Page 15 of The Aster Valley Collection, Vol. 1

Being Bruce Lester’s temporary yes-man was the perfect way to keep money coming in while I found the right permanent job. Ultimately, my dream was to open a cafe, but I still needed both more cooking and some small-business management experience before I would feel confident going out on my own.

“By the way,” I said, happy to change the subject, “Bruce asked me to arrange for lunch for the management meeting tomorrow. Will you be there? If not, I can bring some food to your office. It’s nothing fancy. I’m making grilled chicken and the pasta salad you like.”

Coach nodded and said he’d be in the meeting. Mom smiled at the news and offered to help. “I’m happy to be your co-pilot, dear. We can get started prepping after dinner.”

I returned her smile. My mother was well-meaning but flighty. I’d tried to teach her the phrase sous chef many times, but it never stuck. “That would be great. Maybe we can make some extra to take next door since Mrs. Nibert is still recovering from her knee surgery.”

Mom tittered happily at my offer and began regaling us with neighborhood gossip. For once, the topic of conversation around the table was no longer about Coach’s cocky players, the Riggers, or football in general.

The following day was jam-packed. I got up early to finish prepping and packing the lunches and made it to the practice facility just in time to help Bruce’s secretary, Greta, handle a group of unexpected VIP visitors who wanted a last-minute tour.

After showing them around and returning to serve lunch, I thought things would slow down enough for me to catch my breath.

But then Bruce called me into his office after the meeting, and I caught sight of Tiller Raine.

No gay man on earth could catch his breath when faced with this guy.

“Mikey, have you met our newest wide receiver yet? This is Tiller Raine. Tiller, Michael Vining, Coach V.’s youngest boy.”

I stared at the wide receiver like I’d never seen a famous pro football player before, which was pretty funny considering I’d been around them practically my whole life and usually didn’t give a shit one way or the other.

But this guy? I gulped. This guy was freaking gorgeous. Like… melt your feet to the floor and make you beg beautiful. His body was muscled perfection, and his messy golden-brown hair made me immediately wonder what he looked like freshly fucked.

I swallowed again, wondering if I needed a saliva gland checkup since mine seemed to be malfunctioning.

“H-hi?” I managed to say.

Tiller nodded and held out his hand for a shake. His reaction was all business, and his face was impossible to read. “Nice to meet you.”

I reached for his giant paw hesitantly. Wide receivers were known for big hands and strong grips.

But when Tiller’s hand clasped mine, it was gentle and kind.

I stared down at our joined hands and wondered how much these hands were insured for.

Incidentally, I wondered how much I’d have to pay him to keep his gentle, warm hand in mine.

I jerked my hand back and hid it behind my back. “Can… can I help you with something, Mr. Lester?”

Bruce raised his eyebrows at my formal language. He’d known me since I was a preteen, and I’d called him by his first name since I graduated high school. “Mikey, you okay?”

No. No, I was not. I shook my head to clear it from the ridiculous baller-induced brain fog and focused back on my boss. “Yes, sir. Bruce . How can I help?”

“Markus Harris reached out to me in hopes of getting some help finding a personal chef for Tiller, here. I remembered this was an area of expertise for you, so I hoped you might be able to help us.”

It wasn’t until that moment, I realized there was another man in the room. Markus Harris was a well-known sports agent who represented several of the Riggers, so I’d come across him several times in the past few years.

He didn’t like me for some reason, which meant I avoided him like the plague. I was disappointed to realize Tiller was one of his clients.

I nodded at Markus, cleared my throat, and looked back at Bruce. “I spoke to Coach about it last night. I can’t think of anyone who would be a good fit. I’m sorry. You might?—”

Just as I was preparing to suggest he reach out to the department at UT to inquire about recent grads looking for work, he held up a hand to stop me.

“You misunderstand,” Bruce said with a kind smile.

“I was hoping you might help him directly. Greta has found a permanent PA for me, so I thought this would be a great way for you to stay employed while you’re continuing your job search.

You can cook for Tiller through the season and start any new position afterward.

That way he gets help learning how to manage his diet, and you have the freedom to continue your search without feeling rushed. What do you say?”

Every square inch of my body began to sweat at once.

“Oh.” I could have really used some of that saliva right about now. My throat clicked as I tried to swallow again. “Oh.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tiller’s full mouth turn down briefly. I closed my eyes and tried not to notice him. Reason number one, this would never work.

“It’s just that…” I began. I didn’t have anything else to say, really, but I’d never been one to abide awkward silence.

Markus eyed me from his spot on a nearby chair. “Didn’t you work for Nelson Evangelista?”

“Yes, but?—”

“Then you already know the demands of a professional ballplayer’s career and schedule,” he interjected. “You’re familiar with the demands of confidentiality. In fact, I assume you already have an NDA on file with the league as you are Coach Vining’s son.”

“Of course, but?—”

His smile was sharklike. “Then it’s settled. The sooner Tiller can get this sorted out, the better. You can move into the apartment over the garage and start tomorrow.”

My heart thundered as I remembered my dad’s fist banging on the table last night. “I don’t think Coach would?—”

Bruce offered me another familial smile. “Don’t you worry about Coach. I’ll handle him. Besides, it was his idea Tiller get a personal chef in the first place.”

I snuck a glance at Tiller, who was standing next to me looking as shell-shocked as I was.

“But…” I tried again.

Markus let out an impatient sigh. “Whatever Evangelista was paying you, we’ll double it and include room and board if you’re willing to use the apartment. Especially if you also agree to take on some PA duties. So long as you’re using his kitchen, you may as well manage the household as well.”

Suddenly, the vision of my own little cafe became a little clearer. Nelson had paid me an outrageous sum to be his personal assistant. Even if I only spent the next six months working at twice the rate, I’d save up a ton of money and get the hell out of my parents’ house.

“And the garage apartment is completely separate?” I asked, clarifying that this would not exactly be a live-in situation like before.

Tiller nodded. “I’m not looking for live-in help, but you’re welcome to the apartment. There is a back entrance to the kitchen, so you can use it without coming into the rest of the house.”

He said it in a way that implied I was somehow interested in getting all up in his personal business. “I know the house,” I snapped. “I’ve been there many times.”

Tiller’s eyes widened in surprise. “Good, then you won’t need my help getting settled,” he gritted out.

As if , I wanted to hiss. Instead, I turned back to Bruce. “And it’s just for the rest of the season?”

Markus was the one who answered. “Definitely. In the meantime, I’ll look for someone more permanent for Mr. Raine during the off-season so you can be on your merry way.”

I didn’t bother looking at him. “Fine.”

Bruce chuckled lightly under his breath. “Mikey, you’re your father’s son. Fiery and forthright. Can’t hide your real feelings to save your life. Carry on.” He gestured me out the door with a flap of his hand.

When I stepped back out into the open space by Greta’s desk, I let out a deep breath and put my hands on my knees as if I’d survived running through a maze full of creepy-crawlies.

“Everything alright, dear?” Greta asked with a knowing smile.

“A little heads-up would have been appreciated,” I muttered.

Her eyes sparkled above her reading glasses. “Aw, where’s the fun in that?”

“You hired a PA?”

She nodded. “You remember April Samina from the travel department?”

I pictured the young, energetic woman and knew right away Greta had made the perfect choice. “Fine,” I said with a dramatic huff. “I know when I’m outshined and outmatched.”

“It’s always good to maintain your dignity as you depart the field, darling,” she said with a sniff. “Even after a historic loss.”

“I want my pasta salad back,” I told her with a laugh, standing up straight and trying to stretch the tension out of my body. I’d brought her an extra tub of it to take home for her husband.

She grinned. “Too late. I ate the whole thing, even Reggie’s portion.”

I snorted and began to twist at the waist, but I ran right into a delicious-cologne-smelling beast.

“Oh, fuck,” I blurted, windmilling my arms in an effort not to keel over.

Strong hands grabbed my sides and held me upright. I glanced up into Tiller Raine’s stormy-gray eyes and tried not to get a stupid crush on a cocky rookie football player which meant I jumped back with a choking grunt sound and almost fell over again.

The edge of Tiller’s mouth turned up the barest amount. I glared at him. “I’m fine, thanks,” I snapped before reminding myself this person was now my boss.

Tiller’s nostrils flared. “Listen, Mikey. You don’t need to like this,” he said in a low voice. “And I don’t need to like this. But we both have a job to do, so let’s just focus on the job. Got it?”

For some reason, that hurt. I wanted to be allowed to dislike him for no reason, but the same didn’t apply to him disliking me.

“It’s Michael, actually,” I corrected, even though absolutely zero people used my full name outside of doctors and government offices. “And yeah, focus on the job. Fine.”

How many times could I possibly use that word in one day?”

“Fine,” he repeated with a nod.

“Yeah. Fine .”

We stared at each other for a few beats before Tiller seemed to snap out of it and reached into his pocket for his keys.

He pulled one off the key ring, and I tried not to notice the ancient worn leather fob that looked like it belonged in some kind of museum.

My dad had mentioned Tiller’s old truck.

I didn’t want to notice endearing things about my new boss. Therein lay madness.

“Key to the apartment,” he said gruffly, handing it over. “I’ll get a copy of the house key made and bring it over to you after practice.”

I noted his use of the word practice instead of calling it as work like the old-timers did. Rookie . “Thanks,” I managed before remembering what I’d been hired for. “Any allergies, picky eating, or health issues I need to know for your diet?”

He shook his head. “Whatever is fine.”

Great. Fine . I’m sure I could narrow down the choices from about ten thousand options. No problem. “So… I’ll just… throw together anything?”

Markus had joined us at this point and decided to weigh in with a big annoying clap on Tiller’s shoulder. “He’s a pretty laid-back guy. It’s what makes him such a team player. Isn’t it, Raine?”

Team player or annoyingly unhelpful?

The great Tiller Raine gave us a sum total of one word in response. “Sure.” Which suited me just fine. This time I’d made myself a promise. No sleeping with jackass ballplayers. No sleeping with players of any kind, in fact. And absolutely no sleeping with my boss.