Perhaps some people might consider my fascination with the six-foot-eight-inch beast of a man a form of cheating. Technically Case and I were in an exclusive relationship, so I could understand how it appeared from someone else’s viewpoint.
However, I wasn’t cheating. Nor was my brain.
Did I mention my boyfriend was quite taken by the giant Sadist as well? Well, he was. As much as I was, in fact. And neither of us was jealous, because there was nothing to be jealous of. Zeke Lautner was a man who could give Case and me something we couldn’t give each other. He was also one of the reasons we were eager to get to Chicago.
“When’s the moving truck gonna be here?” Case asked, arching his back as he stretched that damn T-shirt in a manner that had my cock stirring again.
“Not till next Thursday. Hope you brought your toothbrush.”
Case scrubbed a hand over his face, the rasp of his stubble loud in the car. “I only used yours because I couldn’t find mine. I told you, it’s in my bag somewhere. But I didn’t pack a razor.” He glanced my way again. “Gonna need to go to the store.”
“Not until we’re in the apartment. You can go wherever you need to after that.”
As for me, I was going to sleep for a couple of days. Screw shaving.
Our belongings were being brought via the boys with the big trucks. They had everything we owned, including Case’s Ford F250. It had taken some finagling, but I’d finally convinced him we couldn’t drive the gas guzzler across the country. He didn’t like that I was right, but he’d finally accepted it.
At that point, Case and I had packed up the necessities, loaded everything into my Chevy Traverse, and hit the open road. After one night in a cheap motel with a crappy mattress and an equally crappy continental breakfast of stale biscuits, overcooked bacon, and green bananas, we were on the final leg of this journey. I could see the Chicago skyline in the distance.
“I really don’t want to live in a damn apartment,” Case griped, not for the first time. “When we checked it out, I felt like the walls were closing in.”
“Not much of a choice. They offered us free rent.” Who could pass that up? More importantly, who would pass that up?
“I know. But I’m claustrophobic, Brax. I need air.”
He always did have a flair for the dramatic.
“There’s air in an apartment. And you are not claustrophobic.”
“Stale air, maybe. And I’ve got an aversion to concrete. I’ll lose my shit living in the city.”
“Which is it? You can’t have both.”
“Sure I can,” he said firmly. “I hate the city.”
I sighed heavily, gripping the wheel with both hands as we slowed to a snail’s pace in the thick traffic.
We’d had this conversation a dozen times since we were offered this opportunity. Honestly, I’d thought being Trent Ramsey’s personal chef was quite an accomplishment. Cooking for an A-list actor wasn’t exactly my dream job, but I didn’t have any complaints. The guy paid me handsomely, and he was easy to work for, not to mention easy on the eyes. On top of that, he valued what I had to offer him. He wasn’t the bologna-and-cheese kind of guy, that was for damn sure. And because of all the time I’d spent with him, he’d become a good friend to both Case and me over the years.
Needless to say, it had come as quite a shock when the partners of Chatter PR Global informed me they wanted me to be the head chef at a new restaurant they were opening. Apparently, owning one of the biggest public relations firms in the world wasn’t enough for these guys. They were venturing off in many different directions, and somewhere along the way, they’d come up with the idea of opening a restaurant in downtown Chicago, cuisine to be determined by me.
Who the fuck would turn that down? This was what I’d spent most of my adult life dreaming about. A restaurant of my own.
And to sweeten the pot, they’d offered Case—who happened to be Trent Ramsey’s personal trainer/nutritionist—a job managing the gym they were installing on the second and third floors, in the same building where Chatter PR Global resided. It was supposed to be some fancy place that served protein smoothies to go along with bicep curls, sprinting on the treadmill, and pruning in the sauna. They would be open to the public and the hundreds of residents of that building would get free memberships.
Of course, accepting a couple of dream jobs had been easier considering Trent was the one who set it all up in the first place. With Trent officially bringing his latest business venture—his own talent agency—to Chi-Town, the man wouldn’t be far away. I seriously doubted the partners would’ve pilfered us otherwise. While Trent insisted we’d gotten the opportunities based on our own merit, I knew it didn’t hurt that Trent had gone into business with the firm.
