Cuddle bear, p.1
Cuddle Bear, page 1
CUDDLE BEAR
KI BRIGHTLY
Cuddle Bear © Ki Brightly 2022
All rights reserved. No portion of Cuddle Bear may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Ki Brightly. Copyright protection extends to all excerpts and previews by the author included in this book.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Credits or It Takes a Team to Raise a Book
Line Editing by Susan Reeves.
Early Reading by Jennifer Griffin, Shelby de Jesus, Pamala Thullen, Kortland Wood, Julie Hanson, Shelby Holder, Lucky Barnes, Jo McCorkell, and Michelle Sublett.
First Round Edits, Copy Editing, Proofing, and Editing Coordination by Kiyle Brosius.
E-book Formatting by Meg Bawden.
Cover Design by Dez Purington at Pretty in Ink Creations.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
The New Gothenburg World
The Vanheim World
The Shy Assistant
Maurice Baranov III has more feelings than he should for his boss, Mr. Guidry. He watches over Mr. Guidry as part of his job, and Maurice has given up on trying to keep his feelings in check, even though he hides them. Maurice doesn’t think of himself as the type of guy who gets a happy relationship. The last man he dated got angry when he started trying to lose weight. With all that past baggage, he can’t imagine pursuing Mr. Guidry, so he is left with one option—forever wishing he could be with the man he loves.
The Clueless Boss
Fenwick “Wick” Guidry comes from a long line of businessmen who are good at keeping their work and homelife separate. He is failing miserably at upholding the tradition because he has been unable to think about anyone except his assistant.
One Vicious Prank
After accidentally upsetting Maurice at the office, Wick invites him out for drinks to apologize. They meet up with Maurice’s cousin Lacey, who is having troubles of her own. Wick and Maurice promise to help her pull a prank on Edgar—a guy from their office who is annoying her—by agreeing to go on a double date. Who wouldn’t be shocked to arrive on a date and find their boss waiting? Will Wick be able to transform his role of fake boyfriend into a real relationship? Or will he be too scared to take the next step with Maurice?
1
FENWICK “WICK” GUIDRY
Maurice’s nervous laughter echoed from his office, which was directly outside of mine and allowed him to keep me free of distractions. The odd sound completely derailed my thoughts.
I set my pen down on the yellow legal pad I’d been staring at blankly while trying to decide if I should sign off on pricier stone for a project than I’d originally approved. I’d never heard that type of laugh from Maurice. He was generally quiet and conservative, and when he was amused, his voice had a warmth I appreciated. I stood. Should I go out to see if everything is all right?
The solid wooden door flew open, and Edgar Celestine stood on the far side of Maurice’s glossy black desk, doing who knew what. Before I could ask about the visitor, Maurice rushed in with an armful of paperwork and immediately laid down three binder-clipped stacks on my desk.
He tapped each pile in turn. “These are the contracts that came in today, sir. Two of the companies are in Louisiana, but one is in Mississippi. All three want Émeraude Technologies to work directly with the construction crews to ensure a smooth implementation of the plans that have been accepted. We’ll need a travel budget for the out-of-state project.” He flashed me a brief smile and pushed his black-rimmed glasses up on his nose. His brown eyes sparkled, and for a moment he fidgeted with his blue bow tie, which went with his suspenders. His crisp white shirt was snug over his gently rounded middle. I wasn’t sure at what point he’d abandoned his suit jacket today, but I liked him this way. Getting to see this cuddlier, less perfect version of Maurice each evening was my treat for making it through another day.
“Excellent work, Mr. Baranov. You earned your paycheck.”
He shrugged, and the sheepish grin that took over his face made me smile back. I often tried my best to be professional with Maurice, but there was something about him that made me want to be friendlier than I should, and I worked hard to check that compulsion. My daddy always said you can be cordial with your staff but not friends; however, it was more difficult than I’d ever thought to act that way, especially with the man who was at my side twelve hours a day or more—sometimes even on weekends.
Maurice shrugged. “All I told them is how much easier it would make everything if we were directly communicating with whatever company they use for the construction. They approved our fees fairly quickly.”
I walked around the desk and leaned against it. Maurice crossed his arms; he was easy to fluster one-on-one but amazing with our clients. “Yes. However, when I say the same thing, it sounds like a sales pitch. You’re damnably sincere, Mr. Baranov.”
Pink spread across his cheeks, and warmth settled into my stomach. I doubted he actually liked me because I was a never-ending pain in his ass—workwise—but it was nice to be able to get under the man’s skin. It made me feel better about life. Hell, he was cute. I leaned closer to him, and Maurice held his breath.
“What was going on in your office?” I murmured, cutting a glance toward the open door, where Celestine poked around on his phone screen near Maurice’s desk. His blond curls were tamed into ringlets, which was unusual for him. He was an attractive younger man. I had the urge to tell him to get back to work, but I didn’t know if he was finished for the day or not, and I tried not to micromanage.
“What do you mean, sir?” Maurice stuffed his hands into his pockets and his shoulders slumped. I wasn’t certain about Celestine—or Maurice, as far as that went. Were they gay? Was I interrupting some flirting? That would make sense. Maurice was sweet and kind and made my entire life work, so surely someone else would notice him.
“Before you rushed in here, you didn’t sound like yourself.”
Maurice stared at me, eyes wide behind his glasses. He shrugged.
I sighed, turning around to grab the first stack of paperwork. “You evaluated this?”
“Yes, sir. Ready for signatures.”
I signed everything and handed the paperwork back to him, one stack at a time, and I dragged it out. Celestine still lingered in my line of sight through the open door.
“Maurice?” I drawled his name while I watched Celestine, and the kid stilled when he glanced up from his phone screen and saw me eyeballing him. He waved at me and shuffled to the right, out of view.
“Yes, sir?”
“Ask Bern Evangelos if he wants to learn how to work in the field, why don’t you? He’s a hard worker who is always in his office when I look for him.” I made sure to raise my voice loud enough that it would carry. “Have Tony Baskin teach him what to do, please.”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
“Oh, and Maurice?” I said, just before he reached the door.
He turned around and held the paperwork in front of him like a shield. “Yes, sir?”
I brushed my hand through my hair. “Can you get me in to see a tailor? You said you knew someone who was better than the man on Cottonwood Avenue? My suits could do with an update. You can pick them out.”
“Uh, yes, sir.” The smile he sent me was megawatt brilliant and exactly what I’d wanted. I had no idea why, but Maurice loved anything to do with clothing, and I was happy to allow him to put together my wardrobe. It was worth it to see his face light up.
He was almost out the door when I called, “Maurice.”
He spun again, and an irritated huff from out in the office made me want to call my assistant all the way back inside, but I refrained. “Yes, sir?”
“Could I bother you to order me a coffee from down the street? The café with the crullers and the beignets? Uh. . . Posy’s?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Thank you, and please get yourself something on me.”
He grinned and nodded. There, that should get him away from Celestine.
About an hour later the time was creeping toward seven o’clock at night and I would be a horrible boss if I kept Maurice any longer, so I finished off the last of my coffee, sadly stared at the empty pastry box with only a sprinkle of powdered sugar left on the bottom, and then got my ass in g ear. I turned off the lamp on my antique oak desk, an heirloom that had served five generations of Guidrys and was rumored to be made from the driftwood of a pirate ship. The room was dim, although not dark, and I stared at the painting of a Spanish brig, El Cazador, that took up half the wall on my right. There were days I wished I could leave it all behind and go treasure hunting. I made my way to the door and opened it.
Celestine was just coming in the outer door, and I couldn’t say why, but it irritated me to no end. Why wasn’t he gone? He pointed at Maurice, who glanced up at him with a tense expression I’d never seen.
“There he is, Mr. Large and In Charge. Are you coming out with us tonight? I could really use your help.”
A frown settled on Maurice’s pink lips as he shook his head and ran a hand over his stylish brown stubble. His gaze dropped to the desktop. I could tell with one look Maurice wasn’t pleased about whatever plans had been made.
And that fucking greeting was too much.
It had me wanting to wring Celestine’s neck. Large and in charge? I’d spent most of my teen years as the guy getting those types of things thrown in my face, and I’d always smiled and laughed about it, but each time it had happened it made me want to punch someone. Anger bubbled in my gut and I cleared my throat.
Maurice stood and handed me a manila folder, which I took on autopilot. “Sir, here is the information about the work sites. I—”
“One moment,” I snapped.
Maurice’s eyes widened and he nodded, dropping down into his chair again.
“Mr. Celestine, a word?” I gestured at my office and stomped back inside. When Celestine was in the room, I slammed the door closed.
He let out a little “Eep!” he quickly stifled.
“Go apologize to my assistant.”
“Uh. . . why?” Celestine backed away a few steps, which was smart of him.
“He was upset by your name-calling, or did you miss that?”
I could see Celestine well enough to watch confusion pass across his face. “He was?”
“Apologize. Now. I also don’t want to see you hanging around in his office during the day anymore.”
He nodded as if his head was on a spring. “Yes, sir.”
“Go!”
He opened the door and slunk out, and I went back to my desk and tossed the folder on top while flopping into my chair. I turned the damned lamp back on, then rubbed my face. Men like Celestine drove me up a wall. Attractive and without a problem in the world, they swanned through life careless and carefree.
A short while later Maurice came in, and I stood quickly at the first glimpse of the red tint that had taken over his face, his shoulders so stiff they could support a whole house. He always looked like a sturdy man, but this was the first time I’d considered he might be someone who could be dangerous in a fight.
“If Celestine didn’t apologize, he’s fired. Did he tell you he was sorry?”
“Why did you do that?” Maurice’s tone was harsh and deep, sending a shiver through me.
“With Celestine? He was rude!”
“He’s a dipshit.” The crass word from Maurice’s mouth stunned me into silence. “But now he’s going to act weird and be on edge. That wasn’t helpful. He didn’t mean anything by it.”
Like hell he didn’t. “You clearly weren’t enjoying it. I was trying to help.” Irritation blazed to life in my gut. “I wanted you to feel comfortable in your own office.”
He hooked his thumbs under his suspenders and shook his head as he stared at the floor. “Bullies only get worse when you confront them, not better. Life isn’t a Hallmark Channel movie where you tell people to act right and they do, and then everyone hugs and they’re all friends.”
“I thought you implied Mr. Celestine was an idiot, not a bully? Has he done other things?”
The flush on Maurice’s face deepened and he puffed out his cheeks.
I leaned forward and rested my hands on the desk, not sure what else to do. I wanted to go around and shake some sense into Maurice but doubted that would work. “No one will be rude to you in this office. You make the whole business run.”
He straightened and glared. “Don’t help me again. Everyone will hear about this. They will. . . . They will. . . .” He tugged on his bow tie until it loosened and fell apart, hanging from his collar like a ruined party ribbon.
“What they will do is treat you with respect or they will find employment elsewhere.”
He shook his head and stomped out. “You really don’t get it,” he said over his shoulder. “People are jerks all the time without thinking. You can’t fix this for me.” He kept walking and left through the outer door, and I stood there staring like a moron until he was out of sight.
“What did I do wrong!?”
Of course, no one answered. The only other person who regularly kept my long hours had just left in a huff.
2
MAURICE WINSTON BARANOV III
“Honey, you must stand still. Your suit will be off if you keep moving around.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Indy glanced up and winked at me. His bright blue eyes were a shock, but not quite as much as his short neon-purple hair, which was styled into a swoop. A gauzy shirt that matched his vibrant hairdo swirled around his thin frame as he worked, flashing peeks of his nipples, and combined with his flowing white pants, the outfit made him resemble a flower petal.
I blew out a long breath as Indy’s fingers tickled along my inseam on my right leg. He was nothing except professional, I was just sensitive when it came to people touching me because it didn’t happen often. I stared out the wide front window of Sew Much Better Than the Rest, his tailor shop. It was past nine o’clock on a Wednesday night, but St. Loren’s Pleasure District, which butted up against the Business District, was coming alive for the evening, and people walked past outside, talking and laughing loud enough that their good mood carried inside to us.
“You keep it classy in here.” I had no idea what I was babbling about because I was mostly distracting myself. The shop was more of a high-end boutique, with tan leather couches clustered on the right side of the wide space. Along that wall were suits and other odds and ends for people who preferred a more masculine style, and on the left were red leather couches. A staggering number of dresses were displayed on mannequins artfully arranged at different heights to take advantage of the space. I was on a small podium in the back, surrounded by mirrors I avoided looking into.
“It’s a necessity in this business,” he said. I could tell he wasn’t paying much attention to me, which was probably good since he was still taking my measurements. For some reason he wrapped his measuring tape around my right knee, which I’d never had anyone do.
“Why do you have the wedding dress boutique separate from this side?”
He glanced up and grinned, scrunching his nose. The freckles dusted across his cheeks were vibrant at this angle, and with a jolt I realized he’d dotted something glittery on each one because he sparkled. “Brides are princesses. They need their own special extravaganza. This is everyday clothing.”
“Um.” I shifted uncomfortably as he forced me to lift my right foot and wrapped his measuring tape around it. “Hey!”
“Shh.” He snickered. “I want these numbers.”
“Why am I being measured again?” I grasped his shoulder when I almost lost my balance, and he nodded as if to tell me it was all right to touch him before he dropped that foot and shot around to my other side as fast as a bunny rabbit. He tapped my left foot, and we repeated the process.
“Why? Because, my dear, your boss is dropping a mint at my shop, and you’re the reason for that small mercy. You’re also writing an exposé on my tailor services for your magazine. You must receive the full experience if you’re to be able to write about it, and you deserve to look amazing. I want everyone to know I’m not only about servicing the Paris-runway body types at my shop.”
