How the Playboy Got Serious

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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.