“Your break was weak as hell, Mikey!” Taylor crows, lining up his shot. The cue ball cracks against the rack, solids scattering everywhere. “That’s how you do it. Watch and learn, boys. Watch and learn…”
Mikey flips him off, grinning. “Luck. Pure luck. Wait till I run the table, big man. Your ass is grass.”
Taylor is reffing, calling fouls that neither of them listens to, while Lane and a couple of the other guys shout encouragement from the sidelines. I’m leaning against the wall near the booth, nursing a pint, content to watch. The banter is easy, familiar, and for the first time tonight I feel like I can breathe. No crystalglasses or perfect lighting here—just good beer and better company.
I’m chuckling at Mikey’s terrible attempt at a bank shot when Xander appears beside me, two fresh beers in hand. He offers me one, and I take it gratefully.
“You holding up okay, Danny?” he asks, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry over the noise.
“Yeah, definitely,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. “This place is great. Good call on my part, right?”
Xander smiles, that calm, steady smile that makes him such a good boss.
“Solid call. You saved us from wandering the streets like lost puppies.” He pauses, studying me for a second. “You know it’s okay to be quiet at first, right? New crew, new city—takes time to settle in. Nobody’s judging you for hanging back a little.”
My cheeks heat up instantly.Damnit. I thought I was hiding it better than that.
“I… yeah,” I mumble, staring into my beer. “I guess it’s kinda obvious, huh?”
“A little,” Xander admits, but there’s no judgment in his tone, just warmth. “But seriously, Danny, we’ve all been the new guy at some point. You’re doing great on site, and you’re fitting in just fine. Give it time. You’ll be trash-talking with the rest of these idiots before you know it.”
I laugh softly, the knot in my chest loosening. “Thanks, Xander. That… means a lot.”
Xander claps a big hand on my shoulder, squeezing once before letting go. “Anytime.”
Then his expression shifts, something knowing flickering in his eyes. “So. Speaking of fitting in… what did you think of Olivier back at the restaurant?”
My stomach flips. The memory of those sharp eyes locking onto mine flashes through my head, and heat rushes to my face again.
“He, uh… he seems nice,” I say. “Generous, with the meal and everything.”
Xander arches a brow. “Nice. That’s the word you’re going with?”
I swallow hard. There’s no escaping this, is there? “Fine. He’s kind of… hot. Like, really hot. Okay?”
The words tumble out, and I immediately want to die.
I risk a glance at Xander, expecting him to laugh or tease me like the others would. But he just nods, a small smile playing at his lips.
“Yeah, I figured,” he says. “Olivier’s got that whole intense Daddy thing going on. Hard to miss.”
My heart stutters at the word Daddy.
Xander said it so casually, like it’s just a normal part of conversation. Does he know? About me? About all of us? I mean, of course he does—he’s the one who built this crew. But hearing it out loud still catches me off guard.
Before I can respond, Xander tilts his head toward the door. “Well, if you think he’s hot, why don’t you tell him that?”
I follow his gaze, and my breath catches in my throat.
Olivier.
He’s standing just inside the entrance, scanning the room. He’s changed out of his chef whites into a dark sweatshirt that hugs his lean frame, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, black jeans that fit just right. The silver in his beard catches the low light, and even from here I can feel the intensity radiating off him.
Our eyes meet across the bar.
Time slows. Olivier’s gaze pins me in place, dark and unreadable. My pulse thuds in my ears.
What is he doing here? How did he even know we’d be at this bar?
