Page 13 of Fiancé for Hire

Antika swallowed hard. With the way he was looking at her, and the feel of his hand around hers, she was looking forward to it…a little too much.

She wasn’t sure how things were going to go between them, but she had no doubt that the next few weeks with him were going to be interesting.

ChapterSeven

Drevon inhaled deeply, his mouth watering at the scent of barbecue filling the kitchen. Though the sun had set, he had decided to do some grilling and had just finished.

He set the pan of burgers, chicken, and bratwurst on the counter. Now he had to finish up a couple of side dishes. He had just taken the baked beans out of the oven when his cell phone rang.

He moved to the other side of the kitchen and grabbed the device off the counter.

“Hello,”he said and started back toward the stove.

“Dre, it’s me. Don’t hang up. I need to talk to…”

He disconnected the call and gripped the phone tight enough to break it as anger charged through his body. Blocking Kendall’s number hadn’t been enough. She’d been calling off and on for the last few months using a different phone.

Drevon didn’t hate anyone—except his ex. She’d been the cause of the worst time in his life. As far as he was concerned, she could drop off a cliff and he wouldn’t look over the edge after her.

He inhaled deeply, then released a slow breath while trying to clear his mind. He wasn’t letting that witch ruin his evening.

When he finally got his breathing under control, the doorbell rang.

“Dang, they’re here already?” he murmured, and glanced at the clock on the microwave, surprised at how the time had flown. He and the guys—his cousin Montez, and their best friend, John Edward Thomas (Jet)—were getting ready to have a late dinner and watch a couple of boxing matches on Pay Per View later.

As Drevon jogged down the stairs to the front door, he used his forearm to wipe sweat from his forehead. He’d been on his back deck for the past hour. One thing he hadn’t missed by being away was Atlanta’s summer temperature. It might’ve beenJune, but he couldn’t remember the last time the temps reached the high nineties so early in the season.

He swung open the front door and grinned at the frown on his friend’s face.

“What took you so long?” Jet barged into the townhouse carrying a case of beer, potato chips, and a duffel bag. “I hate all of these damn levels you have.” He made his displeasure known by stomping up the stairs.

“You do realize you complain about my place every time you stop by. Yet, you keep coming back,” Drevon countered. “Next time, stay your ass at home.”

The stairs were one of the things that Drevon liked about the three-story townhouse located in Alpharetta, a suburb of Atlanta. The various levels made the twenty-two hundred square foot space seem even larger, and it offered room for him to spread out.

The lower level, where he usually entered his home from the two-car garage, was where his guest room was located. The large space had an attached bathroom, giving anyone who stayed with him their own private sanctuary.

The kitchen, located on the second level, had a glassed-in corner wine cellar which made it one of his favorite spaces in the house. Also on that floor was a large deck, dining room, living room, and a powder room. His bedroom, which included a huge en suite, was on the third level, along with another guest room, bathroom, and his listening room that held his record collection.

Though he had a place in New York, it didn’t compare to his townhouse. Atlanta was home. This was where his family lived; except for his sister, who was three years older. She and her husband, along with their two kids, lived in Los Angeles, but everyone else was in Georgia.

When Drevon reached the kitchen, Jet was loading the beers into the refrigerator. Clothed in a nice polo shirt and dress pants, with diamond studs glittering in his earlobe, he was dressier than usual when it came to them hanging out.

“Where you coming from?” Drevon asked as he stirred the baked beans before putting them back into the oven for a few more minutes.

Jet was a landscaper by trade and got many of his clients through At Your Service. He also dabbled in photography. He treated it like a hobby, but the guy could easily pursue a career in the industry. Drevon had introduced him to a few professional photographers, but Jet didn’t seem ready to make the leap.

“I had to look at a couple of jobs before I came,” Jet explained.

Drevon smirked. Considering how he was dressed, no doubt one of those jobs, if not all, was for a pretty lady. The guy had always been popular with the women and drew them to him like bees to honey. That hadn’t changed over time. Six feet tall with tawny brown skin, full beard, and “good hair” that the girls used to go crazy over, they still gravitated to him.

“I’m so hungry. I don’t know whether to grab something to eat now or change clothes first,” Jet said as he speared a bratwurst and stuffed it into a hot dog bun.

Clearly, he had decided to eat first.

“Where’s Montez?” Drevon asked.

“He should be here in a little while. He said he had to finish up some work stuff. At Your Service is thinking about updating their marketing campaign.” Montez, the VP of marketing for the company, put in a lot of hours, but he always made time to hang out.

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