Bad Boys Do. Victoria Dahl

A stone path wound through gardens and rock formations. At the very back of the long yard, a little waterfall fell in a perpetual tumble over a six-foot-tall rise of boulders. “It’s so beautiful. Peaceful.”

      “Thank you.” He gestured for her to sit down, handed her a mimosa, then disappeared back inside. He’d already set the table, and she found herself smiling down at her plate and the silverware, laid out with perfect neatness on a folded paper towel. Her coffee cup read, “My other mug is a pint glass.”

      “Do you want help?” she called.

      “Nope.” He stepped out, balancing two baking dishes, some serving spoons and one coffeepot. “If there’s one thing I can do, it’s serve a table.”

      He stuck the spoons smack into the middle of each dish, which reminded Olivia of the folded paper towels. His attention to detail didn’t reach Martha Stewart levels. He was kind of adorable. Again.

      She served herself some eggs and some coffee cake, and the combined smells were heavenly. Her stomach rumbled, but as she reached for her fork, Jamie reached for the champagne. She made herself wait politely while he poured champagne, and then the orange juice. Then he raised his glass. “To fun,” he said.

      “And new things,” she added.

      Five minutes later, Olivia was embarrassed to realize she’d already cleaned her plate. And emptied her glass. “Oh, my God, that was amazing.”

      “Have more,” he said, already tilting the bottle. Golden liquid bubbled and sloshed. Olivia giggled and wondered if she was tipsy. Then she stole another dollop of cake.

      “So did you always want to be a teacher?” he asked as he took another huge serving of bacon omelette.

      “No, not really.”

      “You just fell into it?”

      “Yes.” She’d fallen into it, all right. Helped by the steady push of her husband’s hand. She tried not to sigh. “But it’s a subject I love. My parents were investors and entrepreneurs. There’s a lot of specialized knowledge that goes into the business side of food service. Stuff a restaurateur wouldn’t necessarily know. I like helping with that.”

      He stared intently at her. “Yeah?”

      “It’s a tough field. Starting a restaurant is risky and stressful and time-consuming. I like the idea of helping people with it.” In fact, she’d meant to become a consultant, not a teacher. She opened her mouth to say that, but then let the words fade away, unable to form them in a way that didn’t sound pitiful. She’d fallen in love with Victor. He’d wanted her time and energy invested in his career. And so that’s what she’d done. She’d taken a low-paying job at the university, because his career was important. Of course it was. Who could’ve argued with that?

      Jamie stared at her, his eyes narrowed as if he were trying to puzzle something out. Olivia wanted to shrink down and protest that she’d done what she’d thought best at the time. Yes, she’d been an idiotic twenty-three-year-old, marrying a man who’d played her perfectly, but she’d meant well. He’d been recently tenured, after all. He’d had a career to build.

      “It’s not a bad job,” she said quietly.

      “I have an idea.” He didn’t sound disapproving. He sounded … excited?

      Olivia had trouble adjusting to this unexpected turn. “What kind of idea?”

      “Maybe we could help each other.”

      She cocked her head in question.

      “You want to learn how to have fun….”

      “Yes …?”

      He smiled, but it didn’t hold quite his normal level of confidence. “And I want to learn how to turn the tasting room into a real brewpub.”

      His plan wasn’t exactly a shock. She’d assumed he was heading in that direction. But it was a shock to hear him present their problems as an equal exchange. Was he proposing that she work for him in exchange for sex?

      “Jamie, I … I don’t know.”

      “What do we have to lose?”

      “If I’m going to be working with your family, I’m not sure it would be appropriate to—”

      “You won’t be working with my family. My family doesn’t know anything about this.”

      “I don’t understand,” she murmured, reaching for her glass, grateful he’d refilled it.

      Jamie leaned back and held his own glass loosely between his fingers, turning it as he stared down at the tilting liquid. “My brother doesn’t have a lot of confidence in me. Hell, nobody does. I guess I’ve brought that on myself. Let’s just say there’ve been some instances of questionable judgement.”

      “With the business?”

      “No, not exactly. Years ago, I sowed my oats fairly widely. And once you’ve cast yourself in the role of black sheep, it’s hard to shake it off.”

      “Were there drugs involved? Anything illegal?”

      “No, nothing like that. It’s just that … my brother and I are nothing alike. He’s a paragon of responsibility. I could never compete with that, so I didn’t bother trying.” He shrugged. “It’s complicated. But in the end, it comes down to this. We’re equal partners in the brewery, so whatever I propose, I’ll have to convince both my sister and my brother that it’s a good idea. So I need help. All the help I can get.”

      “Well, of course I’d be happy to help. But I don’t need you to—”

      “No, that’s not true. You need help, too. And I happen to be a lot of good at fun. I cut my teeth on it.”

      Her face was so hot it prickled as if she’d just fallen into a field of stinging nettle. “But sex? I can’t just—”

      “I didn’t say anything about sex.”

      Oh, Jesus. She pressed a cool hand to her cheek. “I don’t understand.”

      “I mean fun. Staying up later than ten, for instance.”

      “I like to—”

      “Sleeping late. Getting drunk under the stars. Skinny-dipping. Going to a strip club—”

      “A strip club?” she yelped.

      He winked. “And maybe we could work in a little can’t-wait-for-it, gotta-have-it sex against the bathroom wall while we’re at it. Assuming you’d consider that fun.”

      “I think …” Her face still burned. Her throat turned on itself until she couldn’t believe she could still draw breath. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t how people went about things, not even older divorcées and younger men. Maybe she should be insulted that he wanted her to bargain for time in his bed. Or against his wall.

      On the other hand, it made things easier, didn’t it? No worries that it was something special. Something deep. They were just … scratching each other’s backs. Exchanging services.

      Now that she thought about it, maybe this was how it was done. Maybe she was a sugar mama, albeit a rather poor one.

      Isn’t that how older men did it? Men like Victor offered guidance, stability, a wise hand along the way. Younger women offered tight bodies and simple needs.

      “Well?” Jamie prompted, setting his glass on the table and sitting up straight. He looked right into her eyes, not the least bit embarrassed. How did he do that?

      Olivia forced herself to sit straight, too. She’d wanted him anyway, hadn’t she? “All right,” she said, surprised at the conviction in her own voice. “You’ve got a deal. But I want my first lesson today.”

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