Bad Boy Benefits: A Standalone Little Sister's Best Friend Romance
Copyright © 2021 by JD Hawkins
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Paige Press
Leander, TX 78641
Ebook:
ISBN: 978-1-953520-72-2
Print:
ISBN: 978-1-953520-73-9
Contents
Also by JD Hawkins
About This Book
Chapter 1
Toby
Chapter 2
Maeve
Chapter 3
Toby
Chapter 4
Maeve
Chapter 5
Toby
Chapter 6
Maeve
Chapter 7
Toby
Chapter 8
Maeve
Chapter 9
Toby
Chapter 10
Maeve
Chapter 11
Toby
Chapter 12
Maeve
Chapter 13
Toby
Chapter 14
Maeve
Chapter 15
Toby
Chapter 16
Maeve
Chapter 17
Toby
Chapter 18
Maeve
Chapter 19
Toby
Chapter 20
Maeve
Chapter 21
Toby
Chapter 22
Maeve
Chapter 23
Toby
Chapter 24
Maeve
Chapter 25
Toby
Epilogue
Also by JD Hawkins
Paige Press
About the Author
Also by JD Hawkins
Behaving Badly Series
Playing Doctor
Bad Boy Benefits
BS Boyfriend
Cocky Men Series
Cocky Chef
Flawless
All In
Bad Boys Series
Confessions of a Bad Boy
Love and Ink
Unprofessional
Temptation
Insatiable Series
Insatiable
Booty Call
The Bet
About This Book
She’s my sister’s best friend…
The night we hooked up was definitely the best in my life. But you know sisters—they make things complicated.
So Maeve and I called it one and done, and for the sake of their friendship, we pretended it never happened.
It’s pretty easy to develop a routine. We joke around, make fun of each other. And I never let on that I know what Maeve looks like without her clothes—or how often I think about it.
I’m starting to think we pulled it off when out-of-the-blue she sashays back into my jewelry store. The visit starts like normal. The banter. The teasing.
But then she invites me to a party. And what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk her home after?
Let’s be real—I’m no gentleman. And Maeve is no lady.
The kind of teasing we’re doing now is dangerous. This is fast becoming a frenemies-with-benefits situation. It’s complicated enough before my sister decides to set us up… with other people.
We can only keep our secret for so long.
I’m starting to think there might be a diamond in all this rough.
But Maeve never lets me have the last word...
1
Toby
“Show me your woman.”
“Huh?”
The guy looks at me over the glass jewelry counter like I just spoke an alien language. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning, the clean L.A. sun exploding through the windows and dancing across the precious stones and metals I sell in my shop; shimmering and sparkling like there’s magic in here. There is, in a way.
“Your fiancée,” I tell the guy. “The woman you’re about to propose to? The love of your life, the whole reason you came into my shop looking for an engagement ring in the first place. You don’t have pictures of her on your phone?”
“Uh…yeah. Sure,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his expensive-but-poorly-fitting suit to pull out his phone.
As I’m waiting, I glance over at the other counter to my assistant, Sharon, and give her a quick wink while she tends to a young Japanese couple. Five years ago she was an awkward, mousey college student who only applied for an internship at my shop as work experience for some management course she was taking. At the time, my jewelry business was one slow weekend away from failing, but she was desperate enough to risk it. Now Miracle Isle has become the hottest jewelry shop in the city—and Sharon isn’t too far behind.
“Hold on a sec,” the guy says, still fumbling with his phone.
“Sure, buddy.”
I take a good look at him, though I sized him up the second he parked his Mustang Mach 1 outside and walked in. Mid-thirties but with a boyish face that’s losing its handsomeness by the minute. Inoffensive haircut that he probably hasn’t changed since the two-thousands. A slight beer belly he’s given up on, though he still makes an effort with his clothes. An unremarkable guy. Probably came from a nice family, easy job, never had any big challenges in life, and maybe—more revealingly—never felt the need for one.
“Here,” he says, holding the phone out. “That’s her.”
Though he intends to show me at a distance, I take the phone from him and check out the hot blonde in the picture. I let out a high whistle, and start scrolling through some of the other pictures too confidently for him to protest.
“Goddamn,” I mutter, peeling my eyes away for a second to nod at him briefly. “She’s a dime.”
“Yeah. She is,” he says with slightly embarrassed pride.
She’s way out of his league, but she doesn’t have the resting scowl-face of a gold digger. My guess is she’s either a childhood sweetheart or just plain down-to-earth. Which makes me lean away from the kind of ring I call the “basic bitch”: a big, round, brilliant cut stone in a classic prong setting. In platinum, of course. Maybe with a halo of small diamonds.
This girl will want something low-set that she can wear to the gym, something that won’t snag on her sweatshirt when she’s camping. A ring that’s not so glitzy it’ll draw tons of attention, but still unique enough to stand out. All of this flashes through my mind in a second, and I hand the guy his phone back with a nod.
“Very nice. So what were you thinking about putting on this fine young woman’s finger?”
The guy peers over the counter and points at a ring.
“I think I’m gonna go for this one,” he says.
I glance down and raise a brow. Platinum, prong setting, brilliant cut. “What’s that?”
“This one? The one-point-oh-six carat?”
I look up at him but he’s still studying the ring until I let out a little chuckle and draw his sudden attention.
“What?” he says.
“Come on, friend. I know you’re not really that cheap.”
“Cheap?” he says, too stunned to be completely offended. “It’s five figures!”
“Barely,” I say, still amused.
“That’s a lot of money.”
“Pfft. Who cares about the money? A ring is an investment. It’s going to stay in the… What’s your name?”
“Greg Miller
.”
“The ‘Miller’ dynasty for generations.”
The guy laughs.
“I’m not sure about that.”
“Sure it is. Tell you what, I’ll cut you a deal,” I say. “I’ll give you the ring for that nice little Mustang you pulled up in.”
“You kidding?”
“I’m deadly serious.”
He twists his boyish face up into a look of confusion. “Why would I do that?”
“‘Why would you do that’ –exactly,” I say, relishing the feeling that I’m getting him on the hook now. “That Mustang’s worth at least five times as much as this ring.”
“Yeah but… I mean… That’s my car. My pride and joy. I practically live in that thing.”
I open my arms wide and shrug at him emphatically. “And what’s your wife gonna do with her engagement ring? Only put it on in the shower?”
The guy squirms a little and I take the opportunity to round the counter so I can put an arm around his shoulder, both of us facing the array of shining jewels behind the glass.
“What kind of car could you get for the price of that ring you just pointed out, huh?” I say in a friendly tone. “A nice used Corolla? A beat-up 80s Corvette?”
“It’s not really the same thing…”
“Damn straight it’s not the same thing. A car gets less valuable the longer you own it. Takes money just to run a car. You can change a car whenever you want, but the only way your wife gets to change her engagement ring is by ditching you.”
He shoots me a look that’s meant to be offended but he can’t hide the flash of concern in his eyes.
“How would you feel,” I continue, “if your wife bought you a twenty-ten Honda Acura as a symbol of your love.”
“I mean, it’s not a bad car…”
“It’s a great car. Sure,” I say. “As a symbol it says that she thinks you’re a great guy. But five years down the line…ten years…you’re gonna be in that Acura and you’re gonna think, is that all I am?” I let that sink in a while and the guy sighs, slowly starting to get it. I lean toward him as if whispering a secret. “Why not the nine-eleven? Why not the Jag? She had one shot and she went for the Acura.”
He stares at the ring intently, his lips twisting a little. Suddenly he laughs and looks up at me like he’s just understood a punchline. He points at me.
“You’re just trying to upsell me,” he says. “Just trying to squeeze some more money out of me. I get it.”
I look at him with a deadpan smile, then gently turn him around to face away from the counter, at the rest of my shop.
“Take a look, friend,” I say. “It’s nine-thirty in the morning and I’ve already got eight people in here. At least four of them are buyers. The old guy in the pinstripe and Cuban heels? That’s drug money. He’ll probably tip me more than that ring you want is worth. That guy in the khakis who didn’t even comb his hair? That’s Colorado millionaire money. Odds are he’ll buy a necklace worth thirty k for his twenty-five-year-old girlfriend and still feel like he got a deal because it’s half as much as he pays in alimony. In two hours I’ve got a backroom meeting with a Bollywood star who never spends less than six figures here.”
I turn to face him and he’s so enraptured he mirrors me.
“I’m trying to upsell you,” I say firmly, “but it’s not about the money, friend.”
“What’s it about then?”
I tap the back of my hand against his chest as I speak.
“It’s about your wife. It’s about love, man.”
The guy starts to laugh but doesn’t finish it once he sees the seriousness in my face.
“Huh?”
I take the phone from him again and say, “Look at her. Really look at your wife. As if you’ve never seen her before.”
He looks from the phone to me then back again.
“She’s beautiful,” he says, though he sounds uncertain, as if giving the answer to a test question.
“She’s a dime,” I say, flicking through the pictures until I get to one of her in a bikini.
“Hey!” he says, when I settle on the bikini pic.
“Look at that body,” I say, ignoring his protest. “You know how much work goes into a body like that? We got the best restaurants in Los Angeles… Dunkin’ Donuts exists and your wife has a body like that—come on!” I flick through the photos. “Look at this makeup.”
“What makeup?”
“Exactly. You can’t tell. This woman’s an artist. She can shade better than most art majors. And her hair… Not a strand out of place in any of these pics. I don’t blame you for not noticing—she makes it look effortless. Good dresser, too. Most Hollywood actors need a team of stylists to pick clothes this well, this consistently. Look, even her pajamas are stylish enough for a red carpet.”
“Hey,” he says again when I settle on the pajama pic, and this time I let him grab the phone from me and put an arm around his shoulder conspiratorially.
“My point is,” I continue, “your wife puts a lot of effort into how she looks, into what she wears on her body. And this ring… It’s going to be something she wears all the time. Maybe the most important thing. She’s gonna have to match it with every outfit. It’s gonna have a lot of meaning to her. You get where I’m coming from?”
The guy sighs and twists his lips a little, then nods reluctantly.
“Sure, I get it…but…well, what do you suggest?”
“Have you heard of ‘the four Cs’?”
He nods. “Of course. That first ring checked all the boxes. Cut, clarity, carat weight, color—”
“Forget all about ‘em. You need a stone with a soul, not just one that looks good on paper.” I move away from him, clapping my hands as I move back around the counter. “Now let’s see,” I say, looking over my merchandise with fresh eyes. “Lot of clues in the pics. Your wife’s favorite color is green, clearly—”
“I knew that,” he says quickly.
I glance up at him with a little smile.
“Of course you did… So something that’ll make green pop. Maybe a red or pink stone accent? A gold band? Now…she’s active, so you’ll want a low setting. And she’s not the flashy type, either, so the stone shouldn’t be too big…”
“Yeah, yeah,” the guy says eagerly. “Absolutely.”
“But more than one carat for sure…maybe a trilogy… Hold up,” I say, holding out a finger as I move away, “stay right there. I’m gonna make you make your wife happier than any other man on this planet could.”
I wheel around the counter, past Sharon, to a storage compartment tucked away beneath one of the displays and grab what I’m looking for, then return holding the box as delicately as a ticking bomb. I lay it on the counter in front of the guy, and then gesture for him to open it.
“This is it, my friend. This is the one.”
He looks at me a little nervously, then carefully opens the box. Inside is any woman’s wet dream of a ring: a 1.5 carat center diamond, bezel set, with two flawless, pear shaped, deep red ruby side stones, all done in 18k. I make an explosion sound with my mouth. The guy whistles.
“Holy shit…” he says.
“Right?” I say, with a big grin. “It’s perfect, huh?”
“That price…” the guy says, and I realize his whistle had nothing to do with aesthetics.
I let out a sigh and put a hand to my face.
“Okay, okay, okay,” I say, defeated. I reach under the counter and pull out the original ring he was looking at and place it beside the spectacular one. “You win. You like this one, customer’s choice. It’s your engagement.”
Sensing that he’s won, the guy says, “I get that you’re trying to help. But it’s just a ring. And my wife—fiancée—she understands we don’t have that much money to burn on it.”
I look at him with a mixture of incredulity and pity.
“She’ll understand?”
“Yeah, she will. We love each other, that’s what matters,” he says
.
I nod.
“Kinda sounds like the money matters a little more.”
The guy laughs, incredulous at me now.
“Dude,” he says, “I understand. You’re trying to sell me on the other ring. It’s your job. But I just can’t spend that much. We’re still paying off the house. And when we get married there’s gonna be a whole lotta things I got to spend money on.”
I look back at the guy and he looks back at me with an empty-headed grin. I don’t know why I’m so set on trying to get him to buy the better ring, but something about the whole thing has just gotten under my skin. Maybe it’s that this clueless, unremarkable man doesn’t seem to realize that he’s landed an extraordinary woman well out of his league. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t seem to respect the two things I love more than anything in this world: jewelry and women. Maybe I just like a challenge after my morning coffee.
“You know why I like jewelry?” I say wistfully, changing the tone between us completely. “Why I got into the business?” The guy looks a little stunned, but raises a curious eyebrow. “Because it’s permanent. It lasts. Clothes, hair, fashions—they all change. The way people talk. The way they act. Even the way they think. It changes. But a quality, well-cut diamond was beautiful a hundred years ago, it’s beautiful now, and it will be beautiful long after we’re gone. Not even art lasts as long.”
“Um… I’m not sure where you’re going with this, dude.”
“That’s why we give diamonds to our partners,” I say, feeling like I’m just thinking out loud rather than telling him anything, “because the other thing that lasts forever is love. Because it’s a symbol of how tough and beautiful and long-lasting love is.”