Sunday, August 2, 2026
Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: The Jock by EM Denning
Breakfast at Bennett's #2
Colby Bennett is straight.
At twenty-five, he’s the middle of three boys raised by a single father. He’s always been a jock, so managing a gym feels like his calling. If only being a big brother were as easy. When Colby stumbles on his younger brother trying on feminine clothing, Taylor is angry and embarrassed. Looking for a way to make amends, Colby seeks the help of a new gym member whose eyeshadow and shimmering lips capture his attention.
Milo Kennedy is recently single.
Having broken up with his boyfriend, he’s trying to reclaim the person he used to be. Ashamed that he let someone take so much away from him, he’s determined to find himself again. The last thing he needs is another gym-bro in his life, but Colby seems sincere in his mission to help his brother and Milo can’t make himself say no.
Being around Milo has Colby questioning if he’s actually straight… or if there are things he still has left to learn about his own identity. But even though he can’t stop thinking about Milo, he knows better than to make a move. His little brother needs someone like Milo and Colby doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize their budding friendship.
But as Colby is exploring and embracing his sexuality, and Milo reclaiming the pieces of himself that he lost to a bad relationship, they discover they might need each other despite their reasons for hesitating. Will they learn that the best things in life are worth taking a risk for?
Breakfast at Bennett’s is a four book series consisting of The Virgin, The Jock, The Princess, and The Outcast. For maximum enjoyment, it is best to read the series in order.
CHAPTER 1
COLBY
There was a fancy word for killing your brother and Colby was sure his older brother Jonah would know what it was. Of the three of them, Jonah was the brains. Colby was the brawn. And Taylor was a dead man walking.
“What the fuck am I going to do with…” Colby examined the potted plants. “Trees, of some kind. Probably fucking orange trees.”
Colby wanted to kick something, but he refrained, only because the last time he let his temper get the best of him, he broke a toe. Running a CrossFit gym and having a broken toe was a bad combination. There was no such thing as downtime.
“Fucking orange trees.” Colby moved them to the window of his apartment where they could at least get some light until he figured out what to do with them. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he dialed Taylor’s number.
“Yes?” Taylor answered, the sounds of the kitchen at Bennett’s Diner clattering in the background. The youngest child, Taylor was the only one who wanted to work at the family diner long term.
“I’m going to kill you, Taylor. And then I’m going to kill your plants. Stay out of my apartment.” Colby hung up the phone to the sound of Taylor’s cackling laughter.
“Glad you’re proud of yourself, you little shit.” Colby loved his brothers, but Taylor’s plant obsession had gone too far. It started a few years ago when the internet taught him how to propagate plants from seeds. Done with your avocado? Why throw the pit away like a normal human being when you can grow a fucking tree to leave in your brother’s apartment to drive him insane.
Colby lived in a secured building across town from the diner. It was closer to work, so he had to go out of his way for Sunday morning family breakfasts, but it was a tradition Colby clung to. Taylor was probably too young to remember their mom… Hell, some days Colby was sure he’d imagined her. Jonah was the only one with real, concrete memories of her. Sometimes Colby envied that. Sometimes he didn’t.
The diner was almost a member of the family and some of the women Colby dated didn’t understand that. Yes, he would sneak out of bed Sunday morning to have breakfast with his dad and his pain-in-the-ass brothers. And no, they weren’t invited. He didn’t want to give them the wrong impression by bringing them to family breakfast.
When Jonah had been away at school, Colby would make him FaceTime during breakfast whenever possible. It wasn’t the same, but it helped with the itchy feeling that something was missing.
Colby scowled at the orange trees again. Maybe they were lemon trees. Who knew? He sure as hell didn’t. Ever since Taylor discovered he could grow anything, he’d been a menace. His green thumb would’ve been impressive had it not been for him using his powers for evil. Colby didn’t have plants for a reason. He was a terrible plant dad. He was either at the gym all the time working, or working out, or he was at the diner. His apartment wasn’t much because he was never there.
Colby didn’t have room for plants in his life. He’d probably end up killing them. He didn’t know what Taylor was thinking when he’d snuck in. Which brought up another question in Colby’s mind. How the hell had Taylor gained access to his apartment?
He stewed about it while he heated his dinner. Every Wednesday was meal prep day, which meant Thursday was his favorite day of the week because everything was freshly made and he hadn’t yet grown tired of this week’s selection.
Tonight’s dinner was a turkey salad wrap that Colby ate standing in the kitchen, staring at the plants forced upon him. There was no way he was going to keep them, but what the hell was he going to do with them?
An idea took root in Colby’s head and before he could think better of it, he grabbed the plants and headed out, locking the door behind him. Taylor still lived at home. Sort of. He’d taken over the basement unit in their childhood home, which meant that Colby could easily gain entry into Taylor’s apartment.
If Taylor kept insisting on sneaking plants into his house, Colby was going to fight back. He’d simply return the plants. And then he’d have his locks changed. He could simply put the trees outside and see if they survived on their own, but that would be cruel. For as much of a pain as Taylor was, his plants were important to him and Colby couldn’t stand the thought of hurting his brother like that.
Sure, he might hate that Taylor had broken into his apartment, but that didn’t mean he wanted to actually upset him by taking his annoyance out on an innocent plant. It never asked to be dragged into this.
Colby carefully set the plants in the back floorboard between the seats. They would make the journey fine if Colby drove carefully. Looking after himself was enough work, and he didn’t need to add other living beings into the mix.
The diner was close to their childhood home, and it wasn’t unusual for Taylor to walk to work, so the presence of his car didn’t mean much to Colby when he parked behind it and carefully retrieved the plants from the back seat.
The house was a single-story ranch with a basement suite that could be accessed by a door in the kitchen. It hadn’t been used much by anyone until Taylor took over the suite for himself. Everyone respected his space, but Taylor had been the first one to declare war.
Colby sneaked into the house. Their dad was still at the diner most likely, which meant Taylor was probably there still too, even though he should’ve been off hours ago.
Quiet as a mouse, Colby tiptoed through the house and to the kitchen. He opened the basement door slowly and crept down the stairs. He made a point to walk on the right side near the wall because the other side of the stairs squeaked.
“Holy Christ. Is he playing Jumanji? It’s a fucking jungle in here.” Colby looked around at the space. Grow lights compensated for the lack of natural light, and suddenly it wasn’t a secret why Taylor was sneaking his plants into other people’s houses. There wasn’t room for anything else down here. The walls were covered in climbing vines and there was an entire wall of trees in the living room. Even his television was surrounded by plants.
Colby set the trees down on the kitchen counter. A potted plant sat on top of the fridge. It was a damned good thing the basement wasn’t dug deep like some that only offered tiny windows at the tops of the walls or nothing down here would grow at all.
“What the fuck, Taylor” Colby whispered to himself.
From down the hallway, Colby heard a sneeze and he went still. Taylor was home. Colby grinned and tiptoed down the hall. The bathroom door was open and the room was dark. That left Taylor’s bedroom.
As slowly as possible, Colby turned the knob on Taylor’s door, and then all at once he flung it open and shouted, “Hey, fucker!”
Taylor scrambled for cover, yelling obscenities at Colby, a ferociousness in his voice that he’d never heard before.
“Get the fuck out, Colby!” Taylor flung himself into his bed and grabbed for the blankets. Wrapping himself up like a burrito, he buried his face.
Colby stood still for a minute. An array of makeup was scattered across Taylor’s dresser, surrounding a mirror propped up there. Taylor had looked different in the split second Colby saw him before he dove for cover. He looked shinier—and what the hell was he wearing? Were those nylons?
“I said get out!” Taylor yelled again, this time a shoe flying at Colby. “Get out, get out, get out. Get. Out!”
Another shoe was launched at Colby and it would’ve hit his face, but he deflected it. The shoe flew into the mirror instead, and the sound of it shattering broke Colby out of his stupor. He found himself suddenly angry at Taylor for his reaction. It wasn’t rational, but Colby was tired and he hated that he’d upset his brother. Lashing out at him therefore made even less sense, but sibling interactions seldom did.
“That’s seven years of bad luck. Stay the hell out of my apartment.” Colby slammed Taylor’s bedroom door shut. He stomped down the hallway and made it halfway up the stairs before he exhaled and returned to Taylor’s kitchen.
“Stupid fucking plants. I should throw you in the blender. Or a river. Fuck sake.”
Colby collected the plants and took them home. He googled what type of trees they were and how to care for them. He ordered a grow light online because he wasn’t sure if the sun came from the right direction for the trees. Or if that mattered.
Hours later, he sat on the floor of his living room, nursing a beer and staring at all the text messages that Taylor hadn’t returned. Clearly Colby wasn’t meant to see that. It was obviously something Taylor wasn’t ready to share, or maybe he never wanted to share it.
Colby raked his hand through his hair and tugged on it before dropping his hand back into his lap. He took another long drink of his beer. It was clear to Colby that he’d fucked up where Taylor was concerned and even though he’d apologized via text, Taylor wasn’t yet receptive to hearing anything Colby had to say.
Or at least he wasn’t ready to talk. He was reading Colby’s messages. He had the little grey checkmark to prove it. Colby had to find a way to earn Taylor’s forgiveness, but he couldn’t if Taylor wasn’t even talking to him.
Colby waited until Sunday to try and smooth things over with Taylor, but when he arrived at the diner, his younger brother was still in a snit about the whole thing. Taylor was at the range, grilling up a variety of breakfast foods, but his usual sunny demeanor was nowhere to be seen.
“Not here, Colby.” Taylor’s jaw was set and he refused to so much as glance his way.
Colby crossed his arms over his chest. He’d sent no less than a dozen apologies and explanations to Taylor over the past couple of days but had only received silence in return, and Colby was getting tired of it.
“I said I was sorry, okay. It’s not a big deal, Taylor.” From the corner of his eye, he saw his older brother Jonah enter. “Let’s ask Jonah if he thinks it’s a big deal. I bet he doesn’t.”
Taylor whirled on Colby, pointing his metal spatula at him. “Don’t you dare. You’ve already—God—I fucking hate you sometimes.” Taylor threw the spatula down on the stove and stormed out the back door.
“Well, fuck.” Colby took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. “I have to go fix that. Can you man the stove, Jonah?” Colby asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer before following Taylor outside.
The back door of the restaurant slammed shut and Colby glanced around, quickly locating Taylor.
“I wish you’d accept my apology, Taylor. I didn’t mean to see any of that, but you know I don’t fucking care what you do.”
“Ugh, you don’t even get it. I don’t want to talk about this with you. And you won’t leave it alone.” Taylor threw his hands up in the air.
“Maybe I would if you’d stop being mad at me.” Colby hated having people mad at him. He didn’t want to describe himself as a people pleaser, and mostly he wasn’t. Unless it was his brothers.
“Maybe I would stop being mad if you left me the hell alone.” Taylor stomped back into the kitchen and Colby followed, hot on his heels.
“I said I was sorry, Taylor. Jesus. Don’t be such a baby.”
“You’re such a jerk, Colby. Stay out of my face.” Taylor stepped into Jonah’s space and took the spatula from him. “Thanks, Jonah.”
Jonah stepped away from the stove. “You’re not welcome. Neither one of you are. Fuck you both. I wanted one day. One fucking minute where my shit mattered. I even texted that I was coming to breakfast and had something to tell everyone. But no one cares. And most of the time, I don’t care that you ignore me. But I just wanted ten fucking minutes today to tell you that I’m in love with Spencer and we’re really fucking happy, and I come here and you two have to act like little bitches all the time. It’s always about Colby and Taylor because they’re the youngest and they need the most. And when we were kids, that was fine.”
Colby realized too late that Jonah was upset and before he could say anything, Jonah fled the restaurant. Hanging his head in shame, he took his hat off and snapped it against his leg to vent some of his frustration before putting it back on his head.
“Fuck.” Taylor whispered. “He’s really mad.”
“Yeah, looks like I fucked this up too. Go me.”
“Don’t be stupid, Colby.” Taylor said softly. Usually his voice would have more bite to it when he said shit like that to Colby. “Maybe I should get over what happened. I’m embarrassed.”
“I’m sorry I embarrassed you. For what it’s worth, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Taylor nodded, but didn’t say anything else. He turned back to the range and went back to cooking. Colby quickly washed up and grabbed another spatula and gave him a hand flipping and frying.
“I am sorry I intruded though. Am I forgiven?”
Taylor turned to the sound of the back door opening and closing again.
“Spencer is waiting for you at our table. We’ll be out in a minute. And…we’re sorry, Jonah.” Taylor said, looking pretty fucking morose. Colby suspected his bad feelings weren’t all about hurting Jonah and Colby still wanted to find a way to make it up to him.
But he could only deal with one problem at a time and, right now, the crisis with Jonah was more easily solved. “We didn’t mean to steal your thunder, man. We’re sorry.”
With the apology and the promise of French toast, Jonah was going to forgive them. Especially when Colby and Taylor went out there and offered a proper congratulations to the happy couple. It was nice that Jonah had found someone to be happy with and there wasn’t a more perfect person for him than Spencer.
If only things with Taylor were as easily corrected. By the time breakfast was over, Taylor was back at the stove, and while he was talking to Colby again, there was an undercurrent of sadness there that Colby didn’t know how to fix. Only that he wanted to try.
E. M. Denning is a writer from British Columbia. She loves her family and animals, and anything cute and fuzzy. She writes romance for the 18+ plus crowd because she's both a hopeless romantic and a dirty old woman.
You can find her on her website, Facebook or on her blog.
AUDIBLE / AUDIOBOOKS / CHIRP
EMAIL: emdenningauthor@gmail.com
Saturday, August 1, 2026
Saturday's Series Spotlight: Romancing the . . . by Clare London Part 2
Summary:
Can poverty and privilege find a loving compromise?
Alexandre Bonfils, a rich and spoiled second son, is tired of being ignored and decides to help when the family’s exclusive wine business is in trouble. Going undercover in the warehouse, he loves the adventure—and the chance to be close to the sassy and sexy manager, Tate Somerton.
Tate is hardworking and financially struggling, bringing up his siblings on his own. A suspected saboteur at work is his latest challenge, but now he also has a clueless, though very attractive, new intern. There’s an immediate spark between the ill-matched couple, until a shocking accident cuts short Alex’s amateur sleuthing.
While recovering in the generous care of Tate and his family, will Alex realise what belonging really means? Passion and pride come together to fight for the company they’re both committed to preserving, but can a personal bond remain when the dust settles?
This story offers you a spoiled yet cutely redeemable millionaire, a selfless hero who’s always put his family above his love life, the glamorous world of luxury winemaking, ‘found’ family, a devious gran, a no-nonsense warehouse manager with a hot chocolate addiction, and a saboteur who must be found before disaster strikes!
Author Note: this is the same book as previously published by Dreamspinner Press, but with a new cover, and now published by the author.
Where trust is the most precious jewel of all.
When Mayfair jewellers Starsmith Stones wins the commission for a British gay royal wedding, CEO Joel Sterling is recommended to the brilliant young designer Matt Barth—only to discover Matt’s the man with whom he shared an anonymous and passionate kiss on the celebration night.
Disenchanted with the commercial jewellery industry, Matt nowadays prefers muddy archaeological digs to designing. Openly resentful of Starsmith’s hostile takeover of his family’s firm, he is horrified at the realisation he’ll be working with the man who engineered that deal—but the opportunity to create something fabulous and unique for the royal couple is too tempting to refuse.
Working as a team reignites the spark between Joel and Matt. But when betrayal from within Starsmith threatens both the project and Joel’s confidence, will they have built enough trust to keep their newfound love as precious as the royal jewels?
**This story offers you a gruff designer who prefers digging for treasure, a smooth CEO who’s too used to his own company, the glamorous Mayfair world of expensive jewellery, enemies to lovers, a gay royal couple who are fond of mischief, and an embarrassing accident on the Buckingham Palace railings!**
Note: this is the same book as previously published by Dreamspinner Press, but with a new cover, and now published by the author.
Romancing the Undercover Millionaire #3
Arriving in the warehouse at ten past nine, Tate took up position just outside his office, watching through the open door as Percy interviewed the new intern inside. Or, at least, that’s how it was meant to go. The company had regular intern programmes, in several disciplines, and a few weeks in the warehouse was a critical part of every schedule.
Percy glanced at the paper in front of him. “So. Goodson.”
“You may call me Alex.”
Percy pointedly ignored that.
“Excuse me, but is this the right place? They told me I had to report in to the manager, Mr. Somerton, for training.” The guy in the chair peered at Percy’s name tag. “Mr. Grove, is it?”
“I’m doin’ the interview, boy.”
Alex Goodson raised his eyebrows. “Ah. Okay. As you wish.”
Tate could see it took Percy a lot of effort not to roll his eyes. He didn’t suffer fools gladly. This was possibly why Tate did many of the interviews and was official liaison for the interns. But no one could better Percy in sizing up a new guy within a matter of minutes, and he’d rarely been proved wrong.
At the moment, the new kid was concentrating on Percy and unaware of Tate’s scrutiny. Well, he was no kid really, which was the first surprise. They usually got school leavers or university graduates, whereas this man looked a similar age to Tate. Maybe he was making a career change or coming back into the workplace after a break. Watching the way Alex Goodson twirled the temporary security pass on its lanyard like a novelty toy he’d never seen before, Tate reckoned it was the latter.
And, shit, but he was good-looking. Tate could see enough of the guy’s face from his angled viewpoint and couldn’t resist taking a longer look than his role as training supervisor merited. Alex had lovely grey eyes, a strong jaw, and fine mahogany-brown hair with a slight curl. It was ridiculously shiny, like those heads on hair product adverts, and so evenly shaded Tate wondered for a random moment if he dyed it. Even more randomly, Tate’s fingers all but itched to run through it. What the hell? He shoved his hands into his pockets to try to redirect his attention. He hadn’t felt such an immediate, physical response to someone for a long time.
The second surprise was how confident Alex looked: no sign of the usual nervous desire to make a good impression common to most interns. He wore a pair of dark-rimmed spectacles, which he awkwardly pushed back up his nose a couple of times, but his gaze was bright and fixed steadily on Percy as if he were his equal. Not that Tate didn’t believe in equality for all, at heart, but there was a certain respect you were expected to show your supervisor. And definitely toward Percy, who had a whole bunch of opinions about how anyone younger than him—which included almost all the warehouse and probably Mr. Charles himself—should behave toward their elders.
Tate bit back a smile. He could see Percy was resisting glancing at Tate over Alex’s shoulder. Well, if that was Percy’s game, to ignore Tate’s presence for the moment, this could turn into quite an entertainment.
“Thank God,” Alex said cheerfully, with a nod at Percy’s chest.
“I’m sorry?” Percy’s tone was at its deepest, most no-nonsense best.
“No ghastly nylon overalls,” Alex said. “You’re wearing a branded polo shirt. I assume they do it in slim fit as well?”
Tate blinked, trying desperately not to laugh. Percy’s shirt strained over his broad chest and ever-increasing stomach. Percy’s favourite snack was donuts, and even he knew that was beginning to show.
Percy cleared his throat in what Tate knew—but this poor sap Goodson had no idea—was a menacing way. “Where’s y’ employee manual?”
“Sorry?”
Percy gestured dismissively at Alex’s empty hands, resting casually in his lap. “Y’ pick it up in HR before y’ start. Plenty of youngsters have already read through it before I meet them.” The disapproval was strongly implied. “Y’ don’t think y’ need to swot up on it, boy?”
Alex stared at him as if something hadn’t yet connected mentally. “What’s that word you keep calling me? Bye? Oh….” He nodded, as if praising himself for being so perceptive. “You mean boy. Is that a true Bristolian accent? That lilt at the end of a sentence—”
“Manual!” Percy snapped. “Y’ hear me?”
Alex seemed at last to pick up on the seriousness of Percy’s tone. “Sorry. I mean, yes, I have one. I picked it up before the weekend and have already perused it fully.”
“Perooosed it, have y’?”
Alex raised one rather well-groomed eyebrow. “I signed all the necessary forms, too. Did HR’s confirmation get lost in transit?” He glanced quickly over the messy pile of papers on the desk—filing was going to have been Tate’s first job this morning—and for a moment, his lips pursed. Then he glanced up again and caught the look in Percy’s eye. He had the grace to colour slightly. “Never mind. I’m sure you have it all in hand.”
Percy’s raised eyebrows spoke far more eloquently than his words. “So now we’ve cleared that up to y’r satisfaction, y’ can get on with the work. Y’ll shadow Jamie today, under my close supervision.”
Tate knew that look of Percy’s. It was the one that made new staff feel twelve years old, caught with an illicit smoke behind the bike shed. Alex Goodson, intriguingly, just smiled. Was he brave, or genuinely clueless?
“And when will I meet Mr. Somerton?” he asked.
Percy stood, straightening his shoulders. “Mr. Somerton is busy elsewhere.”
I am? Tate assumed this was another of Percy’s games. It seemed Alex Goodson had really rubbed the old man up the wrong way.
Alex stood as well. He looked a bit bemused. Percy leaned forward on the desk and spoke more slowly to him. “They told y’ about the trainin’ programme, right?”
“Right. Training. Of course. Is that before or after lunch?”
Percy’s swallow of disgust was audible. “The programme will extend over several weeks. Mr. Somerton insists on it.”
“He does?”
“He does. Jamie’s only a new boy himself, but I can’t spare anyone else to keep an eye on y’ today. We’re expecting deliveries. I suppose if y’ pick up any bad habits today…” Percy’s resigned expression showed just how very certain he was of that. “… Mr. Somerton’ll have to retrain y’, however inconvenient that’ll be for him.”
“Mr. Somerton sounds a pain in the arse, right?” Alex grinned.
Tate bit his lower lip, the chuckle inside him begging to be let out.
Percy scowled. “Better watch y’r p’s and q’s, Goodson. We respect management around here.”
To give Alex his due, he realised his mistake quickly. “Of course. I’m totally sure I’ll soon pick it all up, Mr. Grove.”
Percy paused, probably just long enough for Alex to start wondering what he’d done wrong now, then he nodded. “Percy.”
“Uh… sorry?”
“Call me Percy, for God’s sake. Mr. Grove sounds like y’re talking to my old dad.”
To Tate’s surprise—again—Alex grinned. “I know the feeling.” He stuck out his hand and firmly shook Percy’s. “Thanks, Percy. I look forward to working with you.”
Percy growled in the back of his throat. “For me, boy.”
“Yes, that’s what I meant. For you.” Alex nodded, but nothing in his tone suggested he was apologetic.
Tate couldn’t help it—he laughed softly.
Alex spun around. From the startled look on his face, he’d only just realised someone else was behind him. “Sorry, who are you?”
Tate gave his most cheesy smile and took Alex’s hand in a formal shake. “I’m Tate Somerton, Percy’s manager. Percy’s just been keeping my seat warm.”
Alex gaped. “Mr. Somerton? But you’re….”
Too young? Tate mentally filled in the gap as Alex’s sentence trailed off. It wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken for nothing more than the tea boy. He knew he could look younger than his age, and—yes, Lou was right—he could have had a smarter haircut and worn more professional clothes. But he spent his days driving forklifts and climbing over and under pallets, and as long as he did a good job with the warehouse staff, no one minded him dressing in the same smart casual wear.
“Um. What I said earlier?” Alex looked a little disturbed, obviously not sure how much Tate might have overheard. “I suppose I may have been a tad out of line.”
Tate shrugged. It was an apology of sorts. “What matters to me is that everyone does their best in the job. If you shirk, or cause trouble, well… that’s a different matter.”
Alex was still staring at him. He also hadn’t let go of Tate’s hand. For one long, pregnant moment, their gazes locked.
Tate knew he shouldn’t be devouring Alex’s attention like he was—it was rude, he didn’t behave like this, at least he hadn’t before, he didn’t even know if the guy was gay, and he’d never thought about dating a fellow employee before, that would be unprofessional, right? And oh God, even his mind was rambling—but he couldn’t seem to look away.
Alex’s hand shifted very slightly, but enough for his thumb to brush the palm of Tate’s hand as he let go, almost reluctantly. A small smile teased the edge of his handsome mouth. “Mr. Somerton, may I say—?”
“No, y’ bloody may not!” Percy snapped into his ear, having borne down on him without either Tate or Alex noticing.
Alex gave a small, embarrassing yelp.
Tate bit his lip to stop from laughing. “Welcome to the firm, Alex,” he said briskly, and turned away.
Romancing the Rough Draft #4
So now Matt was here, in Starsmith’s Mayfair offices, where not only had they disinherited him, they were trying to make him look a fool. He should leave at once. He glared at Joel Sterling, tall, beautifully suited as before, his gaze assessing Matt just as closely, that fine nose, the lush mouth….
Matt found himself still rooted to the spot, though God knew why.
“This is… surprising,” Joel said. He seemed a picture of calm control, but Matt noticed his hand shook slightly when he put his glass of water back down on the table. “It’s important we talk this through and clear the air—”
“I thought you were just a salesman,” Matt broke in angrily. “Called Joe.”
“Joe…? Oh.” Joel flushed a little. “I’m sorry. You must have misheard me. I didn’t lie. As I remember, you were all for just first names. We both agreed.”
“That’s true. You didn’t lie about that.”
“I didn’t lie about anything.” Joel’s eyes narrowed. “Like the fact that I run Starsmith. I’ve been in the industry for a long time.”
“I know your name,” Matt grudgingly admitted. He’d looked up the listing for Starsmith before coming, but hadn’t bothered with searching any photos of the company principals. “But I told you that night. I don’t do those events.”
“Your family owns a jewellers, for God’s sake—”
“Owned!” Matt snapped so hard that Joel flinched. “Owned. Past tense. It’s yours now, remember?”
“I could hardly forget,” Joel snapped back. “Were you a shareholder?”
It was Matt’s turn to flush. “No. I wasn’t… well, I did freelance work for them. It wasn’t always regular.” Damn Joel and his searching questions! Matt wasn’t going to go into the justification of how Dad had wanted him to be free to take contracts elsewhere, how they adored each other as family but couldn’t work in the same bloody room for more than an hour without growling at each other, how Matt had interests in his cousin’s business too and preferred to be out on the land with Gary rather than trapped in a design office, pandering to whatever his dad’s parochial clients wanted rather than what he, Matt, wanted to create….
Yeah. He ran his hand through his hair with frustration. Joel stirred things up, that was for sure.
Joel gestured to a seat at the table. Matt realised his legs were starting to shake, and he dropped into it both gracelessly and gratefully. Joel sat carefully in a seat opposite. Guess he felt he needed the table as a barrier between them.
Joel cleared his throat. “So why were you there that night, at Claridge’s?”
Matt scowled. “Dad was about to sign the business over to you. We’d just had another row about it, and he looked knackered with it all. I wanted to help him out.”
Joel looked confused. “You argued… but you wanted to help?”
What was this, twenty questions? “Look, I get angry fast—” He could see the flicker in Joel’s eyes, and it better not have been bloody amusement. “—but I back off just as fast when I need to. He was worrying about attending that sodding event. I said I’d go on his behalf.”
Joel nodded slowly, as if working something out in his own mind. “Just to help him out?”
“Yeah. Well. Okay. I had another motive.” The man opposite him flinched again. He surely couldn’t imagine Matt was going to lean over the table and hit him. Matt knew he could appear fierce, but he’d never actually hit anyone in his life. “I thought I could find some of the other owners, drum up some support.”
“To prevent the takeover?” Joel said drily.
Matt didn’t bother to answer. They both knew how that had gone.
“Was that all you were after?”
“Um. Yeah. Why? What exactly are you implying?” Matt’s tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. This whole meeting had been a bad idea from the start, and seeing Joel Sterling again was making everything a million times worse. So, as he often did, he turned defence into attack. “And anyway, what about you?”
“Me?” Joel looked as amazed as if Matt had hit him. “I didn’t know who you were either.”
“Not even the tiniest bit of gloating at having got one over on my family?”
“What?” Joel clenched his hands into fists on the tabletop. “I repeat, I didn’t know you were part of Barth’s and, even if I had, it was purely a business deal. I don’t gloat.”
He made it sound like he’d left such childish behaviour behind at least a century ago, and how come Matt hadn’t? Matt shook his head, his mind a maelstrom of anger and, surprisingly, hurt. “All that shit you spouted in the bar about loving the business and all it meant to you.”
“That was true!” Joel’s expression was furious. “Don’t try and salvage your pride by turning on me!”
“Pride? Jesus, man, you have no fucking idea! You were just taking what you wanted, to hell with anyone who had a different vision of life.”
“If you stopped yelling for a moment and just realised the financial practicalities of business nowadays—”
“I don’t need a lesson from you in what matters! I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Ditto!” Joel all but shouted.
They both paused. The room seemed to echo with their raised voices. Matt was leaning on the table too, his palms pressing hard on the polished wood, his knuckles almost white.
Joel was breathing heavily. For such a calm, confident man, he looked shaken. But his expression was hard. “I am not Starsmith. I’m an employee, not the company itself.”
Matt snorted. “You’re their puppet. You’re their mouthpiece. You’re their willing servant!”
Joel paled. “How dare you—”
“Because I can,” Matt batted back. “Because you don’t have any hold on me, or my family. Not anymore, and never again.” He pushed his chair back, ready to rise.
“Wait!” Joel slapped a hand on a thick file beside him. The sharp sound gave Matt pause. “This isn’t about us. This is about why Addam called you in the first place.”
Matt tried to get up, he really did. He tried not to care what was in that thick file, what this was all about. His curiosity hadn’t killed his inner cat yet, though he feared it would one day. But for now, he felt the prickle of excitement at what lay there.
But Joel didn’t move to open the file. Instead he met Matt’s gaze again, his voice cool once more. “Why did you come today, Matthew Barth, if you hate us… me… so much?”
No point in holding back now. “Dad begged me to. The stupid sod thinks I’m wasted back home. So I thought I’d come and give you all a bloody good tongue-lashing.”
Joel’s mouth twitched, maybe at the old-fashioned saying, damn him. “You’ve certainly done that. And how is your father?”
“My…?”
“You said he collapsed. You dashed off that night without a word.” Joel’s cheeks were slightly flushed. “If he’s still ill—”
“He’s fine,” Matt interrupted quickly. For a moment he and Joel just stared at each other.
Then Joel nodded slowly, as if he’d come to a decision. “My team tells me you aren’t producing designs for anyone at the moment. So what else are you doing?”
It caught Matt unprepared. He was living off his savings and working, mostly unpaid, in his cousin’s archaeological dig in Norfolk, that’s what he was doing—but he didn’t want to tell Joel that. “None of your business what I do.”
“Unless you come and work for us. For me.” Joel deliberately flattened his hand on the file, as if protecting its contents.
“Stop with the games,” Matt barked. “It took me hours by public transport to get here today, and I’m not looking forward to going straight back again. But I will, unless….”
“Unless?” Joel’s eyes glinted. Matt remembered that pinprick of light in Joel’s pupils from that evening in the bar, just before they’d….
“What’s the project?” he asked bluntly.
“I can’t tell you until you sign a nondisclosure agreement.”
“For God’s sake, and you think I’m being melodramatic—”
“But I can tell you it’s the most prestigious we’ve ever had.”
Matt looked at the file. The edge of a drawing peeked out from the side. “You have Addam de Broek on your team. Why would you need another designer?”
“I wish I didn’t,” Joel said harshly. “But Addam reckons we need you.”
Well, well. Matt couldn’t help but feel flattered, though he wanted to tell Joel Sterling to go to hell. But he also wanted to know what all this was about. If Joel would just tease out that drawing into full view….
Joel took a deep breath. “Whether I like it or not, the ball’s in your court. There’s one more thing you need to know. It’ll be very well paid.”
And therein lay the rub.
Matt needed the money. At least, Gary did, for the dig. They were starting to uncover real finds, but scrabbling away on spare weekends with inadequate tools just wouldn’t do the job.
In the silence that had fallen between them, Joel stood. He looked resigned, though not cowed. Slowly he opened the file and spread the first few papers out onto the table.
Matt gawped. There were design sketches and photos of what looked like current royal treasures. Dear God. Was that one of the crowns from the Tower of London, with a man’s arm and hand that looked exactly like Joel Sterling’s just in shot, resting right next to it? When and how the hell had Starsmith gained such close access?
Matt’s heart thundered in his chest, his fingertips tingling with the ache to open that file completely. He looked back up at Joel. There was a look in Joel’s eyes that reminded Matt of his own excitement with any new discovery at the dig. Gary had often told Matt he looked savage, accompanied by fond but raucous laughter at Matt’s expense.
“All you need to know to make your decision is that our client is the Royal Family,” Joel said softly. His eyes shone, even while his voice was steady.
“This means everything, doesn’t it?” Matt said. “To you, at least.”
“It’s a very prestigious commission,” Joel repeated, more doggedly, but Matt could see a bead of sweat on his brow.
“You’re all the same.” Matt couldn’t resist another poke at the bear. “Money above magic.”
“So prove me wrong!”
They stared at each other, startled, the anger and resentment still simmering.
Then Matt gave a big sigh. “Count me in.” Like it had ever been in doubt.
Saturday Series Spotlight
Clare LondonClare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter-three stage and plenty of other projects in mind… she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her on all her social media.
Romancing the Undercover Millionaire #3
B&N / AUDIBLE / iTUNES AUDIO
KOBO / BOOKBUB / BOOKS2READ
Romancing the Rough Draft #4
B&N / AUDIBLE / iTUNES AUDIO
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Romancing the . . . Series
KOBO / iTUNES / iTUNES AUDIO
Friday, July 31, 2026
🎅🎆🎄Christmas in July 2026 At A Glance🎄🎆🎅
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