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How the Playboy Got Serious
Shirley Jump


Riley McKenna has led a charmed life – an endless string of notorious parties and scantily-clad women! But life for Riley is about to change. Cut off from the family trust fund, he’s out on his ear and fending for himself.When he applies for a job at Stace Kettering’s diner, she’s not impressed by his blue eyes and easy smile. She has a strict zero tolerance policy towards pampered playboys, having learned her lesson once already – charming words cover a multitude of sins!Riley thinks Stace will fall for him like all the others – but he’s about to discover that his playboy ways just don’t cut it in the real world…







Living the life of Riley?

Riley McKenna has led a charmed life—until now! Cut off from the family trust fund, he’s out on his ear and fending for himself.

When he applies for a job at Stace Kettering’s diner, she’s not impressed by his blue eyes and easy smile. She has a strict zero-tolerance policy toward pampered playboys, having learned her lesson once already!

Riley thinks Stace will fall for him like all the others—but he’s about to discover that his playboy ways just don’t cut it in the real world....


The McKenna Brothers

Three billionaire brothers.

Three guarded hearts. Three fabulous stories.

Meet the gorgeous McKenna Brothers...

In this brand-new trilogy from the wonderfully witty, New York Times bestselling author Shirley Jump.

Rich, handsome and successful, they’re the most eligible bachelors in Boston!

Find out what happens when the oldest brother,

Finn, finds himself propositioned by the intriguing, feisty Ellie Winston in

One Day to Find a Husband

July 2012

Discover whether straight-talking Stace Kettering

can tame notorious playboy Riley in

How the Playboy Got Serious

August 2012

Returning hero Brody is back home and has a secret…but can he confide in Kate Spencer? Find out in

Return of the Last McKenna

September 2012


Dear Reader,

Those McKenna brothers are at it again! I loved writing this series, not just because it’s set in the area where I grew up, but because these three brothers and the heroines who challenge them were so much fun. Each brother was a strong, heroic individual, and that gave me unique challenges with each story.

Sometimes, when I create a fictional place like the Morning Glory Diner, it becomes so real to me, I find myself wishing I could go there! I revisit the diner in the last McKenna book (Brody’s story) and it was like returning to a favorite place. It was nice to see Heidi the dog again, from Finn’s book, and to learn more about the McKenna family matriarch. I hope you enjoy Riley’s story and the challenges he faces working with sassy Stace!

I love to hear from readers, too, so please write to me through my website (www.shirleyjump.com (http://www.shirleyjump.com)) or visit my blog (www.shirleyjump.blogspot.com (http://www.shirleyjump.blogspot.com)) where I post family-favorite recipes and writing advice. Share with me your favorite spot to eat, or just your favorite McKenna brother!

Happy reading,

Shirley


How the Playboy Got Serious

Shirley Jump




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


New York Times bestselling author Shirley Jump didn’t have the willpower to diet, nor the talent to master under-eye concealer, so she bowed out of a career in television and opted instead for a career where she could be paid to eat at her desk—writing. At first, seeking revenge on her children for their grocery-store tantrums, she sold embarrassing essays about them to anthologies. However, it wasn’t enough to feed her growing addiction to writing funny. So she turned to the world of romance novels, where messes are (usually) cleaned up before The End. In the worlds Shirley gets to create and control, the children listen to their parents, the husbands always remember holidays, and the housework is magically done by elves. Though she’s thrilled to see her books in stores around the world, Shirley mostly writes because it gives her an excuse to avoid cleaning the toilets and helps feed her shoe habit.

To learn more, visit her website, www.shirleyjump.com (http://www.shirleyjump.com).


To my readers. You all are the best part of my job, and I am humbled and honored to write books you enjoy.


Contents

CHAPTER ONE (#u4cf7cc15-cca8-57fe-aacd-e1e73824cf3e)

CHAPTER TWO (#u0019faf6-054c-5dfa-b63f-6f63d18922f0)

CHAPTER THREE (#u58be35c8-f67c-5aaf-9f00-867ccdbddc75)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ubfc655ff-e092-51c1-8b63-73b51d97faf1)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

LIFE as Riley McKenna knew it was about to change. And change in a big way. He sensed the change coming, like the shift in the wind when summer yielded to fall.

“I love you, Riley, but I have to say this.” Mary McKenna looked her grandson straight in the eye, with the steady light blue gaze that told him she was about to say something he didn’t want to hear. “It’s high time you grew up.”

Gray-haired, elegant and poised, Mary sat in one of two rose-patterned Windsor chairs in what was called the morning room but that Riley and his brothers had long ago dubbed the “serious room,” because that was where their grandmother held all her serious talks. When they were young, they knew getting called into the morning room meant a long and stern lecture. Even at twenty-six, Riley was occasionally summoned to this space—and that was exactly what Mary did—summoned—and given the familiar sermon about responsibility and maturity.

Mary had a presence about her, built over years of helming first the family, then the family business. Truth be told, she intimidated most people and even sometimes Riley, because she made no bones about her feelings—ever. So when Mary wanted to have a serious talk, Riley knew enough to listen. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try to escape the lecture about to come.

“Gran, it’s my birthday.” He shot her the grin that usually sweet-talked his grandmother into leniency. “That means I’m more grown up today than yesterday.”

More or less.

He’d spent the night before his birthday in a bar, and had plans to hit a whole list of them tonight with his friends. He knew he should be looking forward to the night out, but for some reason, the thought of trading the same conversations with the same people over the same beverages sounded…

Boring.

He was just hungover. Or something. He’d be fine once he had a nice dark ale in his hands.

“That is not what I meant, and you know it.” Gran sipped a cup of tea while the sun streamed in from the picture window behind her and kissed everything in the stately Victorian style room with gold. The house was over a hundred years old, a towering three-level clothed in dark paneling and the occasional modern touch. Mary could have afforded ten times the house but she had chosen to stay in the place where she had raised her children and loved her husband. To Riley, the house had a certain amount of dependability and comfort, which was half the reason he had yet to move out of the guest house that sat just down the driveway from the main house. He liked being here, liked being surrounded by his DNA’s history. And he liked to keep an eye on his grandmother. She had a tendency to do too much, and to rarely listen to anyone who told her otherwise. The McKenna stubborn streak was alive and well in Mary McKenna.

Mary smoothed out a wrinkle that had dared to crimp her plaid skirt. “Your birthday is an occasion to rethink your priorities and focus on more mature pursuits.”

More mature pursuits. Which to his grandmother, Riley knew meant getting married. Settling down. Something he avoided at all costs. He glanced out the window and saw a golden fur ball wandering the grounds. His oldest brother’s adopted shelter dog, one of the nicest pets Riley had ever met. No wonder Finn spoiled her with treats and toys. “Finn drop his dog off here?”

“I’m watching Heidi for a few days while they take a trip together. She’s a wonderful dog.” Then Gran leaned forward. “I won’t let you change the subject, Riley. This is serious business.” She held up a newspaper. “Have you read this morning’s Herald?”

Uh-oh. “Uh, no.”

She laid it down again. “When you do, you will see that you have a starring role in the media. Once again.” She sighed. “Really, do we need the world to know every single time you are caught in a compromising position?”

Oh. That. The woman he’d been with that night at the gala had been a little too eager, and he’d been a little too willing. He’d forgotten there’d be reporters skulking about. Before he could say stop, his date had her dress hiked up and her body pressed against his. There’d been a sound behind them, and the entire awkward moment was caught on film. Riley cringed. He hated seeing that look of disappointment on his grandmother’s face. He’d let her down. Again. “It was a mistake. I had a little too much to drink—”

“No excuse. You are far past the age where you can act like a fool and get away with it. Your brother has just shipped off to Afghanistan, volunteering, I might add, to help the wounded. And instead of focusing on Brody’s charity, the reporter has chosen to make the entire story about you and your…indiscretions.” His grandmother leaned closer. “You do realize that you did this at a fundraiser for wounded veterans? The last thing the McKenna Foundation needs is publicity like this. From a family member, no less.”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t have happened.” He let out a long breath. “Sometimes I just don’t think.”

“This isn’t the first time, Riley. I love you, but I can’t have you smearing the family name.” She shook her head. “You get swayed by a pretty smile and a nice pair of legs and forget that you’re supposed to be a responsible adult.”

Responsible adult. Those were two words no one had ever used to describe Riley. Finn and Brody, yes, but not Riley. Finn, the married CEO, and Brody, a general practice physician now volunteering his skills half a world away. For the hundredth time, Riley felt like he could never measure up to their examples. He excelled in one area—not being excellent.

For a long time that hadn’t bothered him at all. He’d always been too busy seeking the next party, the next pretty face, as his grandmother said, to worry what anyone thought of him. But lately…

Well, lately he’d been thinking far too much.

Gran sighed. “I’m getting old—”

“You’re decades away from old.”

“—and I’m tired of waiting for great grandchildren.”

“Finn just gave you one. And they have another on the way already.” His oldest brother Finn had taken to marriage like a bear to salmon fishing. Married, one adopted child, and a baby due in a little over seven months. Riley had to admit that sometimes, when he saw how happy Finn and Ellie were, he felt a little…jealous. But only because Finn was so damned happy, it seemed like he’d caught a smiling disease.

“And now it’s your turn,” Mary said.

“Whoa, whoa. What about Brody? He’s next in line for the yoke.”

His grandmother pursed her lips at that. “Marriage is not chaining oxen together. Your grandfather and I—”

“Were the exception to the rule. Nobody stays married like that anymore.” Even though his grandfather had died a little over three years ago, Mary still carried a torch for the man she had loved for more than five decades. They had been a loving, kind couple, the type that held hands when they rode in the car or walked the neighborhood. When Riley had been young, it had been nice to see, something that made him wonder if he’d ever have a relationship like that. Then he’d grown up, started dating, and realized his grandparents’ lifelong love affair was about as common as unicorns in the zoo.

His grandmother took another sip of tea, then laid the china cup into the saucer. “You’re just jaded. If you would settle down you might find love is a lot better than you think.”

“I’m happy the way I am.”

“Perhaps.” She toyed with the teaspoon on the tray beside her, then lifted her gaze to her grandson’s. Even at seventy-eight, Mary’s mind was sharp and agile. She still ran McKenna Media, the advertising company started by her husband. She’d been grumbling about stepping down for years, but had yet to take even a day off. Riley suspected Mary kept working both to stay close to the husband she missed and to keep her days full. “You haven’t really done anything with your life yet, Riley.”

“I work, Gran.”

She scoffed. “You show up at the office, goof off and collect a paycheck.”

“Hey, we all have to be good at something. That’s my area of expertise.”

His grandmother didn’t laugh at the joke, or even so much as crack a smile. The mood in the serious room tensed. “I have indulged you far too much because you are the youngest. I always treated you differently, because—” she sighed, and her pale blue eyes softened “—I felt bad for you. Losing your parents at such a young age, then being uprooted from the only home you ever knew to live with your grandfather and I—”

Riley waved that off. “I was fine.”

Mary’s gaze locked on his. “Were you?”

He looked away, studying the gilt-framed landscape hanging on the far wall. Painted sunlight dappled oil-created trees and brush-formed flowers, and caressed the roofline of a cottage nestled in a fictional forest. A perfect little world, captured in Technicolor paint. “I was fine,” Riley repeated.

“I think if you tell yourself that often enough, you’ll eventually believe it,” Mary said softly.

Riley let out a long breath. He wasn’t much for serious talks, or serious conversational topics, or, come to mention it, the serious room. Altogether far too stuffy and formal. And well, hell, serious. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone for lunch, Gran.” He rose halfway out of the chair. “I really need to get going.”

“Cancel your plans.”

He cocked a brow. “Oh, now I get it. Are you planning a birthday party for me, Gran? You know you’ve never been able to surprise me.”

“No party this year, Riley. In fact, I think it’s high time your party days were behind you.” She steepled her fingers and brought them to her lips. “Sit back down please.”

Uh-oh. Riley recognized that stance. It meant Gran had an idea—one he knew he wasn’t going to like. He lowered his lanky frame back into the uncomfortable Windsor chair.

“I think you need a real wake-up call, Riley. Consequently—” Gran paused and her pale eyes nailed him like a bug on a board “—I’m cutting you off.”

The words hung in the air for a long time before Riley processed them. “You’re…what?”

“Effective immediately, you are fired from McKenna Media, not that you had a real job there as it was. And you will also be expected to pay a reasonable rent on the guest house. Every month, on the first. Which happens to be two weeks away.”

Gran meant business. No mistaking that.

Riley opened his mouth to argue. To joke. To cajole. To employ any of a dozen techniques he’d used before to talk his stern grandmother out of punishments and edicts.

He didn’t. Instead he considered her words and realized she had a point.

Gran had never approved of the way he lived his life. But what his grandmother didn’t understand was that Riley didn’t spend his days without any sense of commitment because he wanted to shirk responsibilities. It was because he had yet to find a direction that interested him.

He’d tried nearly every job at McKenna Media, and within a few days, been bored to death. He’d dated dozens of beautiful women, but not found a single one who dared his heart to take a risk.

Gran probably wanted Riley to go out and find yet another job in a field he could hardly stand, then settle down with one of her friends’ single, available granddaughters. But what Riley really wanted was…

A challenge. Something that made him rush to get out of bed in the morning. Maybe he needed something—God help him—with substance.

Riley had always known this day would come, and for some reason, instead of being panicked by it, he felt…energized. For the first time in a long time.

Had his partying ways finally grown tiresome? No, he told himself. It was a minor bump, a moment of ennui, nothing more. He’d spend a few days doing things his grandmother’s way, prove to her that he wasn’t nearly as irresponsible as he looked, and then be back to his old life in no time.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

She blinked her surprise. “Well, good.” She reached into her pocket and handed him a slip of paper. “Your final paycheck. I’m kicking you out, and cutting you off, but I don’t want you to starve the first day.”

Riley gave his grandmother a soft smile, then leaned down and brushed a kiss across her wrinkled cheek. “I’ll be fine, Gran.” He pressed the check back into her hand, then said goodbye and headed out the door, and into a world he had never truly experienced.

He thought it would be easy, like everything else in his life had been.

He was wrong.

* * *

Stace Kettering had had enough. “I quit, Frank.” She tossed her apron on the counter in emphasis, and slapped her order pad down beside it. The last of the breakfast crowd had left a few minutes earlier, giving Stace her first break since five in the morning. She grabbed a glazed donut out from under the glass dome on the counter and took a bite. “I’m serious. I quit.”

Frank let out a laugh. His barrel belly shook with the sound, and his wide smile broke into an even wider grin. Frank Simpson had been the head chef and part owner of Morning Glory Diner for thirty years—almost as long as anyone could remember the burger that had made Frank’s famous. Stace had worked there nearly all her life—almost as long as anyone could remember a Kettering offspring at the counter at Frank’s.

“I’ve heard that before,” Frank said, emerging from the kitchen to plant his beefy palms on the counter. He gave Stace a wink. “A hundred times. No, maybe two hundred.” He picked up her apron and held it out to her.

“I’m serious this time. I’m done.” She ignored the apron and took another bite of donut. The sweet glaze melted like heaven on her tongue.

“Is Walter giving you a hard time again? You know he means well.”

“He is the grumpiest man in the city of Boston. No, the state of Massachusetts.”

Frank chuckled. “I think the entire You-nited States.”

That got a laugh out of Stace. “I think you’re right.” She plopped onto one of the counter stools and let out a sigh. “Why does he always pick my table?”

“He likes you.”

Walter was a daily customer at Morning Glory Diner, though Lord only knew why he kept returning when all he did was find fault with everything from the forks to the fries. And every single time, he made sure he was seated in Stace’s section, as if he was on a one-man mission to ruin her day. “He told me I was the slowest waitress in the entire solar system, complained that his water was flat—”

“Flat water?” Frank arched a brow. “Did he expect it to be round?”

“I think he ran out of things to complain about.” Stace let out another laugh. She put down the donut, then reached for the apron and snatched it back, tugging it over her head before fastening the strings in the back. “Okay, so I won’t quit today. But if you don’t hire someone else soon, I will quit. On principle.” It had been two weeks since Irene had gone on maternity leave, which had left Stace to single-handedly carry the weight of the diners at Frank’s until she returned. The tips were great and much needed, but at the end of day, Stace was so tired she needed to be rolled to her little house eight subway stops away. And given the way things had been going at home lately, Stace needed to be alert. There wasn’t just her to worry about anymore.

Frank gave her a smile. “You’re exhausted, honey.”

“I’m okay. Walter just stressed me out, that’s all.” She eyed the older man. “I’m more worried about how you are. I know business has been down for a while and I hate to see you working so hard.”

He wagged a finger at her. “Nope, not falling for that. You know me, if I wasn’t fine, I’d be complaining.”

She laughed. “Frank, you never complain.” Then her gaze softened and her hand covered his. “You keep talking about retiring, but never do. You deserve some time off, Frank.”

He waved that off. “If I retire, who’s going to make the famous Morning Glory burger?”

“Me.”

Frank laughed. “No offense, Stace, but you can’t even make grilled cheese. Your dad, God rest his soul, was the same way. Good at the books, good in the front of the house, but a nightmare on the grill.” Frank’s big brown eyes softened. “I know one thing, though. He’d be awful proud of you.”

She glanced around the diner, at the building that her father had built. The morning glory border he had painted himself, the chairs and tables he’d picked out. Every wall in this place still seemed to beat with her father’s heart. She missed him, but at least here, she could be close to him, and his memory. For a second, her father’s presence filled her heart, surrounded her like a hug. “Thank you, Frank.”

He shrugged, then fiddled with a spoon on the counter. “How’s things with Jeremy?”

“We’re getting there. He’s a handful.” Handful didn’t even begin to describe her nephew, who was angry at his mother, angry at the world…just plain angry. He needed an outlet, something to help him work through the shock of his mother’s abandonment, but Stace had yet to find anything the boy would stick with. She bit back a sigh. Later, she’d worry about that. For now, she’d focus on making enough money to handle the additional cost of an extra mouth to feed. While at the same time trying to find a way to increase business at the diner.

“Poor kid’s been through a lot,” Frank said. “You need anything, you come ask me. I’ll be there for you.”

Stace’s hand covered Frank’s beefy palm. The older man had already been a great presence in Jeremy’s life, serving as a surrogate grandfather just as he’d served as Stace’s surrogate father. Frank had given her a raise she hadn’t asked for, quietly dropped off a new TV at her house when hers broke, and taken Jeremy school shopping when he’d refused to go with Stace. Even as she insisted she could handle it herself, Frank stepped in anyway. “I know you will.”

Frank’s eyes misted, but he let out a cough to cover for the momentary emotion. Frank was a man who loved well and hard, but rarely let that emotion show. Stace had only seen him cry once, and the sight of it had broken her heart because she knew the pain in Frank’s heart lanced deep.

Frank cleared his throat. “Anyway, I promise, I’ll hire the next person who walks in that door.” He pointed toward the diner’s glass entrance.

“Right.” She laughed. “You’ve been promising to hire another server for two weeks now, and no one has even gotten past the application stage.” Stace pointed at the Help Wanted sign propped in the window. “That thing is doing nothing but gathering dust.”

He shrugged. “I’m picky. I can’t find enough Stace clones.”

“Now you’re just buttering me up.”

Frank grinned. “Did it work?”

“Yes. But just for today.” She swiped the order pad off the counter, and tucked the pen into her pocket. Every time she reached the quitting point, Frank found a way to convince her to stay. Heck, he was right. She’d have stayed with or without the jokes and compliments. Her loyalty to Frank Simpson ran bone-deep, and always would.

“Good.” He thumbed the straps of his apron and let out a long breath. “Back to the fryer for me. Those bloomin’ onions don’t bloom on their own, you know.” Just as Frank turned back to the kitchen, the door of the diner opened, causing the overhead bell to let out a soft jangle. The two of them pivoted toward the sound.

Riley McKenna.

If there was a customer Stace dreaded almost as much as Walter, it was Riley. He was a handsome man—if one was the kind of woman who found blue eyes and dark hair appealing. And a charming man—if one liked a man with a ready smile and quick wit. But he was also a playboy, and if there was one thing Stace had no tolerance for, it was playboys.

Even if he took her breath away when he smiled. Damn, he was a good-looking man. Too bad he was all wrong for her.

She’d seen his picture in the papers with the girlfriend of the minute, heard other women talk about him with an actual swoon in their voice. As far as she could tell, the youngest McKenna hadn’t followed in the family traditions of meaningful work or charitable organizations. Unless attending every party in the greater Boston area was considered giving back to society.

Stacey avoided men like Riley McKenna like the plague. She’d learned a long time ago that a nice smile and charming words were merely a cover for deeper flaws. Thank God she’d woken up before she married such a man. She’d known Jim for years, and fallen for his charismatic ways over and over again. He’d proposed on a Sunday and left town on a Tuesday—

With a girl he’d met the night before. She’d been fooled for so long, blind to his lies, because she’d wanted to believe in that smile. It had taken her a year to get over the betrayal, and from here on out, Stace would avoid men like that, thank you very much. And that meant avoiding Riley McKenna. And his smile.

Riley nearly always sat in her section and ordered an omelet. Not one of the dozen combinations on the menu, but always something of his own creation, which drove Stace crazy but didn’t seem to bother Frank. She knew, from the lackadaisical way he ate his breakfast and the dozens of phone calls she’d overheard where Riley discussed the latest hot party or vacuous date, that his life was about as serious as confetti.

And on top of that, he seemed to think flirting was on the menu. He teased her, smiled at her, and had asked for her number once. Typical. Thinking every woman was just going to fall at his feet.

To her, perpetual flirt Riley McKenna was just another entitled bachelor in a city teeming with them. A man whom she suspected hadn’t seen a hard day of work in his life, and never appreciated the hard work of others.

“How are you, Frank?” Riley shot them both a grin, then slid onto one of the counter stools.

“Good, good,” Frank said. “And you?”

Riley’s smile faltered. “I’ve had better days.”

“Well, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’ve got apple pie on the menu today,” Frank said.

“Not today, thanks. Unless you’re giving out free samples. I’m, ah, currently between funds right now.”

“You?” Frank asked. “What, did you spend too much on a date last night?”

“Something like that.” Riley gave Frank the cocky grin he gave everyone. The grin that said he’d probably spent his night bedding yet another in a long string of blondes. Stace kept on working. And ignoring him.

Stace soaked a cloth in disinfectant cleaner then started wiping down the pale yellow laminate counter. There wasn’t much time before the lunch crowd began to filter in, and lots to do.

“I’ve been out looking for a job,” Riley said.

“I take it the job search hasn’t gone too well?”

Riley’s grin raised a little on one side. “I’m not qualified to do much.”

Frank laughed. Stace restrained herself from issuing a hearty agreement. “I’m sure you’ll find something that works for you,” Frank said.

“Actually…” Riley began.

Something white caught Stace’s eye and she raised her gaze to see what it was. She froze.

“I thought I’d apply here,” Riley said. He lifted the Help Wanted sign in his hands, the same one that had been in the window just moments before, and gave Frank a smile. “I figure I eat here enough, I might as well earn my keep.”

Frank arched a brow. “You want to be a waiter? Here?”

“Yup. Consider this my official application.” Riley slid the sign across the counter.

Frank sent Stace a glance. She mouthed “no,” and waved her hands. Frank wouldn’t dare. He’d said he’d hire someone, but surely he wanted someone with experience, someone who would be a help, not a hindrance. Someone who had a good work ethic. “Frank…”

Frank grinned at her word of caution, then turned back to Riley. “I told Miss Stace here that I’d hire the next person who walked through that door—”

He wouldn’t.

“And since I’m a man of my word—”

He couldn’t.

“You’re hired, Riley McKenna.” Frank reached over and clapped Riley on the shoulder. “Welcome to Morning Glory Diner. Stace here will be glad to show you the ropes.”

He did.

Stace plastered a smile she didn’t feel on her face, and faced her worst nightmare. An irresponsible womanizer who was going to make her life a living hell.


CHAPTER TWO

ONE day, two tops, Riley figured, and his grandmother would call him back to McKenna Media. Riley could have called in a favor with a friend, but that wouldn’t prove he could do anything other than pick up the phone. Sure, waiting tables wasn’t the ideal job, but it would do for now, and prove his point to his grandmother that he wasn’t the irresponsible man she thought him to be. He looked around the bustling diner. He’d wanted a challenge, something a little different.

And this fit the bill to a T.

So Riley donned the black apron imprinted with Morning Glory Diner on the pocket, grabbed an order pad and pen, and crossed to the first set of customers he saw. Before he could even open his mouth, that waitress—Sally, Sandy—rushed over and nearly tackled him. “You can’t take this table.”

“I’m doing it. Watch me take their order, too.” He clicked the pen, and faced the two construction workers whose broad frames nearly filled either side of the booth. Beefy guys in dusty T-shirts and jeans. “What can I get you guys?”

The first one, a nearly bald fiftyish man wearing a bright yellow hat emblazoned with Irving in thick black marker, gave Riley an are-you-an-idiot look. “Menus.”

Riley glanced down and realized he had forgotten that important first step. No problem. He’d get it right the next time. This was waiting tables; it wasn’t rocket science. “Right. Those would be helpful. Unless you just want to make up an order, and I’ll zip it back to Frank in the kitchen.” Riley thumbed toward the kitchen.

Sally/Sandy smacked his arm. “You can’t just make up food. I’ve told you that a hundred times.” Then she turned to the two men. “I apologize. He’s new. Probably won’t last long. Let me get you some menus.” She turned on her sneakered heel, and started to walk away, then thought better of it, and grabbed a fistful of Riley’s shirt and hauled him backward.

Riley’s feet tangled and nearly brought him to the ground. “Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing?”

“Getting you out of there before you do any more damage.” She stopped by the hostess station, snatched up two menus, then released Riley. “Stay.” She punctuated the word with a glare. “And I mean it.”

“Woof.”

The glare intensified, then she stalked off, handed the menus to the customers, and returned to Riley’s side. “Hey, all I did was forget menus. You’re acting like I committed a federal crime,” he said.

“Just stay out of my way and we’ll get along just fine.”

“I’m supposed to be making your life easier.”

“Well, you’re not.”

She started to walk away, but he caught up with her and turned her to face him. “I was hired to help you.”

“Well, you’re not.”

He eyed Sally/Sandy. He’d had the pretty blonde as a waitress a dozen times, and though he’d tried his best to get to know her, she’d resisted. Maybe she hated him. Why?

Maybe because he’d never learned her name, something he now regretted. And couldn’t remedy because she didn’t have on a name tag.

She was a beautiful woman with a petite, tight body and a smile that rarely made an appearance. She had wide green eyes, long blond hair that he’d only ever seen tied back, and a quick wit. He’d seen her friendly banter with other customers, and wondered why she’d always been cold with him on the dozens of occasions when he’d eaten here.

He’d asked her out a few times, flirted with her often, and she’d always resisted. Now he needed to get along with her—at least on the job. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t care—he’d just avoid her at work or just avoid work, period. But this time, the job mattered, not just because he needed the paycheck, but because he wanted to prove himself, to Gran, to himself, and yes, in an odd way, to this angry waitress. “I admit, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing here,” he said. “I’m on a steep learning curve, and that means I might get underfoot a little.”

“A lot,” she corrected.

“Okay, a lot. But I’m here to help, to take some of the burden off your shoulders. If you let me.”

She let out a sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Train me.” He put up his two hands. “I can sit, stay and even beg.”

“Just…stay,” she said now. “You’re no good to me out there. You’ll just make my job harder.”

“Why? You think I can’t write down an order and deliver it to Frank?” He’d seen her do it a hundred times. It didn’t look hard at all.

“Honestly, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because a man with manicured nails and a thousand-dollar haircut is used to giving orders, not taking them.”

Riley winced. Did people really see him that way? A useless playboy with nothing but time on his hands for mischief? And if they did, could he blame them? What had he done with his life up until now? But he was determined to change that, at least here, now, in this diner. “Frank hired me for a reason.”

“Because he promised me he’d hire the next person who walked through that door. It could have been a monkey, and Frank would have given him a job just to prove his point.”

“Which is?”

She let out a gust. “What do you care? You’re only here because you needed something else to amuse you.” The bell over the door jangled, and two more customers stepped inside the diner. She grabbed some menus out of the bin by the hostess station. “I don’t want to be part of your little ‘live like the common folk do’ project.” She put air quotes around the words.

“I’m not—”

But she was already gone, seeming to whoosh across the tiled floor like a tidal wave. In the space of thirty seconds, she had the second couple seated, given them their menus, then returned to the construction workers and taken their orders. She tore a page off the pad, slipped behind the counter and slid it across the stainless steel bar in the kitchen to Frank, calling off something Riley couldn’t understand but sounded like “flop two, over easy” and “give it wings.”

Frank garbled something back, and Sally/Sandy disappeared into the kitchen for a second.

Riley had to admit, he was impressed. He had watched her bustle around the diner, a tiny dynamo in a slim fitting pair of jeans, a hot pink Morning Glory Diner T-shirt, and a bobbing blond ponytail. Every time he’d seen her, she’d been like that, a human bee, flitting from one table to the next. She was fast, and efficient, even if her customer service skills with him were almost nonexistent. Maybe the job was more stressful than it looked. Many times, she’d been the only waitress in here when he stopped in for his morning breakfast, since lunch was almost always at McGill’s Pub with his brother Finn.

Apparently help was hard to come by, because he’d seen that Help Wanted sign often over the years, and seen dozens of waitresses who worked here a few weeks, then moved on. The only constant was Sally/Sandy—he was sure it was something with an S—she had been here every day, and always with the same brisk, no-nonsense approach to the job.

“Hey, buddy, you just going to stand there?”

Riley leaned against the hostess station, flipping through one of the menus. He’d been given the menu before, but never really looked at it. He’d just ordered what he wanted and figured if they didn’t have the ingredients, they would have told him. Now, though, it might be a good idea to get more familiar with it. Knowing Sally/Sandy, there’d be a quiz later.

“Buddy!”

Frank’s offered a hell of a lot of food for such a small place. He’d started coming here in the mornings for breakfast because it was on the way between his subway stop and the offices of McKenna Media. Not to mention the Morning Glory’s coffee was better than any he’d ever had. Riley scanned the pages of breakfast and lunch offerings, noted there was no dinner service. Working half days sounded good to him. He’d have his evenings free.

Except, the thought of spending an evening in yet another bar didn’t thrill him anymore. Maybe it was being another year older. Maybe it was the shock of Gran’s edict. Maybe it was a need for new friends. Whatever the problem was, he knew one thing.

He wanted more…depth to his days.

“Hey, moron!”

Riley jerked his attention toward the construction guys. “You can’t talk to her like that.”

“Her who? We’re talking to you, Tweedledee.” The two guys snickered, then the big one—the one with the hat that said Irving—wiggled his fingers like he was feigning sign language. “Two coffees. You know, the hot stuff in cups?”

“I know what coffee is.”

“Good. Get us some. Now.”

Bunch of Neanderthals ordering people around. Riley leaned against the hostess station and crossed his arms over his chest. Considered dumping the pot in the man’s lap, just to prove the point. “No. Not unless you say please.”

Irving’s face turned red. His fist tightened on the table. Before he could open his mouth, Sally/Sandy came sailing past Riley, two cups in one hand, a hot pot of coffee in the other. The cups landed on the table with a soft clatter, and she filled them to just under the brim without spilling a drop. “Don’t mind him. He’s not really a waiter.”

“What is he?” Irving said.

“I think you already called it. What was the word?” She put a finger to her lips. “Oh yes, moron.”

The two men laughed some more at that. They thanked her, then sat back and started talking about work.

The waitress had an ease with smoothing the customers’ ruffled feathers. He’d noticed that about her before—she’d turned more than one disgruntled frown into a smile. It was what had interested him about her before, and still did now. She was a contradiction. And that intrigued him. A lot.

Sally/Sandy returned, grabbed Riley’s shirt again and tugged him around to the other side of the counter. She was surprisingly strong for such a petite woman.

“Hey, go easy on the manhandling,” Riley said and gently disengaged her hand.

She snorted. “Manhandling. Right.”

He leaned against the counter and eyed her. “Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you. You annoy me. There’s a difference.” He opened his mouth to ask a question but she put a hand up and stopped him. “Listen, I’d love to talk all day about your faults—”

“I don’t have any faults.” He grinned. “Okay, maybe one.”

“But the lunch crowd will be here any second, and I have work to do.”

“So do I. Are you going to let me do my job?”

“You can’t handle this job.”

“Let me prove it to you.” He took a step closer. Wow, she had pretty eyes. They were the color of emeralds, a deep, dark green that seemed to beckon him in. “Listen, I’ve watched you work, and if you ask me, you work too hard.”

“This job demands hard work.”

“Not if you have readily available help to call on. Something I’ve never seen you do, even when the other woman was working here. I can be useful, you know.”

She let out a long breath, and Riley found himself wondering what was in that breath that she wasn’t saying. What weights sat on her delicate shoulders. “I just feel better doing things myself.”

“Asking for help doesn’t make you weak. Just smart.”

She cocked a brow. “And asking for your help, what does that make me?”

“Brilliant.” He grinned.

She eyed him for a long, long time, while the coffeepot percolated and the hum of conversation filled the air. “All right, I’ll be better about letting you help. But stay out of my way and don’t screw up. Don’t flirt with the customers, and don’t flirt with me. Just keep your head down and work.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “Because when you screw up, it costs me, and I can’t afford to let that happen. Got it?”

“Got it, captain.” He gave her a mock salute.

She scowled. “And don’t call me captain.”

He leaned in, gave her another grin. “What should I call you?”

She held his gaze for a long moment. “Stace would be fine.”

Stace. He liked that name. A short, no-nonsense name seemed to suit her.

“And you can call me Riley,” he said, putting out his hand to shake hers. “I like it a whole lot better than moron.”

* * *

Riley McKenna. The man had clearly been put on this earth—and in this diner—to drive her nuts. Stace had to stay on top of him for the entire lunch wave, which only complicated her job. He couldn’t take an order, couldn’t remember the menus, didn’t know where anything was, and delivered the wrong food to the wrong table five times.

Not to mention he moved like a turtle on Valium.

He’d told her to let him help her, and she now regretted agreeing.

Worst of all, he kept attracting her attention. Tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, the kind of guy that wore a smile like it was cologne. He had on dark wash jeans and a golf shirt, with boat shoes, even though she doubted he had been heading for a boat today. She had to force herself more than once to concentrate on her job, instead of on him.

When the lunch demand eased, Stace slipped into the kitchen. “What were you thinking?” she said.

Frank put a finger to his temples. “Uh, that my salsa dancing days are behind me, but I can still cut a mean foxtrot.”

She laughed. “You are a pain in my butt.”

“I know, and you love me for it.” Frank grinned, then wrapped an arm around Stace’s shoulders.

She leaned into his embrace. Frank’s thick arms and broad chest enveloped her like a teddy bear. She’d known Frank all her life, and even though he’d told her a thousand times that she could get a better job than waitressing for him, she stayed. Not because she loved waitressing so much, but because she loved Frank and loved the Morning Glory. Frank hadn’t just been her father’s best friend, he’d been her father, too, in every way but biology, and she couldn’t imagine not seeing his familiar craggy face every day. Or this diner, which held so many of Stace’s memories in this one small building. “Thanks for keeping me sane, Frank.”

“Anytime.” His voice was gruff. He turned to the sink to wash his hands before he got back to work slicing tomatoes. “How’s the new guy working out?”

“Terrible. He can’t take orders, can’t deliver food to the right tables, can’t pour coffee without scalding someone.”

Frank chuckled. “He’ll learn.”

“Why on earth would you hire him? He has no experience, no customer service skills and no—”

“Job. The guy needed a job.” Frank shrugged. “So I gave him one.”

Stace eyed her boss and friend. “You don’t take pity on people like that. You’re usually harder on the staff than I am. What’s up?”

Frank paused and put the knife down. The blade seemed small next to his beefy palms. “Riley’s been coming in here for a long time.”

“Years.”

“And he’s been a bit of a pain.”

“A bit? The man is an incorrigible flirt. And he’s always asking for some custom thing or another.”

“But at heart, he’s a good guy.”

“How do you know that?”

Frank considered her for a moment. “I just know. I’ll let you figure that out for yourself. You’ll see what I see.”

She snorted. “I doubt it.”

“Just have an open heart,” Frank said. “You’re a sweet girl, Stace, but your heart is closed off. Hell, you have a big old detour sign outside it.”

“I have reasons why,” she said softly.

“Don’t you think it’s past time you opened that road again?”

She glanced out the window, at the busy city that had once seemed to hold such promise, but then one day had stolen her biggest dream, and shook her head. Some days, being at the Morning Glory was so painful, she wasn’t sure she could stay another minute. Other days, she couldn’t imagine ever leaving. “Not now.”

Maybe not ever.

She had her priorities now—a nephew who had been abandoned by his mother—and that meant she didn’t have time or need for a relationship. It wasn’t about not wanting to take that risk again—

Okay, maybe it was.

Either way, she didn’t have time. Or room for a handsome, distracting man.

She pivoted toward the counter, took the two BLTs Frank had finished assembling, and hurried out of the kitchen, before the man who knew her better than anyone in the world could read the truth in her eyes.

That Stace wasn’t so sure she had enough heart left to ever risk it again.


CHAPTER THREE

THIRTY minutes into the lunch rush, things fell apart. Riley had gone into the whole waiter job with a cocky, self-assured attitude, thinking this job, while busy, was relatively straightforward. Not easy, not once there was more than one table to juggle, but at least relatively manageable. More or less.

Then he’d been assigned Table Seven.

Stace had left him to his own devices. She’d hovered over him for the first couple of tables, but then the diner filled with customers, and she’d been too busy to supervise. “If you need something, don’t be stubborn. Ask me,” she’d said.

“I did. You turned me down.”

She let out a gust. “Get your own orders, your own coffees. I’m not your personal servant.”

He had asked her a few times to retrieve things for him. He’d thought she wanted to help him, not throw him into shark-infested waters without so much as a lifejacket. “I didn’t—”

“You did. Treat this like a real job and we’ll get along a whole lot better. And most of all, don’t be an idiot.”

He grinned at her. “You like me. Admit it.”

“I despise you. Face it.” But a smile played on her lips for a split second, before she spun on her heel and headed over to take care of two couples that came in and sat at one of the square tables. A four-top or something, she’d called it.

He watched her go, wondering why he cared that this one woman liked him. Riley McKenna had dated a lot of women. Proposed a few times, then found a way to wriggle out of the impulsive question. Though he entertained the idea from time to time, at his core, he wasn’t much for settling down. He’d seen the American Dream at play in only a handful of the people in his life, and to Riley, that meant the odds that he could have the same were between slim and none.

Boston was an ocean with a whole lot of female fish to choose from, and yet, he found himself trying to make Stace smile. Trying to catch her eye. Trying to impress her with his skills. And failing miserably. He’d watched the diner’s activity rise and fall, along with her irritation level, and wondered if perhaps the low income generated by the inexpensive food had her stressed.

He’d noticed the place struggling over the last few months, caught in the same bad economy as so many other businesses. What the diner needed was a new marketing approach, one that would give it some attention in Boston’s crowded food industry. Riley pondered that as he crossed to Table Seven, another four-top, as Stace called it, which sat in the corner by the window. For whatever reason, Stace had seated this lone man at a table for four.

Before Riley said a word, the man put up a hand. He was tall, thin, with a thick graying beard that made him look like a human grizzly, a fact augmented by the thick dark brown plaid flannel shirt and the cargo pants he wore. For some reason, he looked familiar to Riley, but Riley couldn’t place the face.

“You’re new,” the man said, “so I’m going to do this quick. I don’t want a menu. I don’t want advice, and I sure as hell don’t want your opinion about the special of the day. I want a hot cup of coffee—hot, not lukewarm, not mildly hot, but hot—and a cheeseburger with fries. Don’t skimp on the fries and don’t eat any in the kitchen.”

“I wouldn’t—”

The man ignored Riley and barreled forward. “The cheeseburger better be well done. That means cooked through. Not so much as a hint of pink. Done, dead, and dark. You hear me? I don’t need E. coli as a side dish.”

Riley jotted down burger, fries and coffee on his pad. Wrote well done and underlined it three times. “Right away, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir or buddy or pal. I don’t need a new friend. All I want is my damned food.” The man eyed Riley up and down. “What the hell was Frank thinking when he hired you? You look about as much like a waiter as a walrus.”

Riley started to answer. The man put up his hand again. “I don’t need an answer. I’m not interested in your sob story. It’ll be the same as every other one I’ve heard. Lost my job, lost my apartment, lost my damned dog. I don’t care. Just get my food.” Then the man shook out his newspaper and buried his nose in the Sports section.

Riley turned away and headed for the kitchen. Before he could give Frank the order, the older man was laughing. “I see you met Walter,” Frank said.

“If you’re talking about Table Seven, yes.” Riley ran a hand through his hair. “Is he always that pleasant?”

“Today he’s in a good mood. Usually he yells his order at me from across the room.” Frank plopped a fat burger onto the griddle, then turned to drop some fries into a fry basket. “You better go get his coffee. Walter doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

On the way to the coffee, Riley got sidetracked by a customer who had to get to a meeting and wanted his order to go. Another who asked to add a salad to his lunch order and a third who wanted extra napkins. Riley dashed from place to place, trying to keep everyone happy, and wondering how Stace—who had twice the number of tables—managed to make it look so easy and he managed to feel like he was coming up short again and again. What he needed was an assistant, something he knew Stace sure as hell wouldn’t approve. Hell, he’d had two assistants at McKenna Media. Now…none.

He wasn’t used to being the gofer. Or the go-to anything. Riley had never expected the job to be this time-consuming or difficult. Yet Stace made it look effortless. She greeted every customer with a smile, seemed to sail from kitchen to table, and never missed a step. He caught himself watching her, more than once.

“New guy! Coffee!”

Riley jerked to attention and waved at Walter, then turned to the coffeepot and poured a hot cup of coffee. Just as he turned to bring over the mug, Frank dinged the kitchen bell. “Order up. Table Seven.”

Riley pivoted back, grabbed the plate, and headed for Walter at a fast clip. The plate jiggled a little as he navigated the crowded diner, but he recovered his balance and delivered the lunch to Table Seven. “Here you go. One burger well done, side of fries, coffee.”

Walter gave the entire thing a look of distaste. “I said hot coffee. This isn’t hot.”

“It’s fresh out—”

“You poured it, then went to the kitchen. I don’t care if it took you three seconds or thirty, my coffee is cooling while you dawdle and drool over your coworker. And as for my burger and fries—” he lifted the bun, grunted apparent approval at the charred beef, then ran a finger over the fries “—there are only twenty-one fries here. My order comes with twenty-two. No more, no less. I paid for twenty-two. I want that fry.”

Across the room, Stace watched the exchange with a slight grin playing on her lips. She was clearly enjoying this.

“I’ll get right back to the kitchen,” Riley said, “and—”

“Start over. Bring me the whole thing again. From the top. Twenty-two fries.”

“Sir, I can bring you more fries—”

“I don’t want more fries, I want the ones I ordered.” Walter leaned forward. “Did you eat it?”

Riley could swear he heard Stace let out a snicker.

“No, no. I would never—”

“You smell like fries. You ate my fry.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Riley noticed a long pale rectangle on the floor. The missing fry, probably had taken a tumble when Riley had dodged a customer shoving back in his chair. “Sir—” A light, quick touch on his arm cut off Riley’s words.

“Walter, you don’t need to be giving the new guy such a hard time.” Stace flipped out a coffee mug, and filled it with hot coffee. “Why, you’ll scare him away before he finishes his first day.”

Walter took a sip of the coffee. Something that approached a smile flitted across his lips. “Why’d you dump him on my table?”

“Because you’re my best customer, that’s why.” Stace gave Walter a friendly look. “Now let me get you some new fries. And an extra pickle for your troubles.”

Walter weighed the offer. “All right. But tell him—” he thumbed in Riley’s direction “—to get his head out from between his—”

“Don’t say mean things, Walter. It gives you indigestion.” She flashed another smile, then turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen.

Riley caught up with her just inside the double doors. The movement brought them close together in the small space, so close, he could catch the vanilla and floral notes of her perfume. It danced around his senses. Sweet, light, enticing. “How’d you get Sir Surly there to smile like that?”

“Easy. I just feed into Walter’s need to be right. And his addiction to pickles. Walter can be a pain in the butt—” she arched a brow in Riley’s direction, and he wondered if that was a side reference to himself “—but he’s all right. He just likes things the way he likes them.”

He grinned. “Remind you of anyone you know?”

“Not at all.” Stace blew on her nails and feigned indifference. That same slight smile teased at her lips again. “Why? Are you volunteering?”

Riley liked her. He always had. It had to be the way she stood up to him, and gave back as good as she got. She didn’t fawn over him or gush compliments like a leaky faucet. She was straight, no-nonsense, what you see is what you get and if you don’t like it, too bad.

And he liked that.

“Not at all,” he said. A glint of devilish mischief danced in her green eyes, toyed with the corners of her smile. Maybe his being here had reduced the stress on her shoulders. “You gave me that table on purpose.”

Stace turned and called back to the kitchen. “Frank, I need another order of fries.”

He leaned around until she was looking at him again. “You know, and I know, that you set me up.”

The grin playing at the corners of her lips rose a little higher. “Maybe.”

“Part of the whole ‘make the new guy’s life miserable and maybe he’ll quit’ approach?”

She laughed. When she did, her features lit up, her eyes danced even more. “Did it work?”

“Not a chance.” He took the fresh basket of fries from Frank’s hands, then headed out the double doors. “You’re stuck with me for a while.”

“Don’t bet on it,” she called after him.

Riley was sure he heard Stace laughing as the door swung shut. Mission One accomplished. And it felt better than he’d thought.

He’d made dozens of women smile before, but never had it seemed like such a victory. And never had he worked so hard, nor cared so much about whether someone liked him. He was here for a job, nothing more, and getting distracted by the pretty and sassy waitress across the room would be a mistake.

Hadn’t he learned that lesson already? When he let a beautiful face send him off course, it ended up in a disaster. And very often, that disaster made it into the papers. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it without dating his coworker.

An hour later, the lunch crowd had left, and the diner was empty. Frank stayed in the kitchen, cleaning up from that day and prepping for the next. Stace flipped the diner’s sign to Closed, then turned the lock on the door.

Riley glanced at his watch. Just past three in the afternoon. He could probably catch up to his cousin Alec, and a few of his friends, see what they had cooking. Alec, a day trader, often started his nights in the afternoon. Time spent with Alec was always memorable, if not a little beer-filled. Riley didn’t have his usual budget to spend tonight, but he could make do with the tips in his pocket.

Riley headed to the back of the diner, pulled out his cell, dialed Alec’s number and got the rundown on the evening’s plans. As his cousin talked about the view from the bar, Riley glanced across the room at Stace, who was emptying the coffeepot. Even with her hair back in a ponytail and wearing an apron and jeans, she was beautiful. “Where I’m at has a pretty good view, too,” Riley said. Alec started to make a joke, but Riley cut him off. “Hey, I gotta go. I’ll catch up with you later.”

He lingered a while longer in the back of the diner. Stace, unaware of him, had turned on the radio and was singing along. She had a light, lyrical voice, and she paused a moment to do a twirl, and toss a discarded napkin into the trash. For a moment, she looked…happy.

He crossed the room. Where did Stace go when her day was over? Why did she work in this diner when she seemed smart enough and determined enough to handle any job? And what would it take to make her smile like she was right now?

She jerked to a stop when she saw him. “Riley. Did you need something?”

He undid the apron, then draped it over one of the chairs. “I’m heading out.” He almost said “home” then remembered Gran was charging him rent, a rent he’d only made a minuscule dent in paying, given the paltry tips in his pocket. He could have moved in with one of his brothers, but Finn was out of town and Brody was in Afghanistan. Riley could lean on one of his friends, but as he ran through a mental list, he realized there was no one he was close enough to to impinge on as a roommate.

What did that say about his life? That he didn’t have one best friend to call during an emergency?

Riley shrugged off the thought. He’d figure it out, and he’d come out on top. He always did. “See you tomorrow.”

“You can’t leave yet,” Stace said. “We still have to clean up.”

He glanced around the diner. Most of the dishes had been cleared away, and the chairs sat square against the tables. “Looks clean to me.”

“Right.” Stace laughed, then slapped a rag into his hands. “I’ll get the salt and pepper shakers off the table and you wipe. If we work together, we’ll be out of here faster. Then we can argue over who mops the floor.”

Wipe tables? Mop the floors? What was she going to have him do next, clean the windows? “Don’t you pay someone to come in and do that stuff?”

She laughed. “Yeah. You. And me.”

“Do you ever sit down?” he asked.

She laughed again. Damn, he liked her laugh. “If I do, then I’ll fall asleep.”

Her mood was lighter, and he liked that. It made the whole diner seem…sunnier. Still, the busy hours he had worked already had him dragging. The thought of staying longer—to clean, something Riley hadn’t done since he was a kid and sentenced to kitchen duty for breaking the rules—made him feel even more exhausted.

He’d much rather be sitting in Flanagan’s with Alec and Bill, knocking back a few.

“Sorry.” He put the wet rag into her hands. “I have plans.”

“No, you have a job. And that means you do what needs to be done. You don’t just sponge it off on someone else.”

He started to disagree. Then realized he’d been doing exactly that.

She pointed at the nearest table, then dangled the rag over his hand. “So get to work.”

He leaned in close, searching her emerald gaze with his own. “Is this what you are, Stace? All work and no play? You don’t ever blow off work?”

“No, I don’t. Because I have priorities. And right now my priority is getting this diner clean so I can go home.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why this place? It’s just a diner.”

“It’s not just a diner. It’s…special. And this job might be hard, but in the end, it’s worth it. It’s all worth it.” Her gaze lit on the tables, the walls, the menus, then she shook her head, and the moment of vulnerability he had glimpsed disappeared. “Anyway, I have work to do.”

She crossed to the table, and started clearing the last of the dishes, loading them into a big plastic tub nearby. A hit from the seventies played on the sound system, and Stace began to hum along, her hips swaying gently back and forth as she worked.

He thought of the guys, waiting for him down the street. There, they had beer and women, and—

And the same thing he had done every night for the past six years. He’d been there, done that, as the saying went, and wanted something else. What that something was, he didn’t know, but maybe if he stayed here a little while longer with this woman who hummed while she worked a tough job, he’d figure it out.

* * *

After the third day, Stace had to give Riley some credit. Not a lot, and not easily, but she did. The playboy, who from what she’d seen and heard, had never seemed to be much good at anything other than goofing off, had put in several hours at the diner and stayed to clean up afterward. They’d been through a half-dozen waitresses in the past year, and few stayed after tangling with Walter, or getting Frank on a bad day.

But Riley, the last person in the world she would have picked, had stayed. Why? If this job was just a lark—the well-off spending a day in the shoes of the other half—then why was he still here? Did he really need the money?

What she’d heard and read of the McKennas suggested they weren’t hurting in the cash department. Then why was the youngest McKenna hoofing it at a diner?

And why did she care? She didn’t need a man in her life. She barely had enough room for herself.

Still, she liked that he had put in the hours, and she had to admit, she was beginning to like him. Look forward to seeing him. And his damnable smile. Even as she told herself to steer clear of his charm.

After working together for a few days, they’d worked out a system of partnership. They had cleaned half the tables already, and stacked the chairs to ready the floor for mopping—a big job, after two solid days of rain and muddy footprints. Frank was still in the kitchen, taking care of the dishes and next day’s prep. Stace had offered to help, but stubborn Frank had insisted on doing the job himself. For a long time, he’d had a couple of helpers in the kitchen, but since the business had taken a downturn, he’d taken the entire kitchen load on his own shoulders. She sighed.

Frank had talked about traveling the world a hundred times, but never taken a step toward his dream. His health had been poor, something she was sure the stress of the diner augmented, and that just increased her determination to save her pennies and buy out Frank, something she’d offered a hundred times to do, and always he’d said no.

Maybe if she could increase sales he’d be able to hire back some help, and afford some time off. Either way, it wasn’t something she could change today.

Stace paused to stretch her back and work out some of the kinks. She bent her neck right, left, then let out a deep breath.

“Tired?” Riley asked.

“Always.” She tried to smile, but even that was too much right now. The day had been long, and had a long way to go yet. Jeremy would be leaving school soon and that meant her second shift as temporary mom to a difficult teenager was about to start. Frank had increased the volume on the radio, and his favorite oldies pulsed in the bright space. She cringed at the memory of Riley catching her in that unguarded moment a couple of days ago.

Riley studied her for so long she finally looked away, pretending that she was inspecting the diner. Why did his mere presence affect her so?

“Why don’t you take a load off?” he said. “I’ll get the rest of this.”

“I really should—”

He jerked out a chair and waved toward the seat. “You really should sit, and let me help you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re tired.” He took the rag out of her hands, before she could protest. “And because I’m not nearly as bad as you think I am.”

Exhaustion finally won the battle, and Stace dropped into the chair. “Just for a minute.”

Riley grinned. “Take as many minutes as you need.”

In fast, efficient movements, he tackled the rest of the tables. He removed all the salt and pepper shakers, then the sugar dispensers, before wiping them in quick but thorough circles. He’d paid attention to her instructions, clearly. Her respect for him inched upward another notch. Still, the pampered marketing exec didn’t belong here, and she wondered for the hundredth time why he had taken the job.

“Tell me something,” she said.

“What?”

“Why are you here?”

“I work here. Remember?” He flashed that grin at her again. The man smiled a lot, that was for sure. And if she’d been the kind of woman looking for a man who smiled like that, well, she’d be…tempted.

But she wasn’t. Not one bit. Uh-uh.

“I know that. I meant why did you get a job here, as a waiter? Don’t you work at an ad agency or something?”

“I used to. I got…fired. Sort of.”

“How does someone get sort of fired?”

“I worked for my grandmother. She thought it was time I found other employment.” He finished the last table, sent the rag sailing toward the bucket of dirty dishes, and waited for it to land with a satisfying thud before he returned to where Stace was sitting. He spun the opposite chair around and sat, draping his arms over the back. “She gets these ideas sometimes, and this was her latest.”

“Ideas? On what?”

“On what’s good for the McKenna boys.” Riley chuckled and shook his head.

Stace’s curiosity piqued. She told herself she didn’t need to know anything more about this man than whether he would show up tomorrow. She knew his type. Knew better than to fall for a smile and a flirt. But that didn’t stop the questions from spilling out of her mouth. “And what is good for the McKenna boys?”

“Hard work, beautiful women, and a good Irish stout.”

She laughed. “Beer? Your grandmother really said that?”

“I might have added that one.” Another grin. But Riley didn’t expound on much more than that, and she realized even after three days, she knew little about him.

“And you have, what, two out of the three?” she asked.

“Right now, I have none. Unless Frank keeps some good, dark beer back there.”

“No, definitely not.”

“Then I’m batting a thousand.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said. “You got the hard work over the last few days.”

“True.” He leaned forward, his blue eyes zeroing in on her features. “What about you? Why are you working here?”

She looked away. “It’s my job.”

“I know that,” he said, repeating her words from before. “But what I want to know is why. You’re smart and efficient. You could do a hundred things other than waitress.”

She bristled and got to her feet. “We have a floor to clean. I can’t sit around all day.”

“Sorry.” Riley rose, too. “I shouldn’t have probed. I don’t like people poking around in my private life. I shouldn’t do it to you.”

“Remember that, and we might just be able to work together.”

It was her way of warning him off. She didn’t want to get close to him, or to any man, right now. She had her priorities—working hard, saving money, and raising Jeremy—and there was no room in her life for a man like Riley, who’d just drain her heart and leave her empty in the end.

His gaze took in the glistening tables, the stacked chairs. “We did pretty good today.”

“We did. Thanks for the help, and the rest. I needed it.” She tossed him his apron. “I’ll see you at five, playboy. And that’s a.m., not p.m., so don’t have too much of number three tonight.”

“I was here at five this morning.”

“No, you were here at five-fifteen today. Five-thirty yesterday.” She worked another kink out of her neck. “That means I have to pick up the slack.”

“Getting up early isn’t exactly my strong suit.” He made an apologetic face.

“You’ll learn.”

“Learn what?”

She shifted the chair until it was square against the table. “That you can’t have it all, Riley.”

He moved closer. “Speaking from experience?”

She turned away. “Just giving you friendly advice.”

“Are you saying you never go out after work? There’s no special guy who takes you out on the town?”

“I’m saying that I keep my life list in order,” she said, turning back to him. “And my list is definitely different from—” The diner’s door opened and Jeremy burst in the room. She could tell before her nephew even opened his mouth that bad news was coming.

“I’m never going back to that school again,” Jeremy said. “It sucks. My whole life sucks.”

Stace ached to put an arm around her nephew, to hug him, but she could see him already pulling back. The last year had been hard on him and whenever anyone got too close, he backed up. Years ago, her nephew had told her everything, come to her whenever he was upset. But lately…he’d been as distant as a man on the moon. “Jer, whatever happened today will be better tomorrow. I promise.”

Jeremy snorted, then dumped his backpack on the floor. His mane of dark hair hung halfway over his face, obscuring his wide brown eyes from view. “I doubt that. Because I got expelled.”

“Are you serious?” Stace’s breath left her in a whoosh. “How? Why?”

He shrugged. “The stupid principal thought the drawing I hung in the hall was ‘inappropriate.’” He waved air quotes around the word. “Whatever. I told him it was the First Amendment to express my opinion and he could go to—”

“Oh, Jeremy.” Just when she thought things were improving, they took a serious detour toward Getting Worse.

Riley clapped Stace on the back. “Don’t worry, Stace. I got expelled three times. And I turned out okay.”

Jeremy’s face perked up. “Really? What’d you do?”

“Do not talk to him,” Stace said to Riley. “Not one word.” She crossed to her nephew and stood between the two of them like a human shield for bad advice. But she was too late. Jeremy scooted around her and strode up to Riley, beaming up at the playboy like he was seeing a personal hero.

Stace had prayed for another male influence to come into Jeremy’s life. Someone who could speak to him on his level, maybe even take him to the amusement park or play football or any of the things that Frank didn’t have the time or the energy to do.

Riley McKenna was the last person she would have picked for the job. And now, watching Riley and Jeremy talk—and her nephew smile for the first time in forever—Stace realized she was stuck with her worst nightmare. At work, and now, at home.

Somehow, Stace had to get rid of Riley. As she hustled her nephew out of the diner, she vowed to make sure the bachelor was gone by the end of the day tomorrow.


CHAPTER FOUR

RILEY had no business being here. He should have gone to his grandmother’s house, to try to talk Gran out of her crazy idea. Or gone to hang out with his friends, who were undoubtedly several beers deep into their evening out already.

Instead Riley found himself flipping through a phone directory, then taking the train several stops down the Red Line until he arrived on the outskirts of Dorchester. Then a long, brisk walk to reach a neighborhood dotted with security bars over the store windows and battered No Trespassing signs nailed to the front of abandoned houses. He took a right, then a left, and another right before finally arriving before an aging one-story Cape with a sagging front porch and peeling white paint.

Riley checked the address he’d jotted down. Checked it again.

This was where Stace lived, according to the phone book. He thought of the guest house he lived in on Gran’s property. It wasn’t anything grand, but the Newton house and accompanying land were a far cry from the dilapidated building before him.

He wondered again how someone could work the job she did, for the pittance she received, and still be happy. All those years of sports cars and women and parties, Riley had told himself he was happy.

But now he wasn’t so sure that was true. Even though she faced the usual stresses involved in working a hard job, at the end of the day, when she was humming along to the radio, or giving him or Frank a good razzing, he saw something in Stace. A contentment, with her life, her job, herself. So he’d come here tonight, in part, to find a little of that for himself.

And maybe brainstorm a little. He’d been thinking about the diner’s struggles over the last few days and had jotted down a few ideas, fiddled with some concepts. Maybe he could put something he’d learned at McKenna Media to work.




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