Chapter 3 #2
“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?
And then he starts walking. Straight toward me.
But something’s wrong. His jaw is tight, brows drawn together, and there’s a storm in his expression that makes my stomach drop. He looks… angry. Really angry.
Oh crap. What did I do?
The noise of the bar fades as he closes the distance. Taylor and Mikey have stopped their game. I can feel the whole crew’s attention shifting. Xander steps slightly to the side, giving us space, but he doesn’t leave.
Olivier stops a couple of feet away, arms crossed over his chest. Up close, he’s even more intimidating, all compact muscle, controlled energy, the faint scent of kitchen smoke and something spicy clinging to him.
“Danny, right?” His voice is low, clipped.
I nod, throat dry. “Y-yeah. Hi. Um… what are you doing here?”
Smooth, Danny. Real smooth.
His eyes narrow. “I could ask you boys the same thing. This your idea of a good time after I just comped you a five-star meal?”
I blink, confused. “I… we just wanted some beers and pool. This place has good reviews—”
“Good reviews,” Olivier repeats, voice flat. “You looked up my restaurant too, I assume. Decided it wasn’t enough?”
My face burns. “No! That’s not—your food was incredible. Seriously. Best meal I’ve had in forever. We just… we’re construction guys. This is more our speed after work.”
Olivier studies me for a long moment, and I swear I can’t breathe. The anger in his eyes hasn’t faded, but there’s something else there too—something that makes my knees feel weak.
Xander clears his throat lightly. “Olivier. Everything okay?”
Olivier’s gaze flicks to Xander, then back to me. “Fine. I heard your crew was heading to one of the local spots. Figured I’d see how the other half lives.” His tone softens, but only a fraction. “Didn’t expect to find the guy who couldn’t stop staring at me all night hiding out in a dive bar.”
Oh God.
The crew erupts in low whistles and chuckles. Mikey yells, “Busted!” from the pool table. My face is on fire. I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
“I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t mean to—” I stammer, gripping my beer like a lifeline.
Olivier steps closer, close enough that I have to look down to meet his eyes. Even angry, he’s gorgeous. Maybe especially angry.
“Relax,” he says, voice quieter now but still edged. “I’m not here to bite your head off. Though you’re making it tempting.”
I swallow hard. “Sorry. For… staring. Earlier.”
He tilts his head, considering me. The anger seems to ease, replaced by something sharper, more intense. “Don’t apologize. Just don’t hide in corners when you’re interested in something. Or someone.”
My heart slams against my ribs. Is he… flirting? After storming in here like he wanted to yell at us?
Xander chuckles beside me. “I think that’s my cue to grab another pitcher. Olivier, you sticking around?”
Olivier doesn’t look away from me. “Maybe. Depends if this one can handle a real conversation…”
The crew hoots again.
Taylor calls out, “Danny can handle anything, chef! He’s our forklift king!”
I shoot Taylor a desperate look, but he just grins. Traitor!
Olivier’s lips twitch—the barest hint of a smile. “We’ll see about that.”
He pulls out a stool at the nearest high-top and sits, gesturing to the empty one across from him. “Sit. Drink. Tell me why a guy built like you gets flustered when someone looks back…”
I hesitate, legs feeling like jelly. But Olivier’s eyes don’t leave mine, and there’s a command there I can’t ignore.
Okay. Okay, I can do this.
I slide onto the stool, hands wrapped around my beer, trying to ignore the fact that the entire crew is watching like this is the best entertainment they’ve had all week.
Olivier leans forward slightly, elbows on the table. “Start talking, boy…”
And just like that, I’m in way over my head.
But God help me. I don’t want to be anywhere else right now…