Down On Me (Man of the Month Book 1) Read online

  She poured a cup for Reece and herself, then headed back toward the living room, only to find the man and the little girl stretched out on the sofa, both fast asleep.

  Jenna carried Faith to her bed, but doing the same for Reece wasn't possible. So she covered him with a blanket, turned out the light, and slipped away to Brent's bedroom, where he'd insisted she sleep tonight since he was getting home so late anyway.

  She considered digging in her bag for her laptop, then told herself she'd do it in a minute, after she closed her eyes and relaxed for just a little bit.

  The next thing she knew, she felt a heavy weight on her, a hand on her breast, and warm breath on her ear. She opened her eyes to find Reece on top of her, her shirt pulled up, and his hand working a lovely kind of magic on her body.

  "You were asleep," she accused.

  "And now I have a second wind. Objections?"

  "None at all." She closed her eyes and succumbed to the pleasure of his touch—then yelped when the door burst open and, almost simultaneously, Reece tossed the quilt over the two of them, effectively hiding any lingering nakedness.

  Under the quilt, Jenna tugged her shirt down, then sat up. "Hey, kiddo. What's wrong?"

  Her thumb escaped her mouth long enough for Faith to announce, "I had a bad dream."

  Jenna and Reece exchanged looks, and then he patted the bed beside him. "Come on up here, then."

  "Can I sleep here with you tonight?" She snuggled under the covers between them, and grabbed each of their hands. "Please?"

  "Of course you can," Reece said, with a tiny smile for Jenna. And when he bent to kiss the little girl's head, Jenna's heart did a little flip-flop, and she knew in that moment what it was like to fall even deeper in love.

  Reece woke to soft curves and realized that Faith wasn't snuggled up against him anymore. Instead, the warm body beside him belonged to Jenna—and to him—and he pulled her closer, cherishing the knowledge that she was truly his now.

  He tried to drift back to sleep, but something kept tugging at the back of his mind. Something he needed to do. To check. Something that might be bad if—

  Faith!

  In an instant, he was bolt upright and reaching for the bedside lamp.

  And less than a second later, he saw Brent leaning against the open door.

  Relief flooded through Reece, but he scowled anyway. "Don't you knock?"

  "I did." Amusement danced in Brent's eyes, illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp. In the bed, Jenna stirred but didn't wake.

  "I knocked," Brent continued. "And my little girl answered."

  As if on cue, Faith appeared beside Brent. She tugged on his The Fix on Sixth tee, then announced, "We watched wrist cats last night!"

  "Did you?" Brent scooped his daughter up into his arms. "So I guess you're going to be a permanent fixture around here now?" The question was directed toward Reece, but Brent wasn't quite looking at him. Reece twisted in bed, glancing back over his shoulder to where Jenna was now propped up against her pillow, newly awake and looking delicious with her soft features and sleep-tousled hair.

  She smiled at him, and he felt a pleasant kick to his heart.

  "Actually," Reece said, turning his attention back to Brent, "I thought I might steal her away. My apartment's small, but cozy. And it could use a woman's touch. Lingerie drying over the shower bar. Face powder in the sink. That kind of thing."

  "Jerk," Jenna said and gave his ass a little kick with the ball of her foot.

  He laughed. "I stand accused," he said. "But what do you say? Want to move in with me?"

  She rolled her eyes as she looked at Brent. "You see what I put up with?"

  "I only see a live-in babysitter walking away from me."

  "You're going away?" The thumb came out of Faith's mouth long enough for her to ask the question.

  "Oh, sweetie. I won't go too far. You know I'd never leave you. Even when I was in LA, didn't we talk on the phone all the time? And now I live in Austin again, so I'll be around to babysit whenever your daddy needs me."

  "Promise?" Brent asked.

  "Promise?" Faith echoed.

  "Sure do," she said, cocking her head toward Reece. "I might even bring a helper."

  "Pinkie swear?" Faith begged. And in an echo of their childhood ritual, Jenna, Reece, and Brent knelt on the bed and pinkie-swore with Faith that Jenna and Reece would always be there when her dad needed them. Just like they'd always been before.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "That's another three hundred calendars sold," Tiffany said, practically skipping up to the corner table where Maia and Jenna were huddled behind Jenna's laptop. "One of the stores on South Congress said they want to carry them. They're getting them wholesale, but—"

  "But nothing," Jenna said. "That's great. Thanks, Tiff."

  "Are you kidding? You don't have to thank me. This is so awesome. Anything I can do to keep this place open. Not to mention my job," she added before bouncing back to the bar to pick up a tray that was ready. It was ten on a Wednesday night, and the bar was hopping at about ninety percent capacity with a local singer performing on stage, just him and his guitar.

  "Pretty soon this place will be at a hundred and twenty percent," Maia said. "You've been kicking butt and taking names getting ready for this thing."

  "I can't believe how fast the time has flown by. And how much we've gotten accomplished. Thanks for all your help. Seriously." Jenna raised her wine glass in a toast, which Maia returned enthusiastically.

  "My pleasure," Maia said. "I wish I could do more. You feeling pretty confident?"

  "I am. I mean, I think the calendar orders are a good sign that the contest will be popular. And we've almost sold out the door for the Mr. January contest. It should be a good event, too. We've had a lot of guys sign up for the contest, and the ones selected to compete are pretty hot."

  "You're using local celebrities to pre-select from all the candidates, right?” Maia asked. “I mean, they anoint the ones who'll parade across the stage?"

  "Exactly. And then the actual winner is chosen by customer ballots the night of. That way we vet the entrants, but the public feels involved, too.”

  “And our guys? Tyree and Brent and Reece?"

  "They all said no. Bastards." Jenna rolled her eyes. "They claim they have a conflict of interest. I think they're grasping at excuses."

  Maia laughed. "Probably. Too bad, though. I'd love to see Tyree parade across the stage without a shirt. That man is completely lickable." She tilted her head to the side, her lips slightly pursed. "I take it back. They're all three totally lickable."

  Jenna laughed. "Don't worry. The guys competing are, too."

  "And you're doing the rolling thing you told me about? So if a guy doesn't win, he gets to compete for the next month if he wants to?"

  "Yup. Which is good, because we have a few local celebrities signed up for January. So if they don't win, they'll still be pushing the contest on their social media accounts come time for the Mr. February contest."

  "What other publicity's in the pipe?"

  "We've got television coming for Mr. January," Jenna said, completely giddy over that recent coup. "Honestly, I've been working almost nonstop since we started this project. At least it's paying off. I just hope it pays off enough to keep the bar open next year."

  "Positive attitude."

  "I know. And I am. I mean, I do. It's just a little frustrating. I mean, I barely see Reece, and I'm living with him now. Well," she added with a devious grin, "I do see a lot of him at night. But the days are just a blur and a wave." She shifted on her chair, enjoying the way her muscles ached from last night. They'd been sharing his apartment for almost two weeks now, and the transition had been almost seamless. In fact, the only time it had been awkward at all was when he found her vibrator in her bedside table when he was looking for the television remote.

  But the moment had shifted from uncomfortable to deliciously inventive when Reece assured her that she didn't need
to be embarrassed...so long as she demonstrated for him exactly how she used it.

  "I guess it must be going well," Maia commented, her voice tinged with laughter. "Honey, redheads shouldn't even try to keep a secret. Your cheeks show way too much."

  The blush burned deeper, and Jenna focused on the table top as she ran Maia through the rest of the plans that were in place.

  "Amanda set me up with a woman who does small business renovations. There's no way it'll get done by the first contest—we're less than a week away—but I'm hoping that if they can work during the night and in the morning, they can get the renovations done by the Mr. February contest."

  "That would be great. When are you meeting her?"

  Jenna glanced at her watch. "Any minute. She asked to meet me at night because her schedule is crazy. In fact, I bet that's her..." She trailed off, glancing at the door where a tall, curvy blonde had just entered.

  "And that's my cue," Maia said, standing up. "Good luck," she added, then disappeared toward the back of the bar as Jenna waved to Brooke and hurried to her side. "I'm Jenna," she said. "Thanks so much for agreeing to talk with me. Amanda says your work is amazing."

  "I love what I do," Brooke said with a wide, easy smile that revealed perfect teeth. Beside her, Jenna felt positively drab in her simple business suit, her red hair pulled back from her face with a single clip.

  "Well, we're excited about the possibility of you working with us." She indicated the table, and they both sat down, with Brooke occupying the chair that Maia had just abandoned. "I'm not sure how much Amanda told you, but we're basically doing a facelift on The Fix. We're stepping up an already awesome menu, and we're getting the word out to draw in new customers. And then, in about a week, we're launching what is going to be a truly amazing contest for twelve hot men to be calendar models, and we're organizing an entire ladies' night theme around all twelve contests."

  "And as part of that, you want to give the building a bit of a facelift, too."

  "You got it. Not too much, but enough that folks notice the improvements. Plus, we want to make the stage a little bigger. Possibly shift the angle so we can get more tables in. More capacity means more income."

  "Well, I'd love to work with you."

  "It's your rates that I'm concerned about," Jenna admitted. "To be brutally honest, we're trying to do all of this on as limited budget as possible. You see, this whole calendar contest is part of a fundraiser. The bar's mortgage comes due at the end of the year, and..."

  She trailed off with a shrug, hoping Brooke would get it. Apparently, she did, because she nodded sagely.

  "Normally, I'm a little pricey, I'll admit. But I have a proposal for you. If you agree, it could work out great for both of us."

  Jenna leaned back. "Amanda mentioned you were looking for a high profile project.”

  “I was. I am. And to tell you the truth, The Fix is exactly what I’m looking for.”

  “Okay. I'm intrigued. Shoot."

  "The downside is that I can't get started on the work until after your launch, but we should be underway by the second contest, with renovations on the stage completed by the time you're holding the contest for Mr. June, and full renovations on the interior by the time the contest wraps.”

  "Oh." Jenna tried not to show her disappointment. "We were hoping for a faster schedule than that, honestly. Maybe if you have a crew willing to work during the night at overtime pay, you could finish before the second contest?"

  "I'm afraid not. But," she added quickly, "if you agree to that schedule, then all the work—materials and labor—would be free."

  Jenna blinked. "Come again?"

  "I'm negotiating with one of the cable networks for a property renovation show. Only instead of houses we'd be doing commercial real estate. And if the project goes, this would be the first property.”

  “Oh. Wow. But how do you the show would use The Fix? I mean, maybe the producers would rather do a different kind of business.”

  “To be honest, I already made the pitch. And they think it’s perfect. The location. The look. Even the fact that you’ll be doing the calendar contest in the background. All that makes for good television.”

  Jenna had worked in marketing long enough to know that was true.

  “And since it's kind of a test run, you'd get the benefit."

  "And the downside?" Jenna asked, since that sounded too good to be true.

  "Well, it'll probably be a little crazy for at least a couple of episodes, until we find our groove. So you'd have to put up with that. But The Fix would be the center of the show, so the upside is the free advertising."

  Jenna gaped at her. "And all I have to do is say yes?"

  "Pretty much. To be brutally honest, the network big wigs have to formally say yes, too. But the producers and executives are pushing it, and it's close to getting a green light."

  "Close," Jenna repeated. “You mean they’re waiting for a thumbs-up from us? From The Fix, I mean.”

  "Yup," Brooke said, but then her perky smile faded a little. "Well, actually, Spencer has to sign, too. The network is insisting that it be a couples show, so he’d be my on-camera cohort. But it’s a no-brainer. This is exactly the kind of project he's been looking for."

  "Spencer?"

  "Spencer Dean," Brooke said, in a voice that suggested the name explained everything. "He used to have a similar show," she added, seeing Jenna's blank look. "But he quit about a year ago."

  "Now he wants to come back?"

  "Oh, yeah. In a big way," Brooke said, her blue eyes wide and innocent. After a moment, she cleared her throat. "So there you go. That's it." Her teeth grazed her lower lip. "What do you think? I realize it's not what you were expecting, but—"

  "But it's better," Jenna said firmly. "So long as we'll know within the week, The Fix is totally in."

  "I should have talked with you and Brent and Tyree first." Jenna paced the small living room as Reece watched, amused. "Do you think they're going to mind?" she asked. "Do you mind?"

  "Why would I mind?"

  "A film crew inside The Fix. A reality show. That's just the height of tacky. Have you seen some of the catfights that happen on those shows? And they get into everyone's business. It's personally invasive."

  He chuckled, then drew her close. "I promise not to slide into a catfight with you or anybody else. And as for invasive, I think that's more Real Housewives than Austin renovations."

  "Maybe." She stopped pacing. "You think?" She sat down on the couch. "I don't know."

  He sat on the coffee table across from her, then took her hands. "Is there something else bothering you? Because from where I'm sitting, the possibility of being the featured attraction on a nationwide show about property renovations—especially when those shows are so damn popular—seems like a pretty sweet deal."

  "No—yes. I'm tired. Everything just seems so fuzzy today. I think I'm just tired."

  He moved beside her, then felt her forehead.

  She smiled, just a little. "I'm not sick."

  "You don't feel warm," he confirmed, but he couldn't shake the fingers of worry creeping up his spine. Jenna so rarely got sick, but when she did, it was usually something that put her out of commission for weeks. Mono in high school. Pneumonia in college.

  "I'm fine," she repeated, and he realized he was still pressing against her forehead. "Just doing too much."

  "And you'll make yourself sick if you keep it up."

  "Things to do," she said. "And I'll be over the hump soon."

  He made a rough noise in the back of his throat, not sure if he was acknowledging the truth of what she said, or dreading that final push. All he knew was that she was fading, and he needed to take care of her. And at the same time, how?

  If a guy was being a dick to her in a bar, he could—and had—told the guy to get lost or lose a tooth.

  If her car broke down, he could—and had—rescued her.

  If she was hungry, he could feed her. If she was sad, he
could cheer her up.

  But what could he do if she was sick? Nothing except force-feed her vitamins and make her get some sleep. And with Jenna that was always harder than it should be. Unless...

  He got up.

  "Where are you going?"

  "I'll be right back," he said, then returned with a small glass of water and some pills. "Vitamin C, zinc, and a couple of Ibuprofen, just in case I'm wrong about the fever."

  "Reece, please. I don't—"

  "Can't hurt. Might help. Swallow them."

  She looked at his face, and he knew what she saw there. A message that she denied him at her own peril. "Fine," she said, then took the pills as he went back to the kitchen. Then he went up to the loft-style bedroom before returning to her.

  "What was that about?"

  He tilted his head up, but was pleased to see that nothing in the bedroom was visible other than the light cast by the ceiling fan's fixture. "Nothing much," he said. "Just putting you to bed. You're tired, you need sleep. Relaxation."

  "I need to get my second wind, check my emails, make sure the contestants have signed model releases, make sure we have—"

  "And it'll all be there in the morning. Upstairs. Now. Either you walk, or I carry you, but either way, you're getting in bed."

  He could see that she was tempted to make him carry her, and he would have been happy to. But then she glanced toward the spiral staircase, seemed to think better of it, and preceded him up the stairs. When she reached the landing, she stopped with a gasp, then turned around to face him.

  He'd turned the fan's light off using the remote halfway up, leaving the only illumination from the candles he'd lit when he'd made his quick trip only moments ago. Now, the room was lit by the glow of four candles on a table that also held a bottle of Cabernet and two wine glasses. It also held four black silk ties and a padded blindfold.

  "Oh," she said, her tone rising with a question. But at the same time, her voice held so much heat that he knew he'd made the right decision.

  "All for you," he said. "You need to relax. And I'm going to make sure you do."