Beauregard and the Beast

by Evie Drae

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Coming in September 2019

  Don’t Miss Dreamspun Desires!

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Beauregard and the Beast

  By Evie Drae

  A Once Upon a Vegas Night Tale

  His greatest prize can’t be won in the octagon.

  Champion MMA fighter Adam Littrell needs no distractions as he prepares for the fight that will determine whether he retires. But when he opens the door of his swanky Las Vegas home to his new personal assistant, Bo Wilkins, staying focused becomes a struggle.

  Aware of Adam’s surly reputation, Bo doesn't expect to like his new employer, let alone fall for him. But Bo is pleasantly surprised when a shared love of books leads them to study for their GEDs together and plan for a life after their current careers. Adam won't be able to fight forever, and Bo wants a relationship on equal footing.

  But just as their relationship is getting off the ground, the sister Bo raised needs his help, and he drops everything. With Adam’s final match looming and Bo in a different city, reuniting will be the real challenge.

  …Adam lifted one of the treats to his mouth. He closed his eyes as he took a bite, letting his head fall back on a decadent, throaty little moan. “Oh my God, dude, I could kiss you right now.”

  To my husband, Benjamin, and our fur baby, Bacchus. Without your endless love, support, and patience, I couldn’t do what I do.

  Acknowledgments

  THE journey from a wannabe writer to a published novelist is a long and arduous one. They say it takes a village to raise a child, but it takes nearly as many to nurture an author. I’d like to extend all the “thank-yous” and send a million hugs, kisses, and chocolate to the following:

  First, to Benjamin, the best life partner anyone could ever ask for, who puts my dreams at the top of our to-do list and endures my writing-induced tantrums with grace and civility. To my mother, who instilled the love of reading into me at a very young age. To my father and stepmother, who never fail to ask about and root for my writerly triumphs. To my brother, Andy, and his wife and daughter, Shaila and Ava, who will undoubtedly be among my first sales, even though Ava won’t be allowed to read this story until she’s at least eighteen. To my whole in-law clan, who love me as if I were a blooded daughter, sister, and aunt. To my Dollface, who always believes in me even when my self-doubt is at its highest. To Becky, who takes the love and devotion of a “twin sister” to a whole new level.

  To my endlessly patient and supportive agent, Eva Scalzo, who is always there to hold my hand and respond to my anxiety-riddled emails. To my first editor, Sione Aeschliman, who taught me the value of professional feedback and how to make my words sparkle. To Dreamspun Desires’s acquisitions editor Sue Brown-Moore, who saw potential in my voice and made my writerly dreams come true. To my senior editor, Desi Chapman, and all the rest of Dreamspinner Press’s amazing editorial staff, who helped make my words the best they could be.

  To my incredible Twitter #amwriting community—most especially my #writeLGBTQ+ lovelies—who hold me up and keep me going, day in and day out. To my CPs/betas/writing cheerleaders—Jess, Hannah, Meka, Marit, Lindsay, Sarah, Courtney, Brent, Scott, Maureen, Cora, Tara, Julie, Alex, Jenn, Tia, J, Heather, Karen, and Micah—you’re all gods and goddesses in my world. To my biggest supporters in this project, Laz and Kristina, whose verbal pom-poms made this book possible. And finally, to my alpha reader and BFF, Lily, who holds the distinctive honor of being the first person to ever read my non-academic words. Without her encouragement, love, and late-night pep talks, I wouldn’t be here today.

  Chapter One

  EVEN in the air-conditioned interior of Adam’s sprawling desert estate, the Las Vegas sun was oppressive. Late afternoon rays slanted through the blinds. They fell in even bands across the dove gray leather of the sofa, heating his bare skin.

  He’d made the right decision to forgo anything more than boxer briefs for his Sunday laze.

  When the doorbell echoed through the two-story, open-concept living space, he frowned. Pushing to an elbow, he shut off the Raiders game. The chime sounded again, this time ringing out three times in quick succession. He chuckled. Only one person pounded on his bell with such ferocious impatience.

  Kyle Bryant, his manager and longtime friend.

  After bouncing to his feet, Adam hustled to the front door and threw it open. The grin splitting his face sank into a scowl. Kyle wasn’t alone.

  Shorter than Adam’s six-foot-three-inch height by a solid half foot, Kyle was still taller than the man beside him, who couldn’t be more than five and a half feet tall and a buck-thirty soaking wet.

  “You forgot, didn’t you?” Kyle rolled his eyes, gave Adam’s shoulder a shove, then barreled through the door. “If I go out of my way to play errand boy, the least you can do is make a note somewhere. Put a stickie on your goddamn mirror. Something.”

  Adam squinted an eye and glanced from Kyle, who’d made his way into the kitchen and had his ass in the air as he rummaged through the refrigerator, to the man still standing on his front porch. What had he forgotten? It was Sunday. His one day of semirest. Why would he agree to whatever the hell this was?

  A pink flush colored the new guy’s cheeks as he shifted from one foot to the other. Gorgeous green eyes bugged behind a pair of vintage browline glasses. He clutched an overstuffed duffel bag against his chest, and a large suitcase sat at his feet.

  It was the luggage that finally flipped Adam’s mental switch. Kyle had mentioned something earlier in the week about receiving a recommendation for someone to take over as his new personal assistant. He’d been without a PA for a couple of weeks now, after his last one got engaged and fled Sin City in favor of finding a place better suited to raising a family. Hiring a new one hadn’t topped Adam’s priority list—mostly because few things did unless they were related to his training—but Kyle didn’t favor letting the position sit vacant for long.

  Admittedly, Adam was forgetful on a good day and downright obtuse on his worst. Without someone else in his life to keep his schedule and maintain the bare necessities of his existence, he became an albatross around Kyle’s neck. Which explained the luggage-wielding stranger on Adam’s porch.

  To save his own sanity, Kyle had taken it upon himself to locate and hire a replacement. Adam had declined any interest in the selection or interview process. He trusted Kyle’s instincts, and if Kyle deemed this awkward young man worthy enough to keep his ass in line, he would too.

  Kyle resurfaced with a Styrofoam to-go box in one hand and a beer in the other. “Aren’t you gonna invite the kid in? Or do you plan to make him stand in the hundred-and-ten-degree heat until he passes out on your front stoop?”


  Adam narrowed his eyes. “That’s my dinner. Why don’t you put it back where you found it before I have reason to make you?”

  “Threatening the defenseless old man in charge of your career is hardly a wise move.” Kyle headed for the living room to eat his prize, rather than the kitchen to put it away. “Let the kid in and close the damn door. My balls are sweating.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Adam pinched his brow. “My career’s over, anyway.”

  Which was true. Mostly. He had a fight coming up to defend his middleweight title. If he lost, that was it. Thirty-eight was near geriatric in the world of mixed martial arts, after all. Retirement was a logical next step. The only problem was, he had no clue what to do with his life if he quit fighting.

  He rolled his shoulders. Now wasn’t the time to worry about that. He’d worry when he lost, which he had no intention of doing. Not yet, at least. He turned his attention to his new personal assistant and gestured toward the bag at his feet. “Need help with that?”

  “Ah, no, I’ve got it, but thanks.” The man’s voice broke midsentence, and if possible, his cheeks flared a deeper crimson. He ducked his chin, lifted his mammoth suitcase, and scurried over the threshold.

  Adam suppressed a sigh and closed the door. He was used to people’s fear. It was part of the package. Early in his career, following a brutal welterweight title fight where he’d KO’d the previous champ in the first thirty seconds of round one, he’d received a nickname—the Beast. Although it didn’t suit his true personality, he’d bent to the expectations it demanded and adopted a public persona befitting the name.

  Hoping to ease the man’s apprehension, he offered a soft smile and stuck out his hand. “Since Kyle’s too busy eating my dinner to introduce us, we’ll have to handle the deed ourselves. Name’s Adam. What’s yours?”

  The guy dropped his suitcase with a thud, winced, then took Adam’s proffered hand with a small, clammy palm. “Beauregard Wilkins, Mr., ah, Mr. Beast, sir.”

  Stifling a laugh to conserve the poor man’s dignity, Adam widened his grin instead. “Just Adam. No ‘Beast’ among friends and definitely no ‘Mr.’” He folded his arms. The act reminded him of his shirtless, pantsless state. Perhaps the excessive blushing was less about dread and more about unease. Meeting your new boss in his underwear would be a tad uncomfortable, after all. “So, Beauregard, eh? Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

  “Ah, actually, I prefer Bo.” The tips of Bo’s ears pinked. “If that’s okay, sir.”

  Adam held up both hands. “Hey, it’s your name, kid. I’ll call you whatever you want me to call you, as long as you quit saying ‘sir.’ I may be at least two decades your senior, but I prefer not to be reminded of my old age within the comfort of my own home.”

  Bo swallowed, the bobbing lump at his throat belying his attempt at a calm, collected appearance. “It’s not two decades, and I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-five.” A hint of emotion, bordering on anger—or at the very least, frustration—flickered to life in his eyes. “I won’t call you ‘sir’ if you don’t call me ‘kid.’”

  The set of Bo’s jaw and sureness of his words warred with the quiver in his voice. But damn if the contradiction of it all didn’t send an unexpected zing of lust straight into Adam’s groin. Especially with that hint of underlying courage and control despite his apparent nerves.

  Nope. Not happening. Hooking up with an employee was never a good idea. Plus, Adam didn’t do serious or long-term. He did short flings and one-night stands, neither of which would be advisable with someone he’d have to live with afterward. Literally live with. In the same house.

  It didn’t matter how adorable Bo was when he got grumpy or how much his lean frame and glasses totally did it for Adam. He was off-limits. A hard no.

  Clearing his throat, Adam gave a curt nod and hid his smile. “Seems like a fair trade and a reasonable request.” He nearly lost it when Bo arched a brow in response. The zing in his balls turned molten, and his dick twitched. Clothes needed to be bumped up the priority list. “Want me to show you where you’ll be staying?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Adam motioned toward the luggage at Bo’s feet. “You sure I can’t grab a bag?”

  “No.” Bo shook his head. He snatched up the suitcase, which was nearly the same size as him, and straightened his shoulders. “I’ve got it.”

  “Fair enough.” Adam gestured Bo forward. “After you.”

  When Bo hobbled toward the stairs with his burdens, Adam coughed to hide a chuckle. Damn, this man was dangerous. He was adorkable in all the best ways. Pretty much Adam’s catnip in walking, talking form.

  A low groan slipped past Adam’s lips when he mounted the stairs after Bo. Staring him straight in the face was one of the most delicious asses he’d ever seen. It was like someone had hand-picked Bo from a catalogue with all Adam’s major weaknesses in mind.

  Glasses. Slender but fit. Shy and awkward but with a spark of underlying fire. And that butt. Oh my God. Nothing quite got him like a nice round ass on an otherwise slim frame. The only thing missing was a passion for books.

  Then again, if the beads of sweat breaking out on Bo’s brow spoke anything to the weight of the suitcase he lugged behind him, there was a good chance it held more than clothes.

  Deep, rumbling laughter sounded from the living room. Adam tore his attention from the eye-level temptation and narrowed his gaze.

  Kyle winked and threw a finger gun Adam’s direction when their eyes locked.

  That bastard.

  It appeared someone had hand-picked Bo for him. Someone who, despite being his manager of all things, couldn’t grasp the concept behind Adam’s refusal to date. Relationships only got in the way of success. He couldn’t focus on his career—the very thing keeping food on both their plates—if he was gaga over some sexy little twink like Bo.

  If his father had taught him nothing else, at least he’d instilled a sense of propriety.

  “Everything okay?”

  The note of concern in Bo’s voice drew Adam’s glare from Kyle. He softened his gaze before landing it on Bo. Any sign of the previous determined irritation had fled, replaced by pinched brows and a pout.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine.” Adam smiled, willing his features neutral. “Your room is the second one on the left.”

  Bo nodded and returned to his slog, the suitcase banging against the uncarpeted wood as he tugged it up the stairs.

  Before ascending out of view, Adam flipped Kyle the bird. He rolled his eyes when a cackle met the action.

  He was so totally screwed.

  Chapter Two

  BO dragged his suitcase into the room the Beast—no, make that Adam—had indicated as his. It was nearly the same size as the studio apartment he’d shared with his sister until only that very morning.

  When he stopped short, a wall of barely clothed muscle bumped into his backside. He stumbled but didn’t go sprawling the way his klutzy nature and forward momentum should’ve led him. Instead, a pair of strong, solid arms wrapped around his waist and hoisted him upright.

  “Sorry about that. You okay?”

  The gravelly voice washed over Bo, sending shivers in its wake. He licked his lips but made no move to leave the warm circle of Adam’s unintentional embrace. “Ah, yep. Just dandy, thanks.”

  Ugh. What was his problem? Sure, he was shy, and awkward didn’t even begin to cover the gamut of his quirks and mannerisms, but he wasn’t usually this bad. He’d started plenty of new jobs where he’d squeaked by with only the minimal amount of additional nerve-related embarrassment. This was taking it to a whole new level of special.

  Adam dropped his arms and stepped around Bo’s frozen mortification. He picked up the oversized suitcase and tossed it onto the bed without the slightest hint of strain. As if the thing were full of feathers, not stocked to the gills with Bo’s most precious possessions—his books.

  “What’d you do, pack the kitchen sink in this thing?”
Adam jutted his stubble-covered chin toward the bed as he scooped up Bo’s duffel and tossed it next to the suitcase. “Didn’t anyone tell you that’s the first thing you leave behind?”

  “It’s, ah, actually filled with books.”

  Adam blinked a few times, then barked out a laugh. “Of course it is.”

  Bo ran his tongue over the back of his teeth, unsure what his new boss’s reaction meant or how best to respond. He darted a nervous glance around the room, avoiding the temptation to linger over Adam’s bare torso, and noted an empty bookshelf perfect for his treasures. He sucked in a breath. “Can I use that?”

  Adam let loose a softer chuckle, motioning into the room with open arms. “This space is yours. Make yourself at home. You know, mi casa es su casa and all that jazz.”

  According to the research Bo had done before his interview, “the Beast” had quit high school the summer between sophomore and junior year to pursue his athletics. He also had a well-documented reputation for being the stereotypical dumb jock with a temper streak a mile long.

  Bo’s first impression of his new boss was therefore born of jealous frustration. If he’d been given the choice whether to drop out of high school or not, there was no question he would’ve stayed. But that luxury had disappeared when his father succumbed to his two-year battle with cancer. Only a few months into his eighteenth year and as many shy of graduation, Bo had taken over as sole caregiver of his eleven-year-old sister, Tallulah.

  Little Lulu was now eighteen herself and heading off to chase her mechanical engineering dreams at the University of California, Berkeley. An expensive school made doubly so thanks to his insistence she stay in the dorms for her personal safety and to get the full college experience. Even with student loans, there was a hefty balance.

  Bo had taken this job because it paid twice what he’d made laboring over eighty hours a week doing grunt work. It also offered a place to live as an added perk. Otherwise, he never would’ve worked for someone like Adam.