Bull (The Buck Boys Heroes 1)

“I know Graham can’t boil water but do you cook, Trina?”

Lloyd’s question draws my assistant’s gaze to me before it settles on my boss. “I’m a great cook.”

That doesn’t surprise me.

I’ve learned that Trina Shaw is skilled in many things, including managing me.

Her ability to handle everything I toss in her direction is impressive.

“Would you consider…”

“Cooking for you?” Trina interrupts Lloyd before he can finish his thought. “I would love to do that, sir.”

That will require food, which is something I don’t have in abundance in my home, or have at all.

“Do you have any special requests?” Her beautiful blue eyes light up as she asks the question.

Lloyd’s a goner. I see it in his expression as he gazes at my wife. “Why don’t you surprise me?”

Trina glances at me. “I’ll pick up what I need to cook something fabulous on my way back here from the office.”

Knowing that she’s talking about my penthouse, I gaze at the floor. Not only will we need food, but we’ll also need whatever is required to cook a meal. Pots? Pans? A spatula?

The elevator dings its arrival on my floor. When the doors slide open, Lloyd steps out and into the foyer of my penthouse. I follow.

Trina remains in place.

I urge her forward with a curl of my finger.

Lloyd’s back is to her, so she shakes her head adamantly as panic flashes over her expression.

Once Lloyd is past me, I take a step closer to my wife, extend a hand, and manage a smile. “Let’s get our guest settled in. Then we can have a moment alone.”

“Newlyweds,” Lloyd quips as he turns to face us. “You two remind me of my sweet darling and me right after we married.”

I feel the tremor of Trina’s hand at the mention of Lloyd’s late wife.

I squeeze it to reassure her as I lead her off the elevator and into my home.

Chapter Nine

Trina

This situation has gone from bad to holy-heck-what-have-I-gotten-myself-into in record time.

Not only do I need to keep up the façade of being Mr. Locke’s wife, but I have to play the part on a full-time basis.

I don’t know if I have the acting chops to pull off this charade.

I follow Graham and Lloyd down a series of twisting hallways until we reach double doors. Graham opens them, and I’m greeted with the sight of a spacious bedroom decorated in earthy tones.

The view through the windows is quintessential New York City. Many of the most recognizable buildings in Manhattan dot the skyline.

If this is the guestroom, I can’t begin to imagine what Mr. Locke’s bedroom looks like.

Panic drops over me.

Is his bedroom now my bedroom?

I didn’t sign up to share that intimate of a space with my boss.

Surely, given how ridiculously spacious this property is, there’s a bedroom tucked away somewhere that I can use.

Lloyd glances over his shoulder. “You must admit that this is one of your very favorite rooms in the penthouse.”

I’ve only seen the main living area and the never-ending hallways that brought us here, so I nod. “It’s something else.”

It’s unnecessary.

No one needs this much glitz and glamour when they are sleeping.

There’s a fireplace on the wall that separates the bedroom from the bathroom. The floors are redwood, and the artwork that decorates the space is expensive. I know. I’ve seen a Brighton Beck original hanging in Falon’s apartment, and if I’m not mistaken, I’m staring at another one of his watercolor paintings hung over the bed.

Graham places Mr. Abdon’s suitcase on a luggage rack in the corner near a brown leather chair.

He unzips it but doesn’t take the next step of opening it.

“We’ll leave you to rest, Lloyd.” Graham points at a phone on the bedside table. “Dial zero if you need anything. It will ring straight through to my cell.”

That’s a fancy set-up. I could use that in my apartment if I didn’t live alone and the kitchen wasn’t ten feet from my bedroom.

Lloyd turns to face me. “I’m looking forward to spending time with both of you, Trina. I’m grateful that you’ve allowed me the honor of staying in your home.”

I stay silent because this isn’t my home.

“Our home is your home,” Graham interjects. “Rest well, Lloyd. We’ll wake you in a few hours.”

“Follow me,” my husband says as soon as he closes the doors to the guestroom.

I fall in step behind him as we wander down the series of hallways until we are back in the main living area.

This room is just as over-the-top as the guest bedroom. Chocolate brown leather furniture sits atop an exquisite rug. The flooring below is a shade lighter than in the guest bedroom, and the fireplace is beautiful white stone with a large wooden mantle.

“This way,” Graham says as he jerks a thumb toward another hallway. “We’re going to the kitchen.”

I can’t wait to see that.