Cocky Soldier: A Military Romance (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 6)

by Faleena Hopkins

  Meagan

  One of Le Marchand’s biggest investors points at my head. “What happened to you?”

  My hair has a deep side-part to cover the bandage, but she’s the type of woman who looks for flaws in everything. Especially other women.

  “I was mugged,” I lie.

  Her hand flutters to her broach on a gown that’s a tad overdone. “Oh my! Where? Not near the restaurant?!”

  Oh shit.

  Amusing plan backfiring.

  Retreat! Retreat!

  “No, of course not. Your investment is safe. You know that. Buckhead is the best neighborhood in Atlanta. This happened downtown, near a really dark Marta stop.”

  “Oh, what a relief,” she sighs before sipping from her elegant champagne flute. “What were you doing down there? I never leave Buckhead.”

  Of course you don’t.

  “You know those clowns that are going around?”

  “Clowns?” she repeats, unable to frown from all the injections.

  “The men dressed up as clowns who go around robbing people? It’s all over the news.”

  “I hadn’t heard! How horrifying!”

  I lean in and hush my voice dramatically, “And not just in one city, either. Across the country! People are picking up the trend and they don’t even know each other. It’s terrible, isn’t it? So scary!”

  As she stares at me in horror, Bryan, basking in the limelight of his pre-grand opening party, strolls up to us in a five-thousand-dollar suit. His mid-length wavy hair is styled and his smile is pure star-material. My heart jumps as he winks at me and then touches her back. “Eleanor! So glad you could make it. This gown is stunning. Too bad you’re married. Did I hear I missed out on cooking for your thirty-fifth birthday celebration because we hadn’t opened yet?”

  Her face transforms into frozen joy upon sight of him. “Oh Bryan, add thirty years and you’re close to the right number! Dear man, what a success! I haven’t tasted your infamous cuisine yet but this champagne is to die for. I was just talking to your assistant about the strangest thing.”

  “His apprentice,” I correct her. “I’m a chef, too.”

  She glances to me.

  Bryan interjects, “Eleanor, we have an emergency in the kitchen and I need Meagan. Mind if I borrow her from you?”

  I give the investor my most gracious smile. “It was an absolute pleasure speaking with you. You do look lovely. Please excuse me. I was so enjoying our chat.”

  “Of course, dear. I’m so sorry about your—”

  “—Oh, thank you!” I cut her off so Bryan doesn’t hear the lie I just told about being mugged by vigilante clowns. Turning to him, I brightly ask, “Ready?”

  His blue eyes gleam and we stroll off. Not touching, of course. He never touches me in public. After a safe distance he whispers to me, “You’re doing very well with the guests. I’m impressed.”

  “Thank you,” I smile.

  If only he knew.

  Invites for this party were extended only to donors, trade magazines, local periodicals, and huge profile names in the city.

  Because Bryan is a famous chef, he’s even attracted journalists from the huge magazines I subscribe to, Bon Appétit and Gourmet. This being the first restaurant with his name on it and where he isn’t creating his delicacies for someone else’s acclaim, it is crucial to Le Marchand’s success that tonight impresses one and all.

  So far so good.

  “Did you want me to help the sous chef?” I ask, hopeful that’s why he came to get me.

  “Are you kidding?” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth while waving to a wealthy male investor saluting him with a glass of cognac. “You’re not ready for that. I need you to keep an eye on the hostess. She’s getting drunk and doesn’t think I noticed her flirting with the wealthy men in order to skim cocktails off them.”

  My spirits drop.

  “But I thought you said I was needed in the kitchen?”

  “Well, you had just called yourself a chef in front of Eleanor Riggins so I had to make it believable. I couldn’t exactly say our hostess is sipping bourbon, could I?”

  “But I am a chef!”

  “Go take care of it.” Bryan leaves my side to charm a table of four of the best dressed at the party, leaving me no choice but to do what he says and quit arguing.

  Walking toward the front door I lock onto Mira, the stunning blonde he hired because the first person a guest sees in my establishment should be ravishing, his words.

  Her smile does light up the foyer.

  I think the potted plants we paid a fortune for may have bloomed in the last hour under her shining light, she’s that pretty.

  Which means I am not excited to have her around. I have not secured Bryan as mine, yet, and with a girl like her representing the face of Le Marchand it could be weeks, days, minutes, before he’s texting her to come over at two o’clock in the morning, and not me.

  Even if I’m not a fan I can’t have her drunk tonight. I care about the success of this restaurant almost as much as he does. It’s my chance to make a name for myself. How often do people my age get to be affiliated with such a powerful reputation as Bryan’s when they’re just starting out?

  Inhale patience, Meagan.

  Go do what is not in your job description. Go tell Blonde Perfection to cut it out so her smile can last the night.

  Bryan doesn’t need a drunk and passed-out greeter. Every article, online and otherwise, would lead with this story: Le Marchand’s bar was a bigger hit than his kitchen.

  Wait…what the hell is he doing here?

  My eyes zip up and down, drinking in Jeremy Cocker. His suit fits him like his lover is the tailor. The smile he gives Mira is more dazzling than hers.

  She completely loses her cool, eyelashes fluttering as her back hunches over on a gushing smile. “Welcome to Le Marchand. May I have your exclusive invitation?”

  With a throaty gravel he casually tells her, like he’s James Fucking Bond, “I left it on the passenger seat of my new Audi A8. Shall I have the valet retrieve it for me?”

  I did not know that you could make shaking your head flirty, but she manages, saying with a giggle, “That won’t be necessary! We’ll overlook it just this once.”

  “Just this once?” he asks, with a cocked eyebrow so sexy I want to slap it off of him.

  Standing just a few feet away from them, I throw my hands on my hips and stare.

  She leans in a little to whisper, “Well, maybe more than once.”

  “Mira!” I didn’t mean to bark that so loudly.

  They both look over at me, and his eyes alight with amusement. Wait, he doesn’t look surprised that I’m standing here.

  He found out about this event!

  He’s come here to mess with my head.

  What an asshole! My eyes steel as I begin to announce he doesn’t have an invite. I know he doesn’t because I’m the one who sent them out! And I’d bet these Jimmy Choo shoes that he doesn’t have a fucking Audi, either.

  I open my mouth…

  “What the fuck’re you doin’ here?” Senator Justin Cocker strolls up to the three of us, dressed to impress, eyes sparkling as he touches my shoulder. “Meagan, I see you’ve met my brother Jeremy. He’s single by the way. The last of us to fall.”

  My mouth clamps shut as the two men hug. Oh my God. No way. No, no, way.

  The Cocker Brothers, the EMT said. Six of the most…but how could I have seen this coming?

  Everyone knows who Justin Cocker is. His rise to Senate was explosively unique. Him I did send an invitation to and was proud to announce to Bryan that he’d accepted, when I’d gotten the R.S.V.P.

  But I never had a clue these two were related, despite the name, for obvious reasons if you saw them standing face-to-face as they are right now. Justin is a towheaded blonde with pale green eyes, six foot three, svelte in looks and demeanor, the perfect politician. Jeremy’s coloring is the opposite, dark and brooding. He’s stocky.
Lives in a shack. And acts like a fucking child.

  Is he adopted?

  The only thing they have in common is the amused glints in their eyes. As they talk, and Mira and I watch from very different, interested points of view, the two men rib each other how only brothers can, their smirks equally hot, equally mind-boggling.

  “Well, shit if I knew you were gonna be here I would’ve gone to a hot dog stand and skipped it,” Jeremy says.

  Justin volleys back, “Hot dogs? Is that what they’re calling it? So…you’ve finally gone gay?”

  “Nah, you already had that covered. I like to be unique.”

  “Which is why you’re wearing—”

  Jeremy cuts him off, “A suit like I wear every other night I avoid you like the plague?”

  Justin laughs, his famous white teeth flashing. He slides his hands in his pockets and jogs his chin to the party. “Politics. I’m trying to get the Governor on my side about term-limit reform. He has friends in the Democratic Party. He’s a Republican, but he’s that good he appeals to both sides to get things done. Otherwise we’re in a standstill. Guess you could say I’m learning from him.”

  And I’m learning that I need to get better at making myself scarce when I’m in shock. I’m standing here parked on the gorgeous rug I talked Bryan into buying, gawking, albeit with my mouth clamped shut.

  Mira isn’t any better than I am.

  She’s staring, too.

  Only she’s doing it from behind longer eyelashes.

  Jeremy glances to me like he just remembered I’m here. “You were saying?”

  The bastard knows I was about to give him the boot, and now I can’t. “Mira! Show this man to a table! Don’t you know he’s Justin Cocker’s brother?”

  Jeremy’s eyes glitter, and Justin side-eyeballs me with an emotionless ‘I couldn’t care less about you’ expression.

  I exit with very little composure, even though I think I’m strolling away with the appearance of authority. Were I to be watching myself from above I would see that I look pretty damn lame.

  Jeremy

  Highlighted in a sexy-as-hell, tight, white, ladies-cut pantsuit, Meagan’s ass swings with indignation as she disappears into the crowd. I glance ahead of her direction and see the bar four deep with people clamoring for a drink. She’s probably headed there to inspect something.

  I think she’s a manager. That’s how she acted. Pretty young to be one, but okay. I’m interested.

  I didn’t expect to see Justin here, though of course he would be. He travels in these circles to maintain his social and political connections in order to get things done. My brother has turned out to be an impressive man, far more than he showed when he was younger. I used to think he was a dick. Now I look up to him after how he handled that crazy fucking election. Amazing.

  “Come with me,” he smiles. “I want to introduce you to the Governor.”

  “Great,” I nod, thinking to myself that I couldn’t have planned how well that just went. Meagan was about to throw me out on my ass. To watch her eat her unspoken words was fucking hilarious.

  As we make our way through the crowded restaurant, Justin asks, “Jake’s suit, huh? I recognize it because he’s got only one.”

  “He loaned it to me, and you were about to call me out back there.”

  Justin chuckles, “But you caught it just in time.”

  “Trying to make me look bad in front of the ladies,” I smirk. He laughs and doesn’t deny it. “Fucker. Hey, can I meet you at the table? I want to get a drink at the bar, have a look around.”

  “Sure. We’re right over there.” He motions to a booth where three conservatively dressed Republicans, two men and one woman, sit deep in conversation.

  “You need anything, Justin?”

  “I’m covered. Waitress has been paying us extra attention.”

  “Lucky you.”

  He laughs and heads off.

  There are five exits—that’s the first thing I take note of. Second are the ten chandeliers. If a bomb hit this place, glass would be shrapnel.

  As I casually cross the room, I develop a strategy for how I’d evacuate the civilians. Even if I’m one of them now, if shit went down they could count on me to get them safely out of here. If the enemy came in from the front, I’d…

  Stop it, Jeremy. Get your blood pressure back to normal. You’re in Buckhead, where you grew up. Upper class Atlanta, Georgia, and there are no terrorists stalking the perimeters. Everyone just wants to eat a good meal and act like they’re okay.

  Start pretending you believe the lie, too.

  As I walk up to the bar I sidestep the line to where I can hear her talking to one of the bartenders, a good-looking older man who keeps working as he leans to hear what she has to say from over the counter.

  “If Mira comes asking for a shot ignore her.”

  “Shit, Meagan, she already had one. She said you wouldn’t mind.”

  She contains it pretty well, but I can tell she wants to fire the hostess five minutes ago. I caught the name Mira when she practically shouted it back there, and her fuse was short.

  Meagan lowers her voice and I have to lean in to hear her tell him, “No one should be drinking when they’re on the clock. Not you. Not her. No one. Are we together on this now?”

  “Yes of course. Sorry.” It’s clear he respects her, which impresses me. He’s gotta be at least ten years her senior. She must have done something to earn him deferring to her so quickly and without a glint of hesitation or ego in his eyes.

  The line is moving and I’m not in it, so it appears like I’m waiting to talk to her.

  Which I am. Not cool.

  Stepping to my left I cut in front of a woman and her elegant friend, both early forties, dressed to impress. They pause their conversation, looking at me like they can’t believe I just walked right in like I’d been here the whole time. “You two look gorgeous this evening. Your husbands didn’t step up to get your cocktails for you? What are they, crazy?” Both pairs of eyes slide down my body as they size me up.

  The brunette says, “Look at you, so smooth.”

  “Think you can play us?” the sandy-brown haired one asks.

  I give them my best smirk and lean in, holding their looks, one at a time as I speak. “Am I that transparent? Must have lost my talent somewhere along the way.”

  The brunette fingers her necklace. “I doubt that.”

  The line moves up and it’s my turn. “What are you ladies having? Wait, let me guess.” To the brunette I narrow my eyes, trying to pinpoint her flavor. “Gin martini. Dirty.” She brightens with surprise.

  I nailed it.

  Flicking my chin I gaze at the sandy-brown haired woman. “Tequila. Neat.” She practically snorts, and I give her a big smile. I knew that was the wrong guess. “I’m kidding. You’re not going to drink a tequila shot at an event such as this. But I bet you do when you’re alone.” She blushes, shocked, turning to her friend like that is not true, when it clearly is. “Here you’d drink a thick red, like a Malbec or Red Zinfandel.” Her eyebrows dance upward with a gleam in her eyes.

  “How did you do that?”

  “I was a bartender before I joined the Marines.” I turn away from where this topic is headed because I’m trying not to think about my service tonight, and I don’t want these women asking me a bunch of questions about my time in. Ordering our drinks from the bartender Meagan was talking to I glance around and realize she left, and I can’t see her anywhere in the dining room.

  Well, that didn’t go as planned.

  After telling him what the ladies will be having, I order a Sweetwater Imperial Stout in the bottle so I can get out of here. I drop some cash down, covering the cost of their drinks, too, grab my beer and tip my head. “Ladies. It’s been a pleasure.”

  “Do you have to go?” the brunette asks, despite her wedding ring.

  “My brother is waiting for me. Nice meeting you both. Enjoy your evening.”

  Stroll
ing away I scan the room again for Meagan. I don’t want to sit at a stuffy table listening to political debates. No serious conversations tonight. I want to entertain myself and I’m intent on doing just that. With a quiet desperation.

  Something crashes and my eyes cut right. A young male bartender is trying to keep up with the number of guests craving booze. There are three working back there, but it’s not enough with that inexperienced kid in the lineup.

  I watch him from a distance as his nerves become more frazzled. An irate woman starts barking at him. I’m too far away to hear, but I can tell she’s pissed her drink is taking forever after she’s waited this long. Compelled to watch, I make my way through the crowd, eyes on him. The kid is on the verge of tears. Really jittery as he pours ice into a fresh shaker. The party guest reaches over with a gesture of STOP and he blinks up at her. I push my way through the lines and overhear her bark, “That’s the one you dropped! You haven’t cleaned it!”

  He’s frozen now. Out of ideas. In over his head.

  Completely unplanned I walk around the bar and offer a confident smirk to the guest, “Hey gorgeous, God, I’m sorry you had to wait so long but we’ll take care of that drink right now and it’s on the house. What did you order?” I take the shaker from the kid and glance around for a new one. There’s no back up so I step over to the sink and give her my best smile while I clean it.

  “Belvedere martini!”

  The kid steps back with his mouth open, not recognizing me and wondering why a guy in a suit has taken over. He probably thinks I’m an investor. There’s no way he’ll try and stop me from bailing him out.

  “Comin’ right up,” I wink while drying off the shaker before I spring into action like I’m twenty-one-years-old again working in those nightclubs with a lot more people than this clamoring to get drunk.

  I scoop ice into the cleaned shaker, plus into an empty martini glass to chill it. Splash Vermouth into the shaker, toss it around, then pour it out through the strainer so that it only coats the ice. More than that and it’s too strong. You don’t want to overpower the main act especially with a high-end vodka like Belvedere. I flip the slender, elegantly engraved vodka bottle in the air, catch it upside down and pour over the flavored ice.