The Silver Fox (Red's Tavern 3)

“I can’t fuck one of Red’s employees,” I said.

“Believe me, you can if you want to,” she said, biting her lower lip as she watched me.

I puffed out a laugh. “Thank you for the compliment, really,” I said. “I love attention. Usually. Specifically the kind you are giving me right now.”

She gave me a half-smile. “I’m sorry for being pushy,” she said, sitting up a little straighter. “Let’s just have a drink and talk, okay? I promise, a professional cook like Perry knows how to stay safe in his own kitchen.”

“Okay,” I said, wishing I was as convinced.

2

Perry

Isobel burst through the kitchen door.

“Well, Red made it sound like his brother was kind of a playboy, but it sure as hell doesn’t seem like it,” she said, throwing her black apron back on and tying her hair up in a bun.

“Rock?” I asked. I leaned against the stainless steel worktop behind me, trying to clear my head.

Just saying his name felt good in my mouth.

Don’t think about him. Don’t think about him. Do not think about him, or his dimples, or his stupid baseball cap that he looks stupidly hot in.

I waited as Isobel briefly disappeared into the walk-in fridge, rummaging around for food to prep. I was always playing a game of catch-up with Isobel. Life seemed to move at light-speed for her. Usually I had nothing going on in my life, but tonight my head was spinning, for about a million and one reasons.

Firstly, my brother Cameron had texted me an hour ago saying he had “some pretty major family news” to tell me. I’d told him to call me back immediately, but in typical Erickson family fashion, he had just responded with a “soon!” and left me waiting. Sometimes I felt like my whole family was a flock of sheep I constantly had to herd. A flock of sheep I loved, more deeply than anything, but still.

And I still didn’t know what news Cam needed to tell me. Family news had a tendency to be bad news, in my world, so I wasn’t looking forward to it. I liked things the way they were. I didn’t need change.

Change made me do stupid things. Like tossing back multiple tequila shots on the job and accidentally flirting with Rock.

I liked staying safe, back here in my kitchen, where I could control my recipes and creations and make them come out perfectly almost every time.

“Y’know, I’d heard rumors about Rock,” Isobel said, emerging back into the prep area. She grabbed a chef’s knife and started neatly prepping cucumbers at the workstation in the center of the kitchen. “Sam said Rock was this big, beefy firefighter who could charm his way into any girl’s pants.”

“Right. I’m sure he could,” I said.

I couldn’t help myself any longer. I glanced out through the window in the door and caught sight of Rock sitting at the bar. To my surprise, he was looking right back at me, and I felt a blush creep onto my cheeks from the eye contact. Why would he be looking back here?

I looked away and stood up straighter. I focused on Isobel instead, making sure she was properly cutting the cucumbers.

She had a pouty frown on her face. “Apparently he doesn’t want to charm his way into my pants, though.”

I furrowed my brow. “Wait, what? You weren’t seriously trying to sleep with Rock, are you?”

She shrugged. “Not anymore. I struck out.”

I’d only been working with Isobel for a few weeks, but she was a chatterbox. She told me everything, and I just sat back and listened. That’s what I was best at.

But this was the first time she’d tried to pick up a guy at our own bar.

“You were flirting with a guy like him?”

“What do you mean, like him?” she asked. “He’s hot as hell.”

“Sure, but…”

“But what?”

I didn’t know what to say. The idea of her hooking up with Rock Redford didn’t sit right with me. Recently he’d spent all his time sitting right out there at the bar, on the prowl for whatever woman he could go home with. Isobel deserved better than some sort of womanizer who was only in town for a couple months.

No matter how hot he was.

“He’s a little old for you, isn’t he?” I said.

She lifted an eyebrow. “He’s only like, thirty-six.”

“You’re twenty-three, Isobel,” I said.

“But he has that cute as hell, babyfaced jock thing going on.”

“That is true,” I said.

“You’re old,” she said, a mischievous grin on her face. “You must not remember what it’s like to be ridiculously horny all of the time.”

I snorted. “I am not old. I’m thirty-nine.”

“You are?”

“Yes, Isobel. I started getting grey hair when most people are finishing college.”

“Damn.”

The fact that Isobel thought I was old at age thirty-nine was funny enough on its own, but I was used to it. I had the hair I had. People had been regarding me as an older adult for the last fifteen years.