SAINT (The Buck Boys Heroes Book 3), page 1
SAINT - The Buck Boys Heroes Series
Deborah Bladon
FIRST ORIGINAL EDITION, 2022
Copyright © 2022 by Deborah Bladon
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
eBook ISBN: 9781926440705
ISBN: 9798835915972
Book & cover design by Wolf & Eagle Media
deborahbladon.com
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
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Epilogue
A Bucking Great Time
Also by Deborah Bladon
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About the Author
Chapter One
Callie
“Wait!” I yell as I race out of my apartment with one of my red-soled heels in my hand. “Hold the elevator!”
I slam the door shut before turning to face the open elevator at the end of the corridor.
Just as I suspect, my gorgeous neighbor is standing front and center in the elevator with a smirk on his face as he tugs his phone out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
Dammit.
He’s all perfectly styled dark brown hair, big brown eyes, and a body that I can’t stare at too long or all kinds of dirty fantasies trample every other thought I’ve ever had.
The man is the epitome of hot, but he’s rude.
He’s not just rude. He’s next level extra rude.
“Hold it,” I call out. “I’m going to be late for a job interview unless I get on it now.”
The smug-faced jerk raises his big hand in the air and waves at me like he’s on a float in a parade as the elevator doors slide shut.
“Asshole!” I scream just before they close, hoping this time he gets the message that he’s not a good neighbor.
He’s the worst neighbor I’ve ever had, and that’s saying a lot.
Until a few weeks ago, I lived in a cramped two-bedroom walk-up with three friends from college.
Our next-door neighbor was our landlord.
He never had one complaint about any of us, but he must have wished he were a chef in another life because every night, he’d cook up something that smelled like a sewer.
He always brought the leftovers over to our place.
Not wanting to insult him, one of us would accept the food with a grin.
Even if we sprinted down to the basement to toss it in the incinerator as soon as the coast was clear, the lingering scent of his home-cooked meal permeated our apartment until the next night when the same thing happened again.
That’s one of the reasons why I jumped at the opportunity to stay at my oldest brother’s apartment while he’s working in Phoenix for three months.
When Grady asked if I’d apartment sit to help him out, I knew that he was doing it as a favor to me.
Living rent-free in a luxury apartment in a building on Madison Avenue is a step up in every conceivable way.
Or it was until I realized that I live next door to one of Manhattan’s biggest jerks.
I glance to the left when I hear a door creak open.
“Calliope?” The woman who lives down the hall from me peeks out from around her partially open apartment door. “Is everything all right, dear?”
When we first met in the lobby, I introduced myself as Callie Morrow. She took it upon herself to ask if that was short for Calliope. Not wanting to start off on the wrong foot, I decided not to lie, so I admitted that was my name.
She hasn’t stopped calling me that since.
“Everything is fine, Mrs. Sweeney,” I call out to her. “I have a job interview, and I missed the elevator.”
“You can take the stairs,” she suggests.
I’m all for that, but we’re on the twenty-second floor, and I’m wearing a snug skirt. “I’ll wait for the elevator.”
I trudge past her, still holding tightly to my left shoe. I finally shimmy my foot into it once I’m at the elevator. I push the call button twice. Once to send it sailing back up here as soon as Mr. Big Jerk gets off in the lobby, and a second time while pretending I’m poking him in the eye.
If Mrs. Sweeney didn’t have her eagle eyes on me, I’d be partaking in a round of boxing with the air at the moment to ease all of the pent-up frustration I feel.
She ventures out of her apartment far enough to give me a view of her lilac tracksuit and matching sneakers. It pairs perfectly with the gray curls on her head.
Mrs. Sweeney’s fashion sense is on point.
When I’m eighty-nine, I hope I look as fabulous as she does.
She gives me a look from head to toe, pushing her wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “That outfit you’re wearing screams professional woman looking for a full-time, high-paying job with benefits and room for advancement, Calliope.”
That’s saying a lot.
I chose a black pencil skirt and plain white blouse because it’s what every female executive at Mirnan Mortgage wears. I did a deep dive on their social media pages last night to get a feel for the company.
It’s not my dream job, but bartending won’t fulfill all of my financial goals.
That’s my current gig since I lost my junior marketing position with a party supplies company when a competitor bought them out.
I’ve worked at the bar on and off for the past three years since I turned twenty-one. When I found myself without a job last month, the bar’s owner offered me two extra shifts per week. I’m grateful, but I have a degree in marketing that I want to put to use.
Mrs. Sweeney skims a hand across her left cheek. “Fix your hair there.”
I’ll take the critique because I know she wants the best for me. I push a few strands of my dark brown hair behind my ear. “How’s that?”
“You’re a beautiful blue-eyed girl.” She sighs. “You remind me of myself sixty-five years ago.”
Just as I’m about to comment that she’s as stunning now as she was in the black and white photographs she has shown me, the elevator dings to signal its arrival on our floor.
“Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck,” she says matter-of-factly. “You have experience and ambition. You’re one of the smartest women in this city.”
“From your lips to Mr. Mirnan’s ears.” I laugh.
As soon as the elevator doors slide open, I step into the car and turn to face her. “I’ll see you later, Mrs. Sweeney.”
“Knock them dead, Calliope.”
Chapter Two
Callie
Mrs. Sweeney is some sort of sorceress, or bad luck is trailing me like a lost puppy.
I stand on the sidewalk outside the Greenwich Village office of Mirnan Mortgage and watch as a body in a bag is wheeled past me on a stretcher.
Mrs. Sweeney told me to knock them dead, and that’s what happened.
Technically, I didn’t knock Mr. Mirnan dead. I didn’t even see him. When I arrived for my interview, an ambulance and police cars were already here.
The receptionist I had spoken to yesterday when I booked my interview was sobbing as she sat on the curb.
It seems Mr. Mirnan was having breakfast when he keeled over onto his desk.
By the time the EMTs arrived, he was already gone.
“The job isn’t available anymore,” the sad-eyed receptionist calls out to me. “Mr. Mirnan always said when he dies, the company goes with him.”
A few of the mortgage brokerage firm’s employees turn to look at her.
I take a breath and make my way to where she’s sitting. “I work at a bar a few blocks from here. Do you need a drink?”
Her tear-filled brown eyes look me over. “It’s not even ten a.m. yet.”
I’d tell her it’s five o’clock somewhere, but there’s no need to cast that lure in her direction. She’
“I make a killer one,” I say before I wince.
Dammit, Callie. Inappropriate, much?
A slow smile creeps over her lips. “Mr. Mirnan would have laughed at that. He always laughed at my lame jokes.”
I take the backhanded compliment with a smile of my own.
“We can walk to the bar.” I point to the corner. “The drink is on me.”
Her gaze wanders to where her co-workers are all huddled together. “I’m sorry the job didn’t work out for you, Callie.”
I shrug a shoulder. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
“I’m Jade.” Her hand snakes toward me. “Jade Mirnan.”
I take her hand in mine and perk an eyebrow before following up with the obvious question. “Were you related to him?”
I don’t motion toward the back of the van where the body bag is being placed, but Jade puts two and two together when she looks at it. “He’s my husband’s uncle. He insisted I call him Mr. Mirnan at work and during family get-togethers. All the time, really.”
I would say that I’m glad I won’t be working for him because it sounds like he was a pretentious ass, but Jade doesn’t need to hear that while she’s grieving.
“I’ll be right back. I’m going to grab my purse,” she says through a sniffle. “Thanks for the free drink offer, Callie. You showed up at just the right time.”
I take one last look at the van as a man dressed in a black suit slams the doors shut.
There goes my latest job opportunity.
With any luck, my next interview will go a hell of a lot better than this.
“Do I want to know why you and our only customer are dressed like twins?” My boss, Gage Burke, shoots me a smile from across the bar.
I laugh.
I arrived at Tin Anchor with Jade over an hour ago.
Since the bar wasn’t officially open yet, I used my key to unlock the door.
Gage greeted us immediately and didn’t balk when I said I would cover the cost of Jade’s martini before I prepared it.
I know Gage well enough to know he doesn’t expect me to pay for it.
He’s generous to a fault. He’s that way with all his employees, including my older brother, Zeke, who works here part-time as he pursues a career in computer animation.
“Jade works at the office where I was supposed to have an interview this morning,” I explain quietly. “Or worked at, I guess.”
Gage leans closer to lower his voice. “She was fired?”
I steal a glance at where she’s sitting next to a round table near one of the windows overlooking the sidewalk. “Her boss died this morning.”
Gage’s green eyes widen. “That’s brutal.”
I nod. “I saw them bring the body out. It was horrible. Jade worked for her husband’s uncle, so his death hit her hard.”
We both look in her direction to find her dragging her hands through her short blonde hair.
“Make her another martini,” Gage says. “On the house.”
I look at him. “You’re sure?”
He smiles. “She looks like she could use it, and I could use a favor.”
I’ve asked dozens of favors of Gage over the past few years, and he’s granted all of them. I respond without thought. “Tell me what you need.”
“I know you weren’t scheduled to work today, but Katie wants to meet up for lunch.” A warm smile accompanies his wife’s name. “Can you cover for me for a couple of hours at noon?”
“Consider it done.”
“Thanks, Callie.” He pats my hand. “The right job will come along soon. I know it’s not a lot, but if you can cover another extra shift every week, it’s yours.”
“You know how much I appreciate that, right?” I ask.
“I know.” He glances at Jade again. “Set her up with another drink, and thanks again for stepping in to help.”
It’s the least I can do, and besides, the mid-day crowd usually consists of corporate types that work high-powered jobs. I’ll walk out of here with a fist full of tips that will go directly toward my one and only debt.
Maybe this day won’t be a total loss after all.
Chapter Three
Callie
“Wells is hiring,” Jade announces with a glance in my direction. “They’re looking for an administrative assistant, and there’s a position in marketing too. You know Wells, right?”
She follows that up with a giggle and a wink.
She’s on her third martini.
I wouldn’t classify her as tipsy, but she’s feeling less pain than when we arrived three hours ago.
I asked if she wanted me to call anyone for her, but she told me that she had already sent a text message to her husband asking him to stop by here after his lunch meeting.
I look to the two tables that are now occupied.
I served up their drinks quickly while keeping an eye on Jade.
In an abstract way, I feel responsible for her.
That’s not a burden, but it is a distraction.
I stand next to her and nod. “I know that company.”
“They have that enormous billboard in the middle of Times Square.” She laughs. “Every time I pass it, I take a minute to appreciate the man in the picture, including what’s inside his underwear. It’s obvious he’s got a lot to work with.”
I glance down at the floor.
It’s impossible to miss that billboard.
It’s an image of a man from the neck down. The Wells name is stitched in red lettering across the gray waistband of the white boxer briefs the model is wearing.
The man in the image is sporting a noticeable bulge.
It’s not as though I’ve stopped to stare, but I know some women have.
I’ve witnessed that myself.
I shift the subject because I’d rather talk about a potential job than what’s in a random model’s underwear. “Are you going to apply for the administrative job?”
Her head snaps up. “Me? No. Why would you think that?”
Let me count the reasons.
She lost her job today due to the untimely death of her boss. Her phone’s browser is opened to a job listing website, and not more than thirty minutes ago, she was sobbing into her martini about how badly she needs a job.
I don’t touch any of that because she goes on, “I’m looking for a job in the field I was trained in. My job at Mirnan Mortgage was never going to be forever. I want to get back to doing what I love, and I think now is the perfect time.”
The question begs to be asked, so I do it. “What field were you trained in?”
She looks me in the eye. “I’m a high-wire performer.”
I stare at her because I need time to process that.
Fortunately, the sound of the bar’s door opening and muted male voices save me from continuing this conversation at the moment.
I turn to greet my newest customers, but I freeze as soon as I spot the man leading the pack of three into the bar.
Goddamn this day all to hell.
Out of all of the bars in Manhattan, why did he have to walk into mine?
My annoying neighbor smirks when he catches sight of me wearing a black bib apron.
I yanked it from behind the bar and put it on so I wouldn’t stain my white blouse with an unwanted splash of anything.
