Heartless Havoc : A Hero Club Novel

by J. L. Leslie

  Anneliese reaches for a piece of the shrimp on the tray and the woman pulls it away from her. My fiancée’s blue eyes narrow on the woman, her lips pursing.

  “I wouldn’t if I were ―”

  “How dare you,” Anneliese hisses, “You are here to serve me.”

  The server’s green gaze flickers from me back to Anneliese, her eyes pleading as she continues to keep the tray at a distance. When she goes to speak, Anneliese cuts her off once more.

  “Give me a fucking piece of shrimp,” she orders, her voice low. “Or I’ll have your insignificant job.”

  I see a shift in the server, something flashes in her eyes before she holds the tray out to Anneliese, her head bowed.

  “My apologies,” she says. “Take all you wish.”

  After Anneliese picks up a few pieces of shrimp, she dismisses the woman with a wave of her hand. I watch as she disappears into the kitchen only to see her emerge moments later and exit through the back door.

  “Come mingle with me,” Anneliese says between bites. “We need to be seen together.”

  “No.”

  She hears the finality in my tone. I’m not in the damn mood to mingle. She does this little pout that has zero effect on me and when she realizes she isn’t changing my mind, she saunters off.

  I scan the room and see that my father is engaged in conversation with one of our board members. Everyone in attendance is either an employee of HLS, business associate, or one of Anneliese’s vapid friends. There isn’t a single person in this room I’m interested in having a conversation with. Except for one.

  Knowing my decision is a rash one, I go in search of the server. For whatever reason, she has piqued my curiosity. Besides, I want to know why she didn’t want to serve Anneliese the shrimp.

  I find her outside on the terrace, pacing back and forth while she speaks to someone on the phone. It’s clear she hasn’t noticed I’ve joined her. I put my hands in my pocket and gaze at her.

  She’s taken her hair down, and as she talks, she runs her fingers through the crimson waves, mumbling a curse each time she reaches a knot. She’s folded up the long sleeves of her shirt and is barefoot, her heels stashed beside one of the chairs.

  “It was going great!” she tells whomever she is speaking to. “All right, that’s total bullshit. It’s been a disaster!”

  I would love to know what the other person is saying, but I don’t have that luxury. She carries on her one-sided conversation, still oblivious that she has an audience.

  “There was a leak or something in the bathroom and I got soaked, not to mention that I broke off the faucet handle. I’m wearing a server’s uniform, Claire, a damn server’s uniform!”

  I stifle a chuckle, now having an explanation about why she’s dressed differently and why Arnie, the maintenance guy, was dispatched to the upstairs bathroom.

  “And I stole a rubber band! I changed in an office and needed to do something with my hair, so I stole a rubber band. I stole from my clients!” she reveals, on the verge of hysterics. “Oh, and I hid underneath a desk while two people had sex on it!”

  Well, shit. I wasn’t expecting her to say that. Now, I want to know who was fucking in my house. In my office.

  “That’s not the worst part, Claire!”

  Holy shit, it gets worse?

  “I served someone food that had been on the floor!”

  The laugh escapes my mouth before I can stop it and she abruptly turns and stares at me, gobsmacked. She disconnects her phone call, and her face is flaming nearly as red as the color of her hair.

  I take in the woman before me. She’s a bit of a mess, with her hair tangled and her clothes disheveled from her pacing. She doesn’t have a trace of makeup on.

  Is it wrong that my dick jumps to life at the sight of her?

  “I’m Havoc,” I introduce myself, so used to telling people to call me by my last name that giving her my first name never occurs to me. “This is my father’s party.”

  Three

  Frankie

  I think back to the rambling I was just doing, trying to remember every single word that escaped my mouth. I’m pretty sure I admitted to him that I fed his father’s guests food that fell on the floor.

  “I didn’t mean any of that,” I lie. “Nothing I said or that you may have heard me say. I was simply playing a joke on my friend. That’s all. Really.”

  The corner of his mouth, with his oh-so-perfect lips, curls into a smirk. With a mouth like that, I’m glad it’s his father who is getting married. If this gorgeous, sex-on-a-stick man was getting married I would give up on relationships altogether. The last relationship I had expired before the milk in my fridge did.

  “Really?” he asks me, a slight teasing tone in his voice.

  “Oh, absolutely,” I reply, balancing one hand on the chair and putting my shoes back on with the other. “I would never feed a client food that fell on the floor.”

  “Or hide underneath a desk while two people have sex,” he adds with an arch of his brow.

  “Yep, all a joke,” I say with a nervous laugh. “My friend found it hilarious.”

  “You have quite the imagination,” he muses, obviously not buying anything I’m selling.

  “That’s me! Full of imagination!”

  I make an attempt to step past him, but his arm darts out, stopping me in my tracks. He takes a step closer to me, his dark eyes fixated on my mouth as he leans in. I should back up, stop him from whatever he’s about to do, because I know he’s trouble. Men that look this good are always trouble.

  I stand perfectly still, allowing him the opportunity to ruin me. Men like this always ruin me. Not that I’ve ever had a man like this. The thought of men like this alone is enough to ruin me. The last one remotely close to being like this absolutely ruined me and he was pale in comparison to this one.

  Of course, he doesn’t kiss me like I think he might. Okay, maybe I was hoping he would. Why the hell would he though? He’s him and I’m, well, me.

  He stops with his mouth mere inches from mine and then he reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear before whispering, “Did it make you wet, la mia fiamma? Listening to that couple having sex?”

  I swallow hard, unsure of how to answer him. His question has caught me completely off guard. How can I honestly tell him I was squirming underneath that desk, squeezing my thighs together? That I knew the woman above me was receiving pleasure like none I have ever felt?

  “Yes,” the answer slips from my lips in a light whisper.

  He drops his arm, and we stand beside each other for a brief moment before I hastily make my escape.

  The entire time I’m walking through the Havoc estate, I’m asking myself what in the hell just happened. The Adonis talked dirty to me! I’m fairly sure I liked it! Okay, I definitely liked it!

  Deciding that being out in the open like I am isn’t a good idea, not in my flustered condition, I go into the kitchen and make myself busy overseeing the servers. I cannot have another disaster on my hands this evening.

  “Keep this tray in your hands,” I tease the server who dropped the shrimp and Billy blushes before taking the tray from me. I don’t give him too much hell. He usually only makes deliveries. The other servers we have working for us tonight are Erin’s friends from college.

  “Ugh,” Erin walks into the kitchen and places her empty tray on the table before grabbing another one. “I feel sorry for the groom. The bride is a total bi–”

  I immediately shush her before she can finish. Honestly, with uber-rich folks like the Havocs, you have no idea if they are listening through an intercom somehow and I cannot afford to lose this gig. If they love us, Claire and I can book more gigs like this.

  “She’s probably stressed and in bridezilla mode at the moment,” I say, making up an excuse for the woman when I don’t even know her.

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly the reason she’s a raging bitch.”

  “Be nice,” I warn, and Erin rolls h
er eyes.

  She’s one of the first employees Claire and I hired when we started F&C’s Catering. My sister saw Erin waitressing at a shitty bar downtown and immediately offered her a job. What can I say? Pretty blondes get a lot of attention. Too bad I’m a pasty, redhead.

  “That was nice,” Erin quips with a grin.

  I roll my eyes and put some finishing touches on a few trays of hors-d’oeurves before sending them out. Prior to my run-in outside with the man of my dreams, I did manage to mingle a bit and get my name out there. A super adorable couple assured me they would be hiring us in the future, and I believe the blue-haired woman. She genuinely seemed to be in love with my food.

  I spend the rest of the night in the kitchen, hell bent on not making a fool of myself any further. Besides, this is where I belong. That elite, fabulous life out there is not for me. I’m too clumsy and have too much word vomit for that lifestyle.

  Four

  Havoc

  The party has finally wound down and I’ve made my escape to my upstairs office. I’ve been given congratulations more times than I can count and played pretend long enough.

  If I had to keep up the charade any longer, I would call the whole thing off. The details of the prenuptial agreement are making my stomach churn. Spending five years of my life married to Anneliese isn’t worth it. I can find another way to make my father happy while branching out on my own at the same time.

  I sit back in my chair and pour myself a glass of whiskey, letting the brown liquid ease down my throat before placing the half-empty glass on the table. It’s then that I notice a necklace on my floor.

  I bend over and pick it up, rubbing the silver locket with my fingers. I open the clasp and smile at a small picture of the redheaded server on one side and another woman who looks similar to her on the other. I wonder if they’re related.

  Before I can close it, the door to the office opens and the woman I was just thinking of slips inside, easing the door shut behind her. She turns around and nearly jumps out of her skin, making me chuckle.

  “I am so sorry!” she says, her hand at her chest. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

  “Only me.”

  I notice her cheeks tinge a light shade of pink as she lowers her hand. She stays standing at the door and I arch an eyebrow at her.

  “Were you looking for something?” I ask. “Or were you hoping to hide under the desk for round two?”

  That tinge darkens at least three shades. She clears her throat and then swallows, unable to speak. It takes her a second to compose herself and for some odd reason, I find this sexy as hell.

  “I think I may have lost my necklace in here earlier,” she explains. “It’s a locket.”

  I hold it up and can immediately see the relief on her face. She quickly approaches the desk and I hold out the piece of jewelry for her, only to pull it back before she can take it from me.

  “Stay, la mia fiamma.”

  She furrows her brow. “I’m sorry?”

  “Stay a bit. Have a drink with me.”

  She looks around the room, her green eyes obviously curious, but hesitant at the same time. I’m an engaged man, but she’s unaware of that. I am though, so, why would I ask her to stay and have a drink with me?

  Because I’m glutton for punishment, that’s why.

  I can’t have this delectable creature in front of me, not in any sense beyond a temporary gratification, yet, here I am, torturing myself with the idea that a mere taste will be enough.

  “You don’t have any chairs,” she muses. “And you only have the one glass.”

  I stand up, grabbing the glass and bottle from my desk. I walk around to where she’s standing and unceremoniously drop to the floor, crossing my legs and sitting like I’m some grade school kid. I pour some whiskey into the glass and hold it up to her while I take a sip straight from the bottle.

  I sense her hesitance yet again, but she lowers herself to the floor and then takes the glass from me. Our fingertips brush ever so slightly, and I swear, my entire fucking body feels the heat from that minor touch.

  “My sister and I once finished off a bottle of Rebel Yell our parents had and I swore I would never drink whiskey again for the rest of my life,” she says right before taking a sip. “But this is the good stuff. Can’t turn down a glass of Macallan.”

  “I wouldn’t turn down a glass of Rebel Yell,” I reply with a grin. “Is your sister the other photo in the locket?”

  She nods. “That’s an old photo of the both of us, but yes. We’re fraternal twins. We own the catering company together.”

  “And here I thought you were a simple server.”

  “Mr. Havoc, there is nothing simple about a server,” she points out.

  “It’s Havoc,” I correct. “My father is Mr. Havoc.”

  “What’s your first name?” she asks, and I shake my head.

  “No one calls me by my first name,” I let her know. “And what should I call you?”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Benjamin. No, wait, Henry.”

  “You want me to call you Henry?” I ask, completely confused.

  She bursts out laughing, and it’s the best sound I’ve heard all damn night. It’s honest and from her gut, and I don’t believe I’ve ever witnessed a woman be so genuine.

  “No, silly, I’m guessing your first name. Mine is Frankie.”

  “Frankie,” I repeat, liking the way it feels on my tongue.

  “Well, really it’s Francine, but everyone calls me Frankie,” she says. “What does la mia fiamma mean? You’ve called me that twice…Ronald?”

  I shake my head. “Not even close.”

  “I’m really good at this game,” she assures me and finishes off her glass of whiskey, not realizing that I didn’t answer her question.

  “How often have you played it?” I ask.

  “You would be surprised…Michael.”

  I laugh a little. “No but keep trying. I’m enjoying this immensely.”

  I’m teasing her, flirting almost, and I can tell from the way she bites her bottom lip that she’s enjoying it. To ensure the moment doesn’t end, I lean forward and top off her glass.

  “What made you get into the catering business?” I ask, hoping that she’ll stay and keep talking to me. If this is all we do all night, I’ll be satisfied, but if the night ends with my cock buried deep inside her warm cunt, well, that would be satisfying as well.

  “My sister and I have always enjoyed cooking, ever since we were kids. My mom had a lot of cookbooks and she would let us pick a recipe and have at it. Any recipe we picked. We were actually good at it, so we would cook the family meals during the holidays and for parties and got the bright idea to start selling things we made. We earned ourselves some money and it just grew from there. My parents moved out of state, and we turned their house into our business.”

  “F&C’s?”

  “Frankie and Claire’s,” she explains. “You know, if your father needs someone to cater the wedding, we’re up for that, too. Just saying.”

  “I will let him know,” I answer with a chuckle, figuring out that she assumes he’s the one getting married. I opt not to correct her error.

  “And I promise not to serve any food that’s fallen on the floor,” she says, trying to keep a straight face.

  “She deserved it.”

  “Oh my God, I felt awful, but she was so rude about it!” she exclaims.

  “I imagine she’s had worse things in her mouth.”

  Her eyes go wide and then she bursts out laughing. I know if I were to never hear that sound again, I would live the rest of my life in disappointment.

  Five

  Frankie

  Maybe God is giving me a break tonight. I certainly deserve one. After how disastrous it started, I figure the big man must’ve decided I need something good to come out of it. The good that’s coming out of it is this man who calls himself Havoc. Simply Havoc. The name alone should be a warning.

 
The warning signs are going off loud and clear, like a siren in the dead of the night, but I’m ignoring them all. I don’t want to think about how careless this is of me. I’ve ignored the warning signs before, and nothing good ever came from it. It always resulted in my heart being broken. Every relationship I’ve had since then has been short-lived, my fear of being hurt keeping me from really letting anyone else in. Havoc has all the makings of a great heartbreaker.

  This man is not only extremely good-looking, but he’s charming, funny, and did I mention extremely good-looking? Yes, one hell of a heartbreaker.

  I’m not exactly sure when we finished off his bottle of Macallan, but I slipped off my high heels at least an hour ago and we started going through his record collection. The records take up two shelves on his bookcase. Yes, this man has an actual vinyl record collection.

  Swoon.

  As I flip through his records, he tells me where he got each record and why he bought it. I find it endearing that his mom, whom he calls his madre because he’s Italian ― another swoon ― got him started on this collection. Even though he didn’t divulge that she’s passed away, it’s clear to me that she has by the way he talks about her. Yet, he still continues to collect.

  Although we only met tonight, I get the feeling he has shown me a side of himself he rarely reveals. Of course, he still hasn’t revealed his first name, and every now and again I toss out a guess like Leo or Wilbur only to hear him chuckle and shake his head.

  As I point to different records, he tells the story behind it and peels away a deeper layer, making me want to know more and more about the man who traveled nine hours for a Phil Collins’ record on his mom’s birthday.

  “Ah, this one was always her favorite,” he says, pulling a Bill Withers’ record from the shelf.

  He removes the record from its sheath and places it on the player. The initial crackling sounds through the room before the music begins. He stands with his back to me, hands in his pockets, for a moment before I go to him.