Crazy For You Read online

  Crazy For You

  Tory Baker

  Contents

  1. Devon

  2. Michelle

  3. Devon

  4. Michelle

  5. Devon

  6. Michelle

  7. Devon

  8. Michelle

  9. Devon

  10. Michelle

  11. Devon

  12. Michelle

  13. Devon

  14. Michelle

  15. Devon

  16. Michelle

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Tory Baker

  Copyright © 2020 by Tory Baker

  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.

  Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Edited By: Kendra's Editing and Book Services

  Cover Design By: Outlined With Love Designs

  Created with Vellum

  Two people that made this book happen, Amie and Cece: You two saved the day… multiple times. Thank you!

  1

  Devon

  There she is, cutting hair, standing on her feet for God knows how many hours, here in the airport in a city that barely closes down. She has to be dead on her feet, yet a serene smile plays on her face as she moves this way and that way while cutting someone’s hair.

  For the past six months, the first thing I do is grab my luggage from the conveyor belt here in Las Vegas, Nevada, my home sweet home. Then I look at her. Michelle is now the only one I’ll ever let touch my hair. I love that feeling of her hands delving into my hair, the way she nibbles on her bottom lip while she’s deep in concentration, her tight body flitting here and there, and the way her body presses up against mine. I never believed for a second that I could possibly feel anything like this toward someone, especially not since her. That thought gives me chills, and not in a good way either.

  I shake those thoughts from my head, grab my suitcase, and flip up the handle. Wheeling it behind me, I make my way toward her salon. She makes a killing here; not only does she do everything a normal salon would do, but her shop is in the Vegas airport. It had to be the smartest thing business-wise to open up here. From looking at the clients sitting in the waiting area, I can tell business is doing good.

  “Hi, Devon. Have a seat.” Her voice is soft and melodic. I’m here like clockwork, even if I’m not traveling.

  “Hey, Michelle. I’ll be here.” I watch her the entire time as I slide into a chair after I’ve made my way into “Hair Break Hotel,” the play on words working perfectly for Vegas.

  My thoughts go back to two years ago. I was living it up, working, drinking, hanging out with friends, and being a fucking idiot. That still pains me to say. No man ever wants to admit he’s fucked up, but it’s the truth of the matter. My younger brother was more mature than I was back then. I didn’t listen to anyone; I thought I was indestructible. That is until I had to file a paternity lawsuit against my now ex-girlfriend. I’m not even sure I would call Stacey a girlfriend. She was a mistake, a huge mistake that almost cost me my family, my career, and my sanity.

  I was lucky enough that my parents and Lincoln didn’t disown me afterward. But I can’t help but think, if the baby she was carrying had been mine, I’d be the best parent I could. I’d fight for every moment to spend with our child if he or she were mine.

  That wasn’t in the cards, though. When they were laid out on the table and we got the call from our family attorney, it shook me through my core. Life sucked at that moment. I almost let it knock me down. I didn’t, though. Instead, I took it as a wake-up call. Got my shit together and worked harder than ever, moving my way up the ladder so my parents could finally retire. Hell, they deserved it after all this time. They even bought a vacation house by Lincoln and Presley so they could see my nephew more often.

  Lincoln didn’t want the family business. I did, but I was too lazy to work for it, thinking they’d just hand it off at one point. Boy, was I wrong, when my dad sat me down well before the paternity suit, telling me he’d be selling the company if I didn’t pull my head out of my ass.

  Something inside me woke me up after that call from the attorney, and it was about damn time. So, I put my head down, focused on myself for a while. I quit drinking, quit hanging out with people that were in the party atmosphere so much, and I worked my ass off.

  I wasn’t the father of Stacey’s child, and it hurt. It hit me harder than I thought it would the day we got the news. I almost fell back into that downward spiral; I could feel it—the need to lash out, go to a bar, get drunk, and drown my sorrow in a bottle of whiskey.

  Instead, I called my parents. Hell, I practically ran to them. I found solace in letting everything out, and I’m man enough to know it was needed. If anything, the clenching in my heart wasn’t as constricted after I spoke to them. The problem was, I started imagining raising a child of my own—what it would be like to hold him or her in my arms, praying like hell they got some kind of good genes from me.

  It devastated a piece of me. Don’t get me wrong; I wasn’t upset about not having to deal with Stacey for the rest of my life, but in the back of my mind, that child was mine. The knowledge that it wasn’t sucked something fierce.

  Now, though, I’ve taken over Anderson Construction Group, something I didn’t ever think my father would allow. As of last winter, Dad handed it over, and it was a momentous occasion. We didn’t celebrate like normal people would; we all flew down to Florida, hung out with my brother at his bar, only this time without the need to get drunk. I had a beer, hung out with everyone, and then I flew back. That’s when I first met Michelle. I came back in desperate need of a haircut, and she was available.

  I neglected myself while I was getting my feet wet, and I’m not ashamed to say there were some nights I ate, lived, breathed, and hell, even slept at the office. It wasn’t easy for some contractors to take me seriously, not after fucking off for too many years to count. It took almost eight months for them to see I was ready to do anything I needed to prove my worth, even if it meant working in the field, side by side with my crew.

  Like now, for instance. I left to head out to Arizona to land us another account, one that will keep us busy for many years to come with a residential company. It seems more and more lately, we’re getting busier than we ever were. I’d like to think I had something to do with it, even if I didn’t.

  My eyes wander over to Michelle again, taking in the way her black leggings show off the shape and curve of not only her legs, but her ass too. When she turns around, her front is just as shapely. Her breasts are more than a handful, but what really knocks the breath out of me is her smile. When she smiles, her deep chocolate eyes sparkle.

  “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” I hear Michelle say, stopping me from lingering any longer. This woman, damn she makes me want to be a better man, even if it’s only to steal an hour from her every three weeks.

  2

  Michelle

  Every time Devon comes in, my body hums in contentedness. Truth be told, I spend way more time on him than I should. If I wasn’t the owner, and was just renting a booth, I’d probably get dirty looks from the other hairdressers. Thank God, I jumped on this opportunity
three years ago. Sure, it’s not easy; my back, legs, and feet hurt at the end of the day. But it’s mine—well, besides paying the rent, of course, this place was in the black six months after opening, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

  “How have you been?” I ask Devon, and as he comes back to my chair, I place the cape around his collar. His muscular build is a contradiction to the softness of my own.

  “Good, just left Arizona. I’m home for a few weeks now, so I can’t complain.”

  “That’s great to hear. I know how much you hate traveling. Come on back so I can wash your hair.” I motion him to follow me.

  He sits, tilting his head back, and when his green eyes meet mine, a smile plays on his face. I get to work on washing his hair, more thoroughly than I would for any other client. I have to reach over for the bottle of shampoo. I swear my girls move things on me on purpose. When I feel Devon’s breath on my chest, I realize my breast is right above his face. I took my smock off earlier since it weighed down on my neck, giving me a headache. I never thought to put it back on, and now I’m seeing the benefit of it.

  I wish I could say the sensation Devon just gave me didn’t rattle me, but it did. For months now, we’ve been playing this cat and mouse game. One of us is going to have to give in. I only wonder who it’ll be. I continue washing Devon’s hair until it’s shampooed and conditioned. The feel of his locks running through my fingers, the way he hums his approval… Yeah, something is going to have to give.

  “You can head back to my chair now,” I say after I’ve dried his hair.

  “I’ll do that. I didn’t get to ask how you’ve been doing,” he replies.

  “I’m doing, but you know how that goes. You have to pay to play. I’m looking forward to having a few days off this weekend, though.” I get him situated in the chair, then pull out my scissors and comb.

  “Yeah, you have any plans?”

  “Not unless you count watching Netflix, working in my yard, and drinking wine,” I remark.

  “We’ll have to get together. My weekend is free.” I look around and notice the salon has somehow emptied out since Devon got here. Even my girls aren’t at their stations.

  “I’d like that.” The insides of my body are literally jumping for joy right now. I mean, if Devon wasn’t here, I’d totally be doing that. I get back to cutting his hair, knowing how he likes his hair cut. His hair is long for most men’s standards these days, touching the top of his collar when it’s freshly trimmed. Devon Anderson definitely has that bad boy appeal. I can tell he may have been wild in his past, but he seems to have settled down lately. Even in a big town like Vegas, everyone still seems to know what happens in the lifestyles of the not so rich and famous.

  I look at the progress I’ve made in the mirror, running my fingers through the top until it trails to the ends. Devon’s head drops back in a moan. “Must have been a long trip,” I murmur.

  “It wasn’t horrible, but the plane ride is always a bitch.” I roll my eyes since everyone knows any Anderson only travels first class.

  “I saw that, Michelle.” We both laugh. He’s the only one that’s ever had an effect on my body with the way he says my name.

  “Okay, fine. That wasn’t nice of me, but first class? That has to be a dream compared to coach,” I scoff.

  “It is, though we still have recirculated air, and there still isn’t enough room for my legs.” He looks at his legs, and I know he’s not kidding.

  “Well, hopefully, your week gets better. Does it look good?” I ask, knowing he prefers me not to put any product in his hair.

  “Looks perfect, like you always do.” I take off his smock, balling it up in my hands, throw it in the basket to wash, and clean up my station as he stands to get the extra strands of hair that somehow always manage to get on you while you’re getting a haircut.

  “Thank you,” I reply when I’m finished cleaning up. The two of us walk toward the check-in counter, me giving him his total, him over-tipping like usual.

  “I wasn’t kidding about getting together on your days off,” Devon says huskily.

  “I’d like that.” This time, my voice squeaks, and I feel like a teenager going through puberty.

  The two of us exchange numbers, and before he turns to go, I tell him, “Goodbye, Devon.”

  “Definitely not a goodbye, honey. I’ll see you later.”

  I watch as he walks out; his tall form is lean and muscular. He’s wearing a pair of dress pants and a white dress shirt, both molding to his form. And, boy, does he look handsome. When he disappears from my view, I get back to cleaning up the salon. I’m ready to get home, throw a meal in the microwave, take a long hot bath, and slide into bed. I may be twenty-five years old, but my body feels much older.

  3

  Devon

  I’m not one of those men that makes a woman wait around to see if they’ll call or not, at least not intentionally. I didn’t leave her shop until almost seven o’clock, so I damn sure didn’t call her last night, but it’s almost noon, and I know if I don’t call her this morning, it’ll be too late tonight.

  “Hey,” she breathes through the phone.

  “Good morning. Did I wake you?”

  “No, I was lying on the couch and must have dozed off for a few minutes, which is horrible. I’ll never sleep tonight now. What are you up to?” I hear Michelle yawn through the phone.

  “Sitting at the office, going over plans. I was thinking, if you have time, I can come pick you up, and we can have lunch if you’d like.”

  “I wish I could, but I need to be at the salon in an hour. I get off early, though. Plus, after today, I have the next four days off unless something goes wrong. Shit, I better knock on wood right now, or I know something will happen, and then sleeping in will not be on my agenda,” she grouses until she must find some kind of wood to knock on.

  I laugh but find myself knocking on my desk for her as well. “Nothing bad is going to happen. We can do dinner instead. You want to meet around seven?” I offer.

  “Sure, I can meet you at the restaurant, or you can pick me up from my place.” There isn’t a hesitant tone in her bones, making me glad once again that I didn’t rush into this with her all those months ago. What they say is true; slow and steady wins the race.

  “I can meet you at your place. We might drive around the desert, so wear something comfortable.” I want her relaxed around me. Sure, being the president of Anderson Construction provides a bit of wealth for me, but my parents raised me to be humble, even when I went through my downfall. I never flashed money around.

  “As long as it doesn’t require dresses or high heels, I’m good with anything.” Hearing Michelle’s voice makes me smile, and I’m not a man that smiles very much anymore.

  “You don’t have to wear heels. In fact, we can pick up tacos from a roadside stand, eat on the side of the road while we watch the sun fade.” If she doesn’t want to dress up, and this is technically her first evening off, I’ll give her whatever her heart desires.

  “Are you a dream or a figment of my imagination? Because that sounds like the best first date ever.” She sucks in a breath. “Shit, is this even a first date? Did I insert my foot into my mouth?” she rambles nervously.

  “Michelle,” I get her attention; this way she doesn’t continue her spiel, “this is most definitely a first date, one of many firsts, I hope.” I run my fingers through my hair with one hand while holding the phone up to my ear with the other.

  “Oh, well, okay then. That clears things right up.” I knew before that Michelle was a nervous talker. The first time she cut my hair, she fluttered every which way as well as telling me how she started working as a hairstylist at the age of twenty, and now she’s twenty-five and successful. I guess you have to be chatty in a salon, but the flush on her face told me I affected her in a different way.

  “Anytime you need anything cleared up, I’ll do that for you. As much as I hate to get off the phone with you, I’m going to.
This way, the sooner you’re done, the sooner you get off work.”

  “I guess I’ll get up and get to work then. I really am looking forward to our date this evening, Devon,” she breathes out.

  “Me too, honey. Me too. Text me your address, and if you get done earlier, we can leave sooner,” I offer.

  “Fat chance, but we can hope,” she replies.

  I tell her, “I’ll see you later,” never uttering the word goodbye, not with Michelle at least.

  I get back to work, pouring through the emails that have piled up in the few hours I’ve been here. That’s the one thing I wish would calm the hell down; even with my assistant working his magic, you get ten taken care of, and twenty more appear in your inbox. I grumble before diving back into work, praying like hell the day will go by faster the less I look at the clock.

  “Who am I kidding? I’ll be counting down the hours.”

  “Mr. Anderson, did you say something?” my assistant, Howard asks. His desk is placed right outside my door, and I never bothered closing it, to begin with.

  “Talking to myself. Thank you, though. I’ll be leaving by four today. Feel free to do the same thing,” I let him know while I have his attention.

  “Sounds good.”

  Lately, I’ve been letting him leave earlier than I do. He and his husband are newly married, and I know they need time together. Howard shouldn’t be the one to suffer from my crazy work schedule—something I’m sure he’s happy to not have. I get back to work but not before I glance at my watch yet again. Time sure is going slow today. Of course, that’s because I’m ready to get off the clock myself.