” Graham adds. “She’s particularly fond of the ones from the bar across the street.”

  That’s a stretch.

  I had one in a hurry when we were avoiding Bette, the chef who wants to be a spy.

  I tilt my head and wait for whatever is going to drop from my husband’s lips next.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  Lloyd beats him to the punch. “Why don’t you two go across the street and have a drink? It’s the perfect way to unwind for the day. I’ll read a book and hit the hay soon.”

  “I’m tired,” I say quietly. “I was thinking of hitting the hay too.”

  More precisely, I was daydreaming about crawling into the bed I’ve been sleeping like a baby in. It feels like a cloud.

  I checked the tag on the mattress because I’m considering buying one just like it after my divorce.

  Even though I know the end of this marriage is inevitable, my stomach still knots at the thought of signing the divorce documents.

  “Sela and I enjoyed our after dinner drinks.” His gaze floats upward. “Whenever I go out for a drink now, I order one for her. It brings me comfort to see it sitting there.”

  “Come with us,” I say, reaching over to cover his hand with mine. “Come for a drink. You can tell me more about Sela.”

  “Sela would tell me to give the newlyweds a chance to make memories of their own, so you two go ahead. Toast to her for me.”

  I glance at my husband to see a slight smile on his face.

  He catches my eye before he looks at Mr. Abdon. “We’ll do that, but we’ll also raise our glasses to you, Lloyd. If it weren’t for you, I never would have met my wife.”

  I pop an olive into my mouth and narrow my gaze as I watch Graham sip from a glass of sparkling water.

  He opted not
to order anything stronger, which made me wonder why I had.

  I ordered first, but then, he waited a few seconds before he told the server to bring him a glass of water.

  She asked if he preferred a specific brand or whether he wanted sparkling or plain. He chuckled and told her to surprise him.

  Judging by the bubbles and the lemon wedge propped on the rim of his glass, I suspect she chose the most expensive brand of water.

  “There’s a question swirling in that brilliant brain of yours.” Graham grins. “Spit it out, Trina.”

  Shaking my head, I smile. “Is it that obvious?”

  “The corners of your eyes crinkle when you’re inquisitive,” he points out. “Your left brow perks the slightest bit right before you ask a question.”

  That can’t be accurate.

  I have a spectacular poker face.

  At least I think I do.

  “I have a couple of questions,” I admit.

  He curls his fingers as if he’s luring me toward him. “Shoot them my way.”

  “What’s a Buck boy?” I work to hold in a giggle. “And why are you one?”

  A smirk coasts over his lips. “Those are your two questions?”

  “Consider them one since they’re closely related.” I dart a finger in the air to accentuate my point.

  “I went to The Buchanan School.” He tilts his head. “That makes me a Buck boy. It’s a long-standing tradition to call yourself that, but I try not to whenever possible.”

  Both of my eyebrows perk. “You went to The Buchanan School? That’s upstate, right? It’s private and very exclusive.”

  That’s my polite way of saying the yearly tuition costs a fortune.

  Gary, one of my brothers, once joked about sending his son there when he’s ready for high school. The problem is that the all-boys school is only for the ultra-rich.

  “I did,” he answers simply. “What’s the second, or I suppose technically it’s your third question?”

  “What’s with the water?” I ask with a sigh. “I almost feel guilty for indulging in this while you play the good guy.”

  Huffing out a laugh, he shakes his head. “I’m playing the good guy?”

  I nod. “You’re not drinking on a work night. That makes you a good guy.”

  “Is that all it takes?” He leans back in his chair. “I would have cut out the scotch years ago if I knew the path to sainthood was at the bottom of a water glass.”

  “You don’t consider yourself a good guy?”

  He scrubs at the back of his neck with his palm. “I have my moments.”

  “Like when you ordered me to marry you,” I quip.

  His smile widens. “Ordered?”

  “Bribed?”

  “Persuaded,” he settles on that. “I persuaded you to marry me with a hefty payout.”

  We haven’t spoken about the money since our wedding day. I try not to think about it too much because I’ve struggled with the amount and the guilt that will always be attached to it.

  “You persuaded me by confiding in me about Lloyd’s condition,” I add. “How is he doing?”

  He takes another sip of water. “He’s stubborn. He won’t let me set him up with a specialist here. It’s fucking frustrating.”

  I see the frustration etched in his movements. He fists his hands on the table.

  “Maybe he’ll change his mind in time,” I say before I think it through.

  Time is the one thing that Mr. Abdon doesn’t have.

  Graham shoves a hand through his hair. “Maybe I should have ordered something stronger.”

  “But you didn’t. Why?”

  His gaze searches my face. “I want to have a clear head. We need to talk about what happened in the library the other night.”

  This is what I feared would happen when we crossed the street and walked into this bar for a drink. “We don’t need to discuss that. It happened. It won’t happen ever again.”

  Graham’s hand is on mine before I have time to react. He lowers his voice as he stares into my eyes. “It damn well will happen again. I want it to. Fuck it, Trina. I want more.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Graham

  My wife stares at her martini as I confess that I want her.

  Since she has nothing to say to that, I keep talking, “I know I fucked up.”

  That brings her gaze to mine. She waits for a full two beats of my heart before she sighs. “Drop it, Graham. It’s in the past.”

  The past.

  The fucking past.

  I avoid it at all costs, but tonight, I want to dive headfirst into it. I want to right my wrong.

  “I shouldn’t have left you the way I did,” I continue, ignoring the fact that she has clearly stated that she doesn’t want to revisit what happened. “I’m sorry, Trina.”

  She studies me, tilting her head to the left. “I’ve never heard you apologize to anyone for anything.”

  Because I try damn hard not to fuck up so profoundly that my actions require an apology.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat, so she knows there is weight in the words. “If I could go back in time to change it, I would.”

  “But we can’t go back in time,” she points out. “We can only go forward, and we need to do that with the understanding that intimacy is off the table.”

  Like hell we do.

  I crave her. I’ve tried to convince myself that it started when I touched her body, but it began before that.

  Hell, I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve always wanted her but brushed the need aside because she was strictly my assistant until I put that ring on her finger.

  “Are you attracted to me?”

  My direct question lures a soft smile to her lips. “I plead the fifth.”

  I laugh. “I take that as a yes.”

  “Take it as a non-answer.”

  Shaking my head, I press on, “I know you’re attracted to me.”

  She takes a large sip of her martini, drawing out the silence sitting between us as I eagerly wait for her to respond.

  “You’re cocky,” she finally spits out. “Your ego is huge.”

  “You’re not saying that’s a bad thing, are you?” I ask with a raised brow.

  “I’m saying it’s a thing,” she states simply. “It’s the truth.”

  I nod in agreement. “I’m confident.”

  She tugs at the lobe of her ear. “It’s more than that. You have this air about you…I can’t explain it, but it’s as though you know your worth, and you don’t care what anyone else says about it.”

  If that’s how she views me, I’ve come a hell of a long way from where I was ten years ago.

  I sip from my water glass to give her the chance to continue.

  She does. “When we first met, I was surprised by how good-looking you are.”

  Now, we’re getting somewhere.

  “You were?” I ask, wanting to keep her on this track because, yes, it fucking feeds my already stuffed ego.

  “From what Lloyd told me, I had painted this mental picture of you that didn’t compare to the real thing.”

  As tempted as I am to ask what Lloyd said about me, I skip past that because there are far more important matters to discuss.

  My wife’s attraction to me tops that list.

  “Let’s just say that I didn’t expect that when I arrived to work on my first day.” She punctuates the words with a circle of her index finger in front of my face.

  I mimic her movement by trailing one of my fingers in the air directed toward her. “That feeling was mutual. I can’t say I ever had an assistant who looked like you.”

  Her hand drops as her eyes widen. “I didn’t think you noticed the way I looked.”

  My head falls back in laughter. “How could I not notice you? You’re beautiful, Trina.”

  Her mouth curves toward a smile. “You think I’m beautiful?”

  The question draws another hearty chuckle from deep within me. “Have you looked in a mirror? Y
ou’re breathtaking.”

  My wife excused herself after I told her she was breathtaking. She claimed that she needed to use the ladies’ room, but I watched her from the corner of my eye.

  She stopped in the corridor right outside the washroom.

  I could tell that she was lost in thought.

  I’ve seen it before when a work matter has stolen her focus from everything.

  In those moments, the office tower could be burning to the ground, but Trina would have her gaze glued to her laptop screen.

  She’s still standing in the same spot now, but her eyes are pinned on what looks like a painting on the wall across from where she’s standing.

  I glance up at the server as she approaches our table.

  “Can I get you another glass of water, sir?” she asks softly. “Or perhaps another martini for your wife?”

  Hearing her call Trina that brings a grin to my lips. “I think we’re both good.”

  Her gaze trails toward the corridor where Trina is. “You make a beautiful couple. I’m sure people tell you that all the time.”

  I nod in agreement because we do make a hell of a gorgeous couple, but we’re not that. We’re boss and employee, and for the time being, fake married.

  She wanders toward another table as my gaze trails back to my wife.

  Anger hits me like a freight train when I see some random in a gray suit approaching my wife.

  It’s not the same guy who hit on her the first time we were in here.

  This guy has taste and an expensive Abdons watch on his wrist that I catch a glimpse of when he reaches out to touch Trina’s shoulder.

  The fact that my wife is gazing up at him with a broad smile on her face is making me wish, for a split second, that I was him.

  Her right hand reaches out to pat his bicep.

  He leans down to plant a kiss in the middle of her forehead, and that’s it. That’s the line for me because I’m up and out of my chair in a flash.

  I sprint across the bar toward where the guy is staring at my wife like he’s ready to eat her for a late-night snack.

  “Do you promise you’ll call me?” Trina asks just as I get within earshot of them.