Mister Contingency (Lucas Property Brothers LA Book 3), page 1
Mister Contingency
LUCAS PROPERTY BROTHERS LA
BOOK 3
MACKENZY FOX
DAKOTAH FOX
Contents
Mister Contingency
Tropes
Blurb
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
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Mister Contingency
Lucas Property Brothers LA
MACKENZY FOX & DAKOTAH FOX
Mister Contingency Copyright © 2025 Mackenzy Fox & Dakotah Fox
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover by: Book In It Designs
Proofreading and editing by: Kiki Edits
Beta Readers: Kylie T, Amanda E
Can we all agree that hooking up with your best friend who is tattooed *everywhere* is way hotter when he calls you “Baby Girl?”…
Tropes
He always wears a suit
Single mom
Playboy turns good boy
Ex-childhood best friends
Opposites attract
Grumpy x sunshine
He’s tattooed *everywhere*
Cinnamon roll (only to her)
Blurb
When he works for one of LA’s busiest realty offices, and she’s the single mom who runs his favorite bakery, you could say things are about to get complicated…
Bradley Lucas is the suave, suited bachelor around tinsel town, and everyone knows it. Including me. We’ve been friends since high school, and he’s always had my back, but more often than not, a shoulder to cry on.
He’s great with my kid, my parents adore him, and I admit, maybe I have a little crush.
But I’ve got bigger fish to fry because the building I run my bakery from, Sweet Confetti, is about to be ripped out from under me.
Everything I’ve spent years building hangs by a thread.
The funny thing is? He’s wretched to almost everyone. Everyone except me and my son, Deaton. When Brad helps out when I get stuck in a crisis, I start to see a side to him I’ve never noticed. I already knew he was endearing. Kind. Funny. A handsome devil. All of the things I admire in a man, but lately he’s been affectionate, too. Little touches. Daily texts. The way he shows up when I need him.
But he’s my best friend.
While I try to keep the bakery afloat, I also try to keep my hands off him. But that’s proving difficult when the man who always wears a suit turns up at my kid’s soccer game wearing sweats. Sweats with my son’s soccer game team logo, no less.
Throw in some family drama, opposites attract, a man who calls me “baby girl”, and did I mention he’s tattooed everywhere? Yes, I found that one out by accident…
But I’m no damsel in distress. I can fight my own battles. The trouble is, will Brad see right through me and realize that neither of our hearts stood a chance? Or will our shot at happiness be blinded by the friendship we don’t want to lose should this go pear shaped?
Mister Contingency is a best friend to lovers romance with a sweet as pie baker, grumpy x sunshine, cinnamon roll hero (only to her), tattooed hero with a happily ever after. It can be read stand-alone, has open-door scenes, and an alpha who also calls her “Mama”
Chapter One
BRADLEY
The bell at The Confetti Bakery jingles as I walk in, the same way it always does, only it’s not Chelsea that greets me like she usually does, it’s her mom, Sandy.
“Hey, Mrs. Piper.”
The tall, wiry lady looks up from the cash register, tucking a stray dark lock behind her ear. “Hi, Bradley.” She smiles. “How many times have I told you to call me Sandy?”
“Probably the same amount of times I’ve said you can call me Brad.” I grin.
“Touché.”
She’s so much like Chelsea, their blue eyes really set off their dark hair and fair complexions. I’ve known the family forever, well, since Chelsea and I were in school together, anyway, and that seems like a lifetime ago.
Chelsea moved away for a while and lived in Nevada, but came back to LA with her son, Deaton, a couple of years back.
“No Chelsea today?” I ask, leaning on the white, speckled quartz counter, taking in the most glorious smells. There’s nothing like the waft of cupcake batter, cinnamon and whatever they have baking out back at any one given time. The smells all mingle together, creating a kind of heavenly bakery scent. If I could bottle it, I’d probably make as much money as I do selling houses.
“Oh, she’s doing the school drop off,” Sandy says. “And she has an appointment at the bank right about now.”
“Ah.” I nod, not sure why I feel disappointed to not see her. I guess I’m used to her being here when I come in. Deaton usually runs out to greet me, too. I’m here a few times a week. When I’m not picking up orders for clients, or for an open house where I want to impress with some delicious cupcakes, I’m here with Noah while we stuff our faces. He loves the cookies and cream cupcakes, and I’m a red velvet kinda guy, but the vanilla buttercream ones she makes with the wings on the top are a close favorite. The chocolate croissants are next level, and she has these mini sticky date self-saucing puddings that you can take away and heat later. I take that option a lot. The coffee here is also to die for.
It’s a good job I work out because I’d probably be the size of a house if I didn’t.
“I’m just putting an order in for the weekend, a dozen of the apple crumble and pecan muffins and a dozen of the lemon and white chocolate cupcakes.”
“Sounds like you have a fancy showing coming up.” Sandy beams, taking the pencil from behind her ear and reaching for a pad of paper and jotting the order down. It’s old school here, even though they have an up-to-date electronic cash register. “You know Chelsea will throw in a red velvet or two for you now, don’t you?” She winks, and my eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
I laugh. “Busted.”
Her mom has been helping her out since she started up. I know her folks helped her plow a lot of money into setting up the business. They’ve hired a junior server, Rose, who helps them after school and on the weekends, and one other part-time baker. But I’d go as far to say it’s never ending for Chelsea and her mom, but their efforts are paying off. Sweet Confetti Bakery is the best in town, and Chelsea has already made a name for herself in just a few short years.
“I might even take a coffee and a croissant to go. Actually, make it a box, I’m heading into the office and my brothers will only get all grouchy with me if I don’t bring them any treats.”
“One box coming up. Cappuccino, extra foam?”
A grin I’ve been told I don’t often share sneaks its way onto my face. “How did you know?”
Sandy laughs. “You’re our best customer. Lucas Property Brothers sure keeps this little bakery busy, Archer Realty too, I’m sure you have something to do with that.”
“I like to spread the word,” I say with a sheepish smile. “That, and I love this little place.” I have sent business Chelsea’s way, but it’s not out of sympathy, she really is an amazing baker.
“You’re such a sweetheart.”
I cough into my palm as I pass Sandy my credit card. “Better not tell my competitors that,” I muse.
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“I’ll pay for the whole lot now,” I say when she rings in the croissants and my coffee.
“Oh, are you sure?”
“Yep. I know Chels normally sends an invoice, but I’m happy to pay for it while I’m here.”
“You’re putting me through my paces this morning,” she laughs, the dimples on her cheeks almost identical to her daughter’s as she works out the bill. “It’s too early to be doing all this math.”
“Don’t worry, I have an assistant who does most of mine.”
She rings everything up
Then she busies herself with making my coffee and boxing up the croissants while we chat about the weather and what’s been happening on the property scene.
“Tell her I stopped by and said hello,” I say, saluting her with my takeout cup, as she hands me the box.
“Will do. Have a good day, honey. We’ll make sure everything is ready for collection on Saturday morning.”
“Sounds great, thanks, Sandy.” I try her name out for size, as she suggested.
“Thanks, Bradley.”
Bradley. I shake my head with a chuckle as I exit the bakery. It’s always pretty quiet first thing in the morning, but the ten o’clock rush always hits. Walking toward the car, I feel pumped for today and some new apartments I’m about to list Downtown in Bunker Hill. They are a brand new block of twelve apartments, recently constructed and finished, and they’re just about to be staged.
We have a wide-set of listings across Los Angeles, the agency that my dad, Tristan Lucas, started and grew years ago when we were kids has grown tenfold these past few years. It was natural that my two brothers and I would follow suit because we all love the process of buying and selling houses. We’ve watched and learned from Dad over the years, and honestly, no other job really resonated with me. My brothers feel the same, too.
Mom and Dad, who split when we were teens but still remain good friends, were always supportive of whatever we wanted to do. But working in the family business gives us all flexibility when we need it, and unlimited income. It’s never a set nine to five, and there is rarely a free weekend, but the benefits are totally worth it.
I buzz my car open and rest the croissants on top of the roof while I lean inside and slot my coffee in the cup holder. It’s then I notice Chelsea’s mini-van two doors up from mine. I know it’s hers because it’s red and she has the number plates Confetti. How fucking cute is that.
My brothers have been giving me stick for months about having the hots for her, and while I can’t deny she’s a very attractive woman, we’re just friends. We’ve only ever been friends, well, apart from Jimmy Taple’s party as juniors, when we got locked in the cupboard for “seven minutes of heaven” as part of a silly party game. Back then, I wasn’t exactly the stud I am now, but the memory of it sure makes me smile.
Securing the box on the seat next to me, I glance over to Chelsea’s car again and notice she’s just sitting there in the driver’s seat making no attempt to get out. I frown. Climbing back out of my car, I push the door shut and stroll over there to say hello.
It’s only when I get closer I see her head in her hands and she’s slumped forward on the steering wheel.
Oh shit, is she crying?
Not wanting to startle her, I pause, but it’s almost like she senses someone close because she lifts her head and looks straight at me. I lift a hand to wave hello, but it’s too late, I see the tears. She quickly dabs her eyes with a tissue, as if I haven’t just caught her bawling, and my frown deepens.
My first instinct is Deaton, but surely she wouldn’t be sitting here if there was something wrong. We’ve shared a glance now, so it isn’t like she can pretend she didn’t see me. I walk up to the driver’s side and I hear the click of the door unlocking. I bend to reach for the handle as she opens her door; I hear the intake of her breath before I see her face.
“Chelsea, what’s wrong?” I immediately ask.
“Hey, Brad,” she says, as brightly as she can. I move back so she can step out of the car and sling her bag over her shoulder. “It’s just my allergies.” She waves it off.
I search her pretty face for any other signs of what could be wrong, but I’m no mind-reader. Perhaps it really is allergies? Her eyes are red-rimmed from crying, as well as the edges of her nose, too. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course I’m sure.” She smiles.
Hmm, a little too bright for my liking.
“I just put in an order for Saturday,” I say, to fill the sudden void of silence more than anything. “And I’m sorry to say I wiped out the chocolate croissants. It’s a wonder I don’t weigh three hundred pounds.”
Trying to make her laugh is all I care about in this present moment. I don’t like seeing women cry, and I especially don’t like seeing this woman cry. Allergies or not.
She laughs into the soggy tissue scrunched in her palm. “Everything great starts with butter.”
“Nice tagline.”
“I guess I know what I’m going to be doing for the rest of the week. Thanks for the order.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Deaton is okay?” I ask, hedging around any further clues to what could have caused her tears, other than ‘allergies’.
“He’s great. I just dropped him off at school. Then I had an appointment.”
Oh, the bank, her mom said. I open my mouth to say something, but then let it close again. That’s really none of my business, no matter how long we’ve been friends. Surely a trip to the bank couldn’t have her in tears with her head on the steering wheel — or could it? Does she need money?
“I really need to get some more hay fever tablets,” she laughs, but I’m not buying it.
I palm the back of my head awkwardly. “Yeah, you probably should.” Should I press her further? What if she doesn’t want to talk about it? “Well, as long as you’re sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.” She smiles, and her whole face brightens, except her eyes. It’s a dead giveaway.
It’s not in my nature to pry, and she’s not offering anything other than her allergy story.
“I’m good. I better get back to work.”
I thumb behind me like the coward I am. “Me too. I’ll see you later, then?”
“Enjoy the croissants.”
“The team thanks you in advance.”
I’m so fucking lame.
Chapter Two
CHELSEA
I didn’t tell Brad the truth because, frankly, I don’t need another person looking at me with sympathetic eyes. I couldn’t even tell him the truth about the bakery going up for sale, but he’ll know soon. Brad doesn’t sell commercial properties, but he knows everyone in this business. He’ll encourage me to try and buy it because we both know renting is fine for a while, but it’s not a long-term goal for me. It would make sense to buy the building that houses Sweet Confetti, my beloved bakery, and the adjoining apartment above it. Gah, I can’t even. I know I take the bakery name with me, it’s my LLC, but the building itself? I’ve put so much time and money into this iconic place, it’s a landmark now on Starmark Blvd. People come from far and wide to buy my goods. It’s not just a bakery, it’s where people come to mingle, mix and be.
That’s the whole reason I went to the bank first thing; to see about a loan. Unfortunately, that isn’t gonna happen, at least not for the amount I would need. I was so excited when I first got the call from my best friend, Beatrix. Her friend of a friend found out the owners were selling up, and Bea suggested I start talking to the bank early. So that’s what I did. I have all my finances up to date, and the bakery turns a profit. I also live upstairs, so that saves on rent, but apparently I don’t have enough savings, nor do I have enough ‘equity’.
I’m also at a higher risk of defaulting because the rumor is they want over a million dollars for the property, and that’s way more than I pay in rent. Admittedly, my face fell when I heard that startling piece of information. I thought the astronomical monthly rent I’m paying evened out the playing field. Not according to the bank. Apparently, that’s high risk, too. Plus, I’m a single working mom, and let’s face it, the bank never seems to like that when you’re going for a loan. Yep, it was all doom and gloom. I left the meeting feeling deflated and, well, a little pathetic, truth be told.
My business goal is to expand gradually and get more helpers so I can supervise more and concentrate on specialty cakes. I can’t do all the things I want right away because that costs money. Money I clearly don’t have. Not to mention the sale, and inevitably me leaving, is going to set me back thousands of dollars moving my premises to a new place. I mean, what are the chances I’ll find an apartment to live in above the shop? Those are like finding gold around here.
