chapter 1

Part 1. The Bond

The day Damian first met Christyn Brandywine had been one of the worst days of his recent life.

The sun wasn’t even up yet when he was fired from his night job as a security guard at a gated apartment community. He’d come to work a little high and committed a split-second error at the guardhouse control panel which, had it been committed a hair earlier, would have been harmless, but as things were, had resulted in him dropping a wrought-iron gate on the hood of some lady’s very expensive Audi. Although the old lady had decided not to press charges, Damian was promptly terminated.

He still had his day job seating tables at a restaurant, but as he made his was across town for that, he must have been swerving, because he was pulled over two blocks away from the restaurant, and in his strung-out state, he didn’t think twice about snapping at the police officer, “What the fuck is your problem, man?”

And maybe if he’d just been a little more polite, the officer wouldn’t have noticed the handgun that had slipped out from underneath his passenger’s seat, or would have at least forgotten to ask for the license and registration for the firearm that Damian couldn’t provide.

But, as things stood, he was walking into the Capital Cafe late, with a shiny new ticket and a court summons to add to the pile back at home--he already had a whole manila folder full of tickets and warrants stacked thicker than his middle finger. Hell, he would’ve taken the ticket in stride if the officer hadn’t, as a final devastating blow to his manhood, confiscated his gun.

At least the manager wasn’t standing upfront when Damian came in. Probably in the office. So he had a good three minutes before he was written up for tardiness--not even a month into this job and he already knew the drill, he’d been late enough times. Maybe he had five minutes if he was lucky. And hey, it looked like there was some new eye candy in the joint.

The new girl was blonde, pretty, and damn, had a nice, robust set of curves, at least as far as he could tell under her stiff server button-down and slacks. She was older than he was, and despite it being her first day on the job, she was already meticulously cleaning tables in her section with a sense of purpose and a sort of elegance to her, like she’d done this before at some other restaurant, or a few other restaurants, until she’d mastered the art.

It was her lips that really drew him in. They were plump and pouty and painted this deep burgundy red that made him stare, and despite the complete and total bullshittery of his morning so far, he couldn’t help but think about those lips closing warm and wet around his--

“MENDEZ! MY OFFICE! NOW!”

Shit. When the general manager reduced him to a last name only, he knew he was in trouble.

Unable to feel his feet, he shuffled his way into the office in the back of the small restaurant.

Chance was a little dude. Skinny, slouchy, baggy shirt, big glasses. But fuck, could he yell.

“Do you know how many days you’ve been late this week? Don’t answer that for me. EVERY. DAMN. DAY.”

Damian trembled in his spot, standing in the one floor tile his feet took up when he held them as close as they would go. “I’m sorry…”

“WHAT WAS IT THIS TIME?”

“I...I got pulled over.”

“Same excuse, different day. Speeding again?”

“...I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Don’t you? Because the next time this happens, you’ll be out on your ass unless you can give me a very good reason not to fire you.”

Damian swallowed. He knew what being let go would mean for him; he had already lost one job that day and without this one, he would definitely be evicted from the apartment he could barely afford as it was. If he couldn’t convince anybody to take him in, he’d have to move in with his sister on the north side of Houston, and he’d rather be shot point-blank between the eyes than go back to living with her, especially after the way he’d left things off with her, vowing in front of a whole courtroom that he’d never see her again...

But the one thing he wanted even less right now was to beg the man in front of him for anything, even his livelihood. So he forced his expression into a stone mask and said, “If it happens again, I won’t bother showing up.”

“You’d better not,” said Chance. He was smirking, seeming satisfied that he had gotten his point across...loser. He probably got off on bossing his employees around because he was too pathetic to just get laid.

With Chance’s latest lecture over, Damian stood and made to take his place at the host desk up front, only, when he opened the door, he almost hit the new girl right in the face with it. “Sorry!” he said, but she didn’t seem upset.

“No worries, that was completely on me! I should have knocked,” she said. Then, “You must be the AM host. Damian, right?”

He blinked. “How’d you know?”

“It’s on the schedule,” she said, holding up a copy of the schedule between two fingers for him to see.

Oh. Duh. If he hadn’t thought of that, it was because he had a lot on his mind, and it didn’t help that she was even hotter up close. The top of her head only came up to about his chin, and the height difference gave him a perfect view right down her shirt…

“Anyway, I didn’t know how long you’d be in there, so I took the liberty of wiping down and organizing your menus, calling to confirm all the resos, and I went ‘head and hit the front door with some Windex...I think all that’s left for you is to restock the candy bowl.”

He could feel his face turn red. “You didn’t have to do all that.” She probably thought he was completely incompetent.

If she did, though, she made no show of it. “No worries!” she said again. “Do you think I could get in there for a minute though? I need to talk to Chance. Chance! Hey, can I talk to you a minute about my schedule?”

With that, she disappeared into the office and let the door close behind her before Damian could even catch her name.

There were two servers on for the lunch shift, but no bartender, not on a Monday morning. Dave’s section was ready to be sat, as usual. Scott, on the other hand, had walked in even later than Damian had, and his booths were a mess, but Chance was somehow completely silent on that matter.

Oh, and here came Scott walking up to the host stand now. His hair was rumpled, a bit of a sauce stain crusted on his shirt from some previous shift, and he looked like he hadn’t slept all night. Guess he had fun. He glanced both ways before placing a crisp five dollar bill onto the stack of menus. “Hey man, I know I’m late,” he said, “but do you think you could do me a favor and make me first in the rotation?”

Now, Damian had accepted bribes from the servers before, but he knew he was in no position to break the rules after that stern talking-to he’d just received. But he didn’t want to lose face in front of his coworker by admitting he was actually scared of the boss. So he squared his shoulders, picked up the five and tossed it flippantly back at the waiter. “The fuck am I supposed to do with this, man? Five bucks? I piss that money. Raise the price and maybe we’ll talk.”

“Loser.” Scott took back his money and huffed past the host stand.

Damian thought that would be the end of it. But then, behind him, he heard the unmistakable smack of flesh connecting on flesh, and he turned around startled to see the new girl, her hand full of Scott’s fist just inches away from Damian’s head. “Dude, calm down,” she said, “we’ve got guests driving up."