I’d like to thank Dani at Love Bytes for the opportunity to share an exclusive excerpt of A Unique Request, book one in my Basque Trilogy. Originally called Loving Edits, this story was first written in 2010. When I approached my publisher with the idea of a bittersweet menage I expected her to reject it, but to my surprise, she urged me to write from the heart instead of worrying how it would be received by the public. This trilogy is dedicated to my mother who also died of ALS.  It shines a light on the struggles associated with this awful disease―which still has no cure. I focused on the power of love and finding happiness in the moment. I hope your readers will give this one a chance.

A Unique Request

Mickie B. Ashling © 2024

All rights reserved.

Tono paced and cussed under his breath, grateful no one understood Euskara. He’d shown up at Paul’s office without an appointment, certain they’d let him in, but he’d been cooling his heels for over an hour. He wanted to break down the door but knew it would be the end of any sort of relationship if he gave in to his temper. A woman seated behind a desk watched him like a hawk, her hand on the phone, ready to spring into action if he forced his way into the inner sanctum.

At last, Paul opened the door and nodded for Tono to enter.

“It’s about time,” Tono bristled, shouldering past him into the office.

“You can’t just show up here. I’m a busy man.”

“This is important.”

“So is my business,” Paul remarked. “Just because we have something in common doesn’t mean you can waltz in here whenever you’re in the mood. You need an appointment like everyone else.”

“I would think Mick is a priority.”

“He is, and I’ve already spent a lot of time this morning trying to line up a doctor.”

Tono looked puzzled. “He already has a doctor.”

“I mean, my doctor. I want a second opinion.”

“You’re in denial like I was. Believe me, Pol. This is not a mistake.”

“It’s Pawwl.”

“And my name is TOE-NO, not TAHNO. It’s short for Antonio!”

“Christ!” Paul exclaimed and turned his back on him. He strode toward his desk and stepped onto the platform, expecting Tono to follow and take one of the leather seats in front of him. Paul waited and watched as the Spaniard took his time, graceful as a ballet dancer, never taking his eyes off Paul, though, as if challenging him to be the first to look away. He sat on the edge of the seat.

Paul appraised each aspect of the man. Tono’s most arresting feature was his jawline, which was strong and square, but it was softened slightly by the deep dimple on his chin. His eyes were heavy-lidded and hinted at his sensuous side. He wore a cream-colored shirt, top half unbuttoned, giving Paul access to the dark hair covering his chest. The image of Tono hanging onto Mick’s ass seconds before entering him broke through his consciousness, causing all kinds of mischief in his nether regions. He hadn’t expected this reaction, even though they’d shared a few intimate moments the other night. Tono wasn’t his type. He was much too hairy, for one thing, and way too cocky. The man’s confidence grated on Paul’s last nerve. He preferred men who were less self-assured, softer around the edges, and grateful to be in his presence. Tono was seasoned and tough. As an athlete in a fast and dangerous sport, he was fearless, and giving orders didn’t seem to be a problem for him. Despite all that, Paul couldn’t help the physical attraction and the accompanying guilt. He had no business even going there.

“What do you want, Tono?”

“Your help.”

“I don’t write novels, nor do I do much editing anymore. I let my people handle it. You should hire someone else or buy my software. You’d be amazed how easy it is once you learn how to use it.”

“No.”

“This is not negotiable,” Paul asserted. “I don’t care what you mean to Mick. You are nothing to me.”

“You’re an asshole, sabes?”

“Maybe I am, but I’m a successful one, and I don’t have time to clean up your mediocre novel.”

“You haven’t even read it. How dare you assume it’s not very good?”

“Hey, your words, not mine.”

“Read one chapter,” Tono pleaded. “Then you can make an informed decision.”

“Did Mick send you?”

“He doesn’t know I’m here.”

“How’s he doing? Is this disease as bad as he makes it sound?”

Tono leaped up and spun around, but not before Paul saw the glint of tears. Christ. He stood by the picture window for a few minutes, and Paul didn’t interrupt. The man was struggling to keep himself in check, and when he swiveled around to speak, he was in firm control of his emotions.

“I don’t give a fuck what you think of me, but you know Mick is counting on you to help. He says you’re a good man. I told him he was crazy. If you have any redeeming qualities, I’ve yet to see them.”

“Your accent sucks, but your English vocabulary is quite good.”

“Eres un cabron.”

“Did you just call me a goat? Or is there another meaning to what I can only assume is an insult? In any case, Tono, it doesn’t apply,” Paul bit out. “I’ll read one fucking chapter―for Mick’s sake.”

“Thank you,” Tono said, “and cabron, just so you know, does mean goat, but it can also be used to describe a man whose partner puts the horns on him. Regardless of the literal translation, Pol, it’s an insult, and one you deserve.”

“It’s Pawwl,” he corrected, unperturbed by Tono’s obvious anger. “Have a messenger deliver the manuscript.”

“No. You come and get it. Mick wants to see you again.”

“For a repeat of the other night?” Paul asked with a smirk.

A rosy flush crept up Tono’s neck as he tried to keep from lashing out. He turned to go but paused midway. “Just because your desk is up on a stage doesn’t make you a king. Like I said before, Pol. You don’t count.”

Paul was at a loss for words. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had insulted him with such clarity. He opened his mouth to unleash his venom, then snapped it shut, certain it would fall on deaf ears. There was time enough to convince the arrogant bastard he was dead wrong.