The Best Man (Alpha Men 2)

He snorted when he recalled the expression on Claude’s face and his tone of voice. “He says, ‘I’m sorry, sir, the only Adidas latex we sell are those running shorts over there. Comfortable fit and ribbed for your pleasure and, yes, we do stock them in extra large.’”

By the time he finished his anecdote, he was practically clutching his sides. Usually he wouldn’t have condoned such attitude toward a customer, but this particular guy was a bored asshole who came in regularly with impossible requests. And Claude had such a genuine warmth to him that it was really hard to take offense to anything he said.

He wiped his streaming eyes and comprehended that Daff was sitting there with a polite smile on her face. He winced a bit.

“You—uh—you probably had to be there,” he said lamely, and the polite smile widened sweetly. It was a novelty seeing such a warm expression on her face, and he gaped.

“If the mere memory of it still has the ability to make you laugh like that, then I really wish I had been there.”

“Claude’s a funny guy,” he said, taking another drink. “He always says exactly the right thing at the right moment. Dry, quick wit.”

He knew he sounded wistful, but he did envy his store manager the ability to joke and put others at ease. He was a real people person, and Spencer had lucked out employing him. Claude was much better at interacting with the employees at SCSS. Spencer liked his staff, enjoyed being around them, and would move heaven and earth to ensure they were all treated fairly and enjoyed the best benefits. But while they were friendly and polite toward him, they maintained a certain reserve whenever they spoke with him. He knew that it was their way of showing him deference, and Spencer had to respect that reserve. He made an appearance at staff parties but never stayed long, knowing they would enjoy themselves more without him there.

Claude—with the easy smile and great sense of humor—was the guy they went to when they needed something. None of them would ever dream of approaching Spencer directly. And Spencer had long since made peace with that fact.

“So you find Claude funny?” Daff’s voice jerked him back into the present, and he smiled vaguely.

“Yeah.”

“Claude and Tina Fey movies. That’s a short list,” she said, chewing the inside of her cheek thoughtfully.

“And other stuff, of course,” he added, lifting his menu in the hopes of changing the subject. “I read that the food here is quite good.”

They both went back to studying the menu, and when Spencer caught sight of poor Liam hovering close by, he warded him off with a look and a curt shake of his head.

“Wait, you sell latex shorts?” she suddenly asked, and he grinned.

“Of course not. Claude was just bullshitting, but it was enough to send the guy packing.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met Claude,” she said.

“You must have seen him; he cycles to work every day. He’s passionate about his cycling; he’s entering the Argus next year.” The Cape Town Cycle Tour—commonly referred to as the Argus—was the largest individually timed cycle race in the world and attracted participants from every corner of the globe. It was a pretty grueling endurance test, and Daff was suitably impressed.

“Yes, I’ve definitely seen him. Great thighs,” she said admiringly, and Spencer instantly felt less than charitable toward his likable manager.

“Can’t say I’ve noticed,” he said, ice in his voice.

“Hard not to when he wears those spandex cycle shorts. Maybe I should pop into your store sometime.” That made him frown.

“It’s not like he wears them at work. He showers and changes before we open.”

“How tragic. Imagine how many female customers he’d draw to the store.”

“He’s married with four kids.”

“Four?”

“Happily married,” he stressed, and she sighed wistfully.

“The hot ones are always taken.”

Well, what the fuck was Spencer, then? Chopped liver? He couldn’t hide his frown and kept his attention on the menu to prevent her from seeing how her words had affected him.

“This all looks amazing,” Daff moaned. “How on earth are we supposed to choose?”

“I was thinking of trying the chef’s tasting menu—no need to choose then.”

She looked torn, obviously not wanting to agree with him.

“I suppose that’s a good idea,” she admitted reluctantly, and he hid his smile from her. He’d refrained from telling her earlier that she was on the very short list of things and people he sometimes found amusing. She was so damned prickly and combative and contrary as fuck. Which, while annoying, could also be kind of funny.

“I’ve been known to have those on occasion,” he said drily. He summoned Liam, who had been watching from much farther away, and placed the order. The man enthused about their excellent choice, asked them if they wanted to pair each course with specially selected wine—they did not—and hastened away purposefully.