Title: A Sweet Man

Movement out of the corner of his eye stole Bull’s attention. He hadn’t expected to see the young man standing there in his sister’s workspace. While his trust issues could fuel a major city, his sister’s could power an entire nation. Trusting someone to work in her space was a first.

That instantly piqued his interest.

Bull stared back at those huge, round light eyes, cursing the distance between them that made it difficult to determine the exact shade—green, maybe hazel. The young man stood almost paralyzed in the one spot as he stared back at him. If Bull had to estimate, he figured the man was in his mid-twenties. He stood about five foot, nine inches, and the business-casual black trousers and simple polo shirt accented his lean-muscled body, trim waist, and broad shoulders. The defined muscles in his biceps and forearms flexed as he tightened his hold on the clipboard. His straight black hair was short in the back and longer at the top, just enough length to graze the edge of his eyebrow with the sideswept style. His light olive-toned skin hid a bruised eye well but made his light-colored eyes pop even more.

With his heart boldly thumping in his chest, Bull’s gaze skated along every dip and curve, wondering why the man’s hands were bandaged. His jaw clenched as his imagination shifted into overdrive, wondering what would have triggered the fight. Or worse…had someone attacked him? His body stiffened and every muscle tensed at the thought. Those light eyes staring back at him widened. The man took a step back, then another until he fully retreated and vanished from Bull’s line of sight.

As if pulled by a string, Bull released his sister’s hand and turned toward the doorway of the back room where the young man had stood only moments before.

A strong hand gripped his forearm, breaking the spell. “No, Gabe. Don’t you dare.”

“Bullette—”

Natalie rolled her eyes. “Because your friends make fun of your last name—”

“Our last name. My apologies, Miss del Toro,” he said, emphasizing the surname that had sparked the beginnings of his nickname. “Tell me who he is.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

Bull held back a grin. That was his sister’s go-to answer when she didn’t have a viable argument. “Try again.”

“Because… I said so.”

He bit his lip. She was just as protective as he was at times. Her lack of reason but heightened need to guard the young man led him to one conclusion: she cared about him. And if the guy had managed to break through his sister’s iron shell and draw her in enough to care, then he was definitely a man Bull wanted to meet.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Do you want him to be?”

Natalie scowled at him.

“Unless you give me a good enough reason, I’m walking over there and introducing myself.”

Her eyes narrowed. “He’s younger than you.”

“Age is a state of mind.”

“He’s a great employee.”

“I don’t plan on hiring him.”

“He’s…” Natalie glanced over her shoulder toward the back room. She returned her attention to Bull and cocked her head.

She was quiet…too quiet. Bull refused to budge but he recognized that look in Nat’s eyes. She was holding something back.

“He’s…likely a little skittish at the moment. And it won’t help that you’re all bruised and battered.”

Bull’s stance relaxed. “I noticed a fading shiner on him and the bandages on his hands. What happened?”

“Not my place to say.” Nat chewed her lip as she shook her head, then shrugged. That was out of character. She was rock solid and rarely hesitated about anything. Her chest heaved with a deep sigh, finally surrendering. “Fine. You want to pursue him? Go ahead. All I’m going to say is…don’t go in there charging like a damn bull. Be you.” She leaned forward on the counter and nailed him with a hard stare. “Forget your smooth-talking flirtation, and don’t be that guy with him. Pay attention. Be real. Be Gabe not Bull.”

Her expression was dead serious. In some twisted, sisterly way, she was encouraging him and giving him her blessing. Conditional, but a blessing nonetheless.

“At least tell me his name.”

“No. You want this, you fight for it.” She could claim to hate his nickname, but they often locked horns.

“Fine.”

He pushed off the counter and strolled toward the back room, letting the pull of the invisible string lure him toward the younger man beckoning him.