Beauregard and the Beast Read online

  It wasn’t that he had anything against professional athletes. More power to those individuals with the stamina and endurance to make a living with nothing more than their physical prowess and self-determination. But Adam “the Beast” Littrell was one of those guys who chewed up and spit out guys like Bo as a source of entertainment.

  Which made their interactions thus far all the more perplexing. Aside from his near-nudity—and no apparent shame in that fact—Adam had been a complete gentleman.

  Bo moved to the bed and unzipped his duffel bag, then extracted a fistful of boxer briefs. He cast a glance at Adam, who still hulked in the middle of the room like a sentinel. A very nearly naked sentinel. Bo swallowed. “If it’s okay, I’m going to unpack.”

  Adam’s gaze drifted to the underwear Bo clutched. He bit his lip, clearly struggling to suppress a grin.

  Warmth crept up Bo’s neck and heated his cheeks. He shoved the boxers out of sight between his duffel and suitcase. Was he destined to make a fool of himself at every turn?

  “Yeah, yeah, no prob. I’ll throw on some clothes and meet you downstairs.” Adam brushed a thumb over his lips. Full, plump lips shadowed by salt-and-pepper stubble. The grin he’d failed at hiding lit his face with an unfair dose of beauty.

  A man who’d taken countless blows to the head had no business being that handsome. Then again, a man like Bo had no business finding a man like Adam attractive in the first place. He was a celebrated athlete with all the world at his famously grumpy feet. Plus, he was Bo’s boss.

  Bo couldn’t risk this opportunity. He might be only twenty-five, but he’d worked too hard to make ends meet the past seven years. No, even thinking about how sexy his new employer was would be out of the question. His focus needed to remain on the job and his baby sister. He might’ve missed all those once-in-a-lifetime experiences, but he’d do everything in his power to be sure Lulu wouldn’t miss even one. Especially not because he’d been fired for lusting after his boss.

  Landing this position with no previous experience in the field and a serious lack of formal education meant treading extra carefully to be sure his hotter-than-sin employer had no reason to reevaluate his decision.

  “Take your time unpacking.” Adam backed toward the door, rubbing a big meaty palm over his cropped brown hair. Threaded with silver, much like his facial hair, the distinguished air it gave Adam added to Bo’s inappropriate longing. “When you’re done, maybe we can grab something to eat and get to know each other. I’ll even kick Kyle’s dinner-stealing ass out so his ugly mug doesn’t cause you to lose your appetite.”

  Bo snorted. Loud. With a complete lack of grace. He closed his eyes and wished himself invisible. “Yeah, okay, I’ll be down in a jiffy.”

  A jiffy? What, was he eighty years old now? Where did these sayings keep coming from? Some secret store of humiliation tactics his brain kept stocked for such an occasion?

  When Adam disappeared with a chuckle on his lips, Bo blew out a breath. He dropped his head back and cursed his idiocy before setting to work unpacking his meager possessions. He rarely spent frivolous money on himself. The books he owned were mostly from before his father died, aside from a limited few Lulu had insisted he purchase as Christmas and birthday presents from her.

  By the time he’d emptied his duffel, the dresser was barely half full and a scant handful of shirts and pants graced the countless hangers in the large walk-in closet. He pulled the door closed, more embarrassed by his sparse wardrobe than he cared to admit.

  He gave extra attention to unloading his books onto the gorgeous mahogany bookshelf that matched the luxurious bedroom set. His fingers traced over each well-worn cover as he nestled them together on the rich wood. Images of the tales hidden beneath danced through his mind.

  When there was nothing left to unpack—and no more logical reasons to avoid the inevitable—Bo accepted his fate. He had to go downstairs. To have dinner with Adam. His new boss. Not someone he should be lusting after. Not even someone he should be considering friendship with.

  Business only. Nothing more.

  WHEN Bo entered the living room, Adam was lounged on an overstuffed leather sofa watching football on a massive projector screen. The black T-shirt he now wore as a second skin over his sculpted torso rode up to display a deep, sexy V of muscle peeking out of a pair of basketball shorts—a physical feat Bo had never come close to achieving. His stomach was flat, but that had more to do with how little he ate than any purposeful attempt at maintaining his physique.

  Adam leaped to his feet at a startling speed when Bo stepped into his line of sight. “Hey, I was beginning to think you’d smuggled yourself into Kyle’s trunk, never to be seen again.”

  Bo drew back his chin. “Why would I sneak into Kyle’s trunk?”

  Adam shrugged and—was that a blush? His cheeks turned the loveliest shade of pink. He ducked his head, shoving his hands into the pockets of his baggy shorts. “You seemed a bit spooked. I thought you might be second-guessing your decision to work for someone with my reputation. I’m not known to be overly fun to be around, after all. Then, you know, I greeted you in my underwear. Not my finest hour.”

  A squeak escaped Bo’s lips. He covered his mouth in horror, his eyes widening beneath the frames he’d knocked askew in the process.

  He’d second-guessed his decision, all right. And the near-nudity had been a factor, but more due to fear of his own issues maintaining professionalism than any concern over Adam’s lack thereof. Still, there was no turning back now. He’d already quit his other jobs. If he wanted to make Lulu’s next tuition payment in full and on time, there was no escaping the decision he’d made. Whether it was his brightest move or not, he was stuck with Adam for a boss.

  A big, sexy, blushing boss who had yet to live up to his well-known meathead status.

  “Sorry about that, by the way. The no-clothes thing. I forgot you were coming. I’m a bit disorganized.” Adam peered at Bo from his towering height, his lips tilted into a crooked, self-deprecating smirk. “Kinda why I need a PA. Someone’s gotta look after my ass or I’ll get myself into trouble.”

  Bo cleared his throat. Professional. He had to keep it professional. Even when his brain twisted Adam’s words and produced an image of him getting paid to stare at his rock-hard backside.

  Yeah. Especially then.

  Squaring his shoulders, Bo forced a wide smile. “So, boss, what’s for dinner?”

  Chapter Three

  ADAM flicked off the stove and moved the sauté pan to an unused burner to cool. He gave the red onions still sizzling at the bottom another cursory toss with the wooden spoon before angling a glance at Bo. His new PA leaned against the counter a few feet to his left, with a notepad and pencil in hand, observing and taking notes as Adam prepared their dinner.

  Bo had offered to cook, as part of his job description included meal prep, but Adam insisted he take a night to settle in before jumping into his duties. Plus, with Adam’s strict diet and the scarcity of food in the house, it would’ve been cruel to shove Bo into an unfamiliar kitchen and expect him to perform. Talk about starting off on the wrong foot.

  Instead, Adam took the reins and suggested Bo make a grocery list for them while he scraped together a meal out of whatever he could find. As he cooked, Bo peppered him with questions about his diet. He scribbled notes as Adam told him about his favorite foods and recommended he check out the recipes his previous personal assistant had collected on a flash drive.

  “Do you have any allergies I should know about? Or anything you don’t particularly like?” Bo tapped the pencil against the corner of his glasses. His eyes never left Adam’s hands as he mixed chopped raw spinach, the sautéed onions, fresh garlic, and an assortment of spices into half a pound of lean ground beef. “If not, I’m pretty creative in the kitchen. Maybe I can come up with a few new recipes that’ll fit your diet requirements. Just for, you know, variety.”

  While Adam had gotten along well with Sasha, his previous PA, s
he’d never been one to go above and beyond the duties Adam asked of her. Hell, none of his PAs ever had. They stuck to the meal plan he provided and kept the refrigerator and cupboards stocked with the items he requested. There was no thinking outside the box. Already, Bo was proving to be a welcome change.

  “No allergies, and I’m open to pretty much anything when it comes to food. As long as there’s a lot of it, I’m game.” Adam hid a grin as he formed the meat mixture into four similarly sized balls and placed them on a baking sheet. He slipped them into the preheated oven, set the timer for twelve minutes, and shifted his focus to the boiling water. “Could you grab the pasta?”

  Bo snapped to attention, plucking the spinach noodles off the counter with such gusto they nearly went flying out of his hand. He fumbled the package a few times before handing it to Adam without making eye contact. He licked his lips and returned his rapt gaze to the pad in front of him, as if it held the answers to the universe’s most intriguing questions.

  “Thanks, my man.” Adam chuckled under his breath and left Bo in peace to work through his awkward moment. Sure, he might be a little nervous, but his reactions didn’t fit the usual fear response Adam received from the public. It was refreshing as hell and deserved all the silent encouragement Adam could offer.

  He let the pasta boil for six minutes, drained the noodles over the sink, then stirred in a handful of cherry tomatoes, spinach, and low-fat parmesan cheese. When the timer went off for the meatballs, he pulled them out of the oven and tonged them into the pasta bowl.

  “Ta-da.” Adam cracked a grin and waved a theatrical arm toward his finished product. “Mr. Wilkins, I’d like you to meet my lean beef spinach meatball pasta. Hope you’re hungry.”

  Bo’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air and returned Adam’s grin with a shy smile. “Smells delicious.”

  They doled out two helpings—Adam’s significantly larger than Bo’s—and sat down at the breakfast bar. Although he rarely drank, Adam offered to pop a bottle of wine with the meal and was pleased when Bo accepted.

  Conversation was sparse at first, but as the alcohol worked its magic, Bo loosened up enough to answer a few of Adam’s casual questions. He even asked a few of his own. By the time they parted ways for the evening, after teaming up to put away the leftovers and do the dishes, Adam was thoroughly convinced Kyle had to die.

  What had possessed him to bring a man like Bo into Adam’s life? Now, of all times? The pressure to focus and succeed was at its highest in ages, and his goddamn manager decided to introduce a distraction of epic proportions.

  Yeah, Kyle needed his head pounded. Or at the very least, he was going to get one hell of an earful.

  FOR Bo’s first official day on the job, Adam drove himself to the gym, as he’d been doing for the past few weeks. Eventually, he’d have Bo take him, but for now he left his new PA to familiarize himself with the house. After all, he had the ultimate challenge of tackling the disaster Adam had created since Sasha’s departure.

  It wasn’t that Adam was a slob per se, but cleaning, laundry, and overall organizational skills weren’t his strong points. When left to his own devices, things tended to get out of hand. Fast.

  The smell of fresh laundry mixed with strong cleaning chemicals assaulted Adam’s senses the moment he walked through the garage door after his morning training. He scrunched his nose in protest. The clean linen smell was pleasant, but what the hell kind of biochemical warfare was Bo waging on his home? The pungent scent of corrosive bleach and all manner of other caustic solutions burned his nostrils and left his head spinning.

  He headed for the laundry room to drop off his gym bag and found Bo on his hands and knees in the hallway, scrubbing at the stone tile flooring.

  “Fuckin’ hell, Bo, you’re gonna asphyxiate from all these fumes.” Adam tossed his bag down the hall in the general direction of the laundry room. “Why don’t you take a break? We can grab lunch somewhere and hit the grocery while we’re out.”

  Bo sat back on his haunches and swiped a wrist over his brow. “I’m almost done here any—” His eyes bugged, and he scurried to his feet, the sponge dropping from his hand. “Holy crap on a cracker, what the heck happened to you?”

  Adam froze when Bo’s soapy fingertips grazed his jaw. A jolt of electricity fired under his skin at the connection. He followed the tingling path of Bo’s touch with his own fingers, marveling at the intensity of the impression that brief contact left behind.

  “Did you get jumped?” Bo’s brows pinched, his lips turning down at the corners. “Did you call the police? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  A laugh bubbled up Adam’s throat at the unexpected barrage of questions and the look of genuine concern twisting Bo’s face. When was the last time anyone cared he’d been hurt? Hell, unless they bordered on life-threatening, even he failed to notice his injuries more often than not. So was the life of a mixed martial arts fighter. Sparring was the best way to train, and sparring equaled wounds. Rarely as intense as those suffered at an official fight, but colorful and bloody nonetheless.

  “I’m fine. Just a few scratches.” Adam tried to grin, but the act tugged at his already split lip and fresh blood trickled down his chin.

  Bo gasped and clamped a hand over Adam’s wrist. “That’s more than a scratch. Where’s your first aid kit?”

  “First aid kit?” Adam cocked a brow. He didn’t keep anything like that at home. If his injuries required mending, Eddie, his coach, would tend to him after he hit the showers. Today, the damage was minimal, so he’d left without patching up.

  Gaping, Bo shook his head. “Don’t tell me you get beat up for a living and don’t keep basic first aid supplies around the house.”

  Adam knuckled the blood off his chin and shrugged. “It’s a split lip. I’ll be fine.”

  “A split lip, a black eye, and a gashed eyebrow. That is not fine.” Bo scowled and dropped Adam’s wrist with an adorable little huff. “I’m adding medical supplies to the grocery list. If you’re going to come home looking like roadkill on a regular basis, I’m going to need some necessities. In the meantime, will you at least let me put some ice on that eye?”

  Biting back a grin that would worsen the bleeding and increase Bo’s worry, Adam allowed Bo to latch on to his wrist a second time and tug him toward the kitchen. He reveled in the soft warmth of Bo’s touch and the gentle care behind his fussing.

  No one had ever clucked and cooed over Adam’s wounds the way Bo did now, least of all one of his personal assistants. Even his own mother had always taken a standoffish approach, far preferring to fret over her latest high-dollar antique purchase than anything transpiring in the life of her only child. Her lack of a mothering nature had gone a long way toward building up the tough exterior he relied on today, but it had also destroyed any chance of a future relationship between them.

  After his father pulled him out of high school to focus full-time on prepping for his debut in the octagon, Adam had barely seen his mother. The last time was over five years prior, purely by happenstance when he ran into her at the airport, of all places. They’d exchanged cordial pleasantries and escaped to their respective terminals without sparing the other a backward glance.

  Now, as a near-stranger held a homemade ice pack to his throbbing brow and offered a cool washcloth for him to press over his swollen lip, Adam’s heart skittered to a brief halt before doing a somersault and kicking back to life. He’d never been pampered before, but it was something he could get used to.

  Chapter Four

  BO clutched two steaming cups of coffee as he stood outside Adam’s bedroom door. It was barely a quarter past six in the morning. Not early in his world, considering he used to wake up at 4:00 a.m. every day, but Adam had proven to be every bit of the challenge Kyle had promised he’d be, no matter the time.

  When Bo first interviewed to be Adam’s personal assistant, one of Kyle’s questions had hedged around whether he would be comfortable “getting physical.” When he�
�d asked what that meant, Kyle had smirked and replied, “Adam Littrell is the furthest thing from a morning person you’ll ever meet. As his PA, it’ll be your job to get his ass outta bed. That takes several high-octane doses of coffee and a whole helluva lot of elbow grease.”

  This was the third morning in a row Bo had faced down Adam’s door with high-test caffeine in hand, and the third morning in a row his stomach had tied itself into knots.

  That first day had been the worst. Building up the courage to waltz into his boss’s room while he still slept, although blatantly invited and entirely expected, had taken every ounce of reserves Bo had left.

  He’d almost turned tail and run when he found Adam tangled in his sheets and wearing nothing but a pair of form-fitting boxer briefs. Especially when realization dawned that his next move required crawling onto the massive bed and laying his hands on Adam’s bare sleep-warm skin. Somehow, he’d managed it, and after what had proven to be more of a workout than even Kyle had predicted, Adam eventually stirred.

  Despite having two successful victories under his belt, nerves still wound their way through Bo’s belly at the thought of barreling into Adam’s room and shaking him awake. It was his job. Adam relied on him to help get his day started. That was all it was. It was as innocent as a parent waking a child for school. It had nothing to do with the heated fantasies that kept Bo up into the wee hours of the night.

  Everything between them was platonic and professional. Nothing more. He needed to keep that at the forefront of his mind or these wakeups might end him.

  Clearing his throat, Bo dialed up his courage, shifted the mug handles into one hand, and pushed through the door. As with the previous two mornings, a faint light from the bathroom spilled into the room and caught on Adam’s slumbering form. If the twisted disaster of his blankets had anything to say about it, Adam was a fitful sleeper—something that seemed at odds with the near-impossibility of rousing him in the mornings. But seriously, it looked like he shared the bed with a cyclone.