Briony - March

Copyright © 2025 by Ever Blue All rights reserved.This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise— or used to train AI models without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law and fair use.This book is a work of contemporary fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.More Than Enough is a closed door, no spice, sweet contemporary romance featuring: Dual POV, HEA, forced proximity, age gap, boss/employee relationship, he falls first, swoon worthy moments. /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 2“Oh, no! Absolutely not, Nick. How many times have I said, ‘no more super hero stuff?’ I mean it this time!” I shove the pan of Yorkshire pudding into the top oven, set a timer on my phone, and turn to the sink to load the dishwasher. My boss continues to eye me as he silently takes a drink of water from his perch on the other side of the massive, white marble island. Just biding his time until I give in..as usual. Normally, I find his geeky adoration of everything drama and acting to be endearing. Yet, this wouldn’t be the first time I looked into those large, pale blue eyes of his and wished that he would take them somewhere else. Don’t get me wrong. Nicholas Bancroft is gorgeous, in a ruggedly handsome way. If you’re into that sort of thing. Ahem. Even with the bit of silver starting to edge his hair at the temples, there’s a reason why he’s been voted People’s Sexiest Man Alive—twice. I’m sure his English accent doesn’t hurt either. Yet, unbeknownst to the scores of producers responsible for churning out his many Oscar winning films, and the various academies that insist on cluttering his mantle with eye catching statues in tribute to his work, he can be supremely annoying. “Fine,” I cave, as I finish loading the dishwasher with a sigh. “What’s this about New Zealand?” I’ll listen, but I refuse to dress up like a hero. A fourth time. Nick slams his large mug on the counter with a clang, that echoes through his large white kitchen. So dramatic. Leaning forward, his corded forearms resting on the island, a goofy smile spreads across his face. The one he reserves for his parents, his sister, Evie, and her boys. Of course, since Evie’s my best friend, I’ve gotten more exposure to it over the last five years than any other employee has. Except for maybe Alfie. I’m just the private chef. As Nick’s personal assistant/bodyguard/valet/whatever else doesn’t involve food, the older man probably knows Nick best. Speaking of whom, where is Alfie? “Briony, what are the odds that I’m going to be filming in New Zealand at the same time that Peter Smithson and Gil Shapiro will be there? And, to take it one step further, they want to talk about casting for a Hamlet experience on Broadway and theaters. I can’t believe I got the call. It’s just a quick flight to Auckland for a day, so it won’t disturb our schedule at all.” I nod indulgently as I mix the green drink that Nick insists on having, pouring the mix into their respective bottles. The stuff tastes like grass and broken dreams, but he drinks it every morning before his workouts. You’d better believe, if I were going to be spending two or more hours working out, I’d need at least a promise of chocolate. Smiling as I deposit the bottles in the large, stainless steel refrigerator, I head back to the island to organize the rest of dinner. “This is a very big deal, Nick. And, I’m so happy for you! You’d be amazing in Hamlet. Do you think you’ll try for the lead?” Nick notches his round glasses up his nose, and nervously runs a hand through the waves of his dark blond hair, a slow grin creeping across his face. “We’ll see how it goes. You realize the pressure to deliver would be incredible. Do you know Richard Burton had the longest run of Hamlet?” I nod, half listening to the familiar refrain as his gravelly voice washes over me. “137 performances,” we say at the same time, one of us sounding a bit drier than the other. Wait a minute. Dread forms, cold and thick, as a knot settles into my stomach. I pause in dishing out the roasted leg of lamb into the serving dish, leveling Nick with a stare. “When did you say this legendary meeting happening?” Nick tilts his head, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “While we’re filming in New Zealand.” Sitting the dirty pan in the sink, I rest a hand on my hip and look up at him. “Uh huh, but we leave for London on Tuesday. You’re filming for seven weeks in Nottinghamshire, then from May through the end of August we’ll be in Switzerland for filming. And, after three weeks of post production in London, we’re back here. I only have a week before the big move at that point. So…when exactly is New Zealand supposed to happen?” If I didn’t know with great certainty the man in front of me had already done so, I would think he’s sitting for a Madame Tussaud’s wax figure. Still, his silence and the bewilderment etched in his face is concerning. “Are we going to do that during the week off in July?” I venture. “Seems like it would take a week just to get there from Switzerland, but I trust Alfie has it all under control…” I’m due at Mom and Dad’s in Brooklyn, in about two hours. Traffic is already murder between Hartsdale and Brooklyn Heights without it being the weekend before St. Patrick’s day. With it being the last Sunday dinner before I’m gone for months, I can’t afford to be locked into a staring contest right now. If I didn’t know my boss so well, there’s no way I’d ever take such a drastic measure, but I need him to snap out of it. And nothing snaps an Englishman out of a trance like a good old fashioned term of endearment. Or a public display of affection. I saw it happen once. It was ugly. “Nick, you still with me, babe?” He blinks slowly, proving my point. “You…said the big move. Is it—are you leaving that…soon?” His gravelly voice quivers at the end, and I stifle a laugh at his antics. I hold up a hand. “Not this time, Nick. I’m not putting it off another hour. We’re six months out, and it’s really happening. I’m opening my food truck, and you sir, are going to start interviewing for private chefs.” Nick sits back on his bar stool, lowering his gaze as he fidgets with his mug handle. “I know…I know,” he groans with a sigh. Honestly, you would think this was a 6 year old kid, and not a 40 year old man. “We had an agreement, Nick. This is the last year. My offer to help you find a replacement is still on the table. It might be a bit difficult interviewing from Europe, though.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Alfie is more than capable of handling it…I suppose, it just…snuck up on me. Again,” he frowns. The timer for the oven goes off just as I dish up the roasted carrots. “Ah, perfect timing.” Nick clears his throat, eyeing me nervously as I turn the oven off, remove the pudding, and place it on a cooling rack between us. “I don’t suppose—” “You dare to dream?” I scoff as I lift the fluffy rolls from the pan. I fix his plate, with a dab of gravy over the pudding and lamb. “Evie had to beg you for that first six month contract. Now you’re sitting here, two contracts later asking for another extension? I think not, Mr. Bancroft. As it is, I still have to hire someone to pack and move my things. After I find an apartment.” Nick’s head snaps up, something wild about his eyes. “You’re moving out, as well?” I blow a dark curl out of my face as I scrub the pans. He’s really giving it everything he’s got, but I’m determined to finally get my dream underway. “Well, yeah. Your new chef is going to need a place to live. Taking care of you is a full time job,” I assert. Honestly, it’s two and a half jobs, but Nick pays very well. So well, in fact, I was able to pay off my loan for Le Cordon Bleu with my first six month contract. With rent included as a perk, besides the all expenses paid travel and yearly bonuses, I was able to get the funding that I needed to finally chase my dream and launch my food truck empire. Admittedly, it’s something I would have done already, if Nick hadn’t gotten me to stay another year by promising to fund a second food truck. It’s far too generous, and I did decline. Repeatedly. Yet, all it took was one line about caring about my dreams, and here I am. Nick nods, but he looks so gloomy, I can only feel sorry for him. Still, the man is a phenomenal actor. You’d think he’d employ all of that excellent talent on hiding his real feelings to spare mine. I set about cleaning up the kitchen in the ensuing silence, since Annie and Ben, the housekeeper and groundskeeper, don’t come in on Sunday. Technically, I shouldn’t be here either, but Nick and I usually eat dinner together. Occasionally, when Alfie doesn’t have anything going on, he’ll walk over from his cottage, across the back garden from mine, to join us. I normally cook my meals, so it’s usually just a matter of pulling up another chair. But, with the trip coming up on Tuesday, I really don’t want to clean my house again before we leave. Nick is still abnormally quiet, and when I look up from cleaning 20 minutes later, I’m surprised to see him staring down at his empty plate. “You OK, there boss?” Despite his aversion to the title, Nick barely grunts in response. Well, that’s concerning. He hasn’t been this quiet since the first week I began working for him. “I’m sure you’ll find someone who can cook to your taste, Nick.” Sitting a cup of tea in front of him, I swipe his plate, dipping a pudding into the little bit of sauce left. Shoving the bite in my mouth, I swallow a groan as I load the dish in the dishwasher. Peeking over at him, I see he’s pushed his glasses on top of his head, but his cup of tea is still untouched. OK, I guess it’s time for the big guns. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can sit there with all of that gravy nearby and not crave a deeper intimacy with it.” Nick blinks at me, as I smile wickedly. “You know what all that lovely gravy could really use, is some nice—” Nick closes his eyes in surrender, “Don’t say it, Bri. Just don’t—” “Fluffy…mashed potatoes,” I finish silkily. His ears redden as he looks at me askance. Despite an impressive list of film credits, it tickles me to no end that he can be so easily flustered just by talking about food he isn’t allowed to have on his strict diet. If I’m honest, I’m going to miss this more than I care to admit. It’s why I have to relish it, now. My grin grows wider. “You have no idea, how easy it would be, do you?” I whisper, leaning across the marble island as his eyes open and lock on mine helplessly. “It would be so easy for me to whip up some mashed potatoes. Throw in a bit of butter, some cream..hmm maybe a bit of cheese.” I lick my lips, “Yum.” He blinks down at me, his face twisted in a grimace as he growls, “You are a menace.” “My job is done here!” I exclaim, blowing him a kiss as I unsnap the top button of my black chef’s jacket. “Sweet dreams, Nicky babe!” I laugh, practically skipping out of the kitchen. “Menace!” He calls out behind me to more laughter. What can I say? I have to take my kicks where I can get them.Several hours later, as the gate to Nick’s massive property closes behind me, I pull down the driveway past his mansion toward my cottage. When my phone rings, I glance over, and seeing my twin’s face on the phone, I don’t hesitate to pick up. Which is how I nearly miss Nick skulking in the bushes. “Hey, Wyn, hold on,” I smirk, slowing down as I lower the window of my Jeep. “Why are you skulking in the bushes so late, Nick?” This isn’t unusual when I come back late from my parents. But, instead of coming out and saying, ‘I care about your well being, so I’m waiting up for you,’ he usually finds some random excuse for his presence. Even in three feet of snow, or torrential rain. At least he’s consistent. This time, though, Nick has the nerve to look abashed as he lifts his six foot frame from his crouching position. I give my head a shake, ignoring how the black t-shirt and pajama bottoms he’s paired with his soft, olive green cardigan drape his boxer’s build. He looks at me loftily as he responds. “I’m not skulking, Briony. I’m inspecting this corner because…the solar torch appears to be missing.” “Darn squirrels, am I right?” I deadpan. He coughs to cover his laugh. “They’re terrible neighbors. I hope this doesn’t mean I need to call someone about recovering it.” I playfully widen my eyes. “Whaaat? And rob the poor creatures of the joys of illumination? No, I think we’ll be just fine without the missing solar light in question.” Nick shrugs, “I should at least replace it…” “Hm,” I smirk. “As you wish. But, it’s getting late, Highness.” The wind rustles the nearby trees as he narrows his eyes on my face, a scowl darkening his features, and I can’t resist teasing him further. “Shouldn’t you be in bed already, with your hot toddy, listening to classic radio theater on Audible?” I laugh as his spine stiffens in mock outrage. Turning on his heel, he mutters, “Ingrate.” “Drama King!” I call out after him, before he disappears into the house. Pulling up to my cottage, I kill the engine, and nearly have a heart attack as Wyn says, “Well, that was interesting.” “Bronwyn! Don’t scare me like that!” I exclaim, clutching my chest. Wyn chuckles, the sound similar to mine. “Like what? The voice of your conscience?” I grimace as the call transfers to the phone. “Shut up!” Wyn only laughs harder. “You know you were thinking it.” I chuckle as I unlock my front door and step into my cocoon. “Please. There’s a 12 year age gap. It didn’t cross my mind.” I toe off my boots and head past the white and woodblock kitchen, past my comfy grey couch in the living room, straight to my bedroom. “Mmm hmm. 12 months or 12 years, there are billions of women in the world, but you’re the only one that has Nicholas Bancroft waiting on her when she gets home.” I roll my eyes as I change out of my clothes. “He’s got cameras if that’s the case. As you heard, he was questioning the integrity of the neighborhood squirrels. His being outside has nothing to do with me.” “If I recall correctly, you’re the one who brought up the squirrels. Was he still outside when you came inside?” “No…” I start to say. “Exactly, because he was only out there for you.” “Ha!” I scoff. “I think you must have absorbed some of the romance novels Mom read to us in the womb. You are such a romantic.” It probably doesn’t help we’re named after heroines from said books. “One of us should be a romantic,” Wyn quips. “You’re romantic enough for both of us,” I respond, going into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. “Well, otherwise, between you the romantically blind, and me the romantically mute, Mom and Dad are getting zero grandchildren.” An exasperated sigh escapes me. “You’re fine, Wyn. Don’t let Danny’s engagement get you down. You couldn’t have known he was seeing his secretary. What are you calling about anyway? I just left you 45 minutes ago.” Wyn heavily sighs. “I still should have said something sooner..but you’re right, I’m fine. And, good news! I’ve got a great lead on a place to build out the truck. Will you be able to send the money, or should I use the card you gave me for business expenses?” I wipe my mouth with my face towel and head back into my bedroom. “Oh, use the card for sure. It’s easier for me to pay it than to send that amount of money online.” Wyn is a brilliant Finance Director, and no part of this food truck dream would be feasible without her help. After discussing the build out and letting her know that Dad said he would deal with the mechanics, we say another long goodbye. Then, crawling between the cool, luxurious white sheets, I pull up the fluffy comforter around my face and exhale. It’s been a long day. I’m just getting settled when Nick messages me about the upcoming trip. I snicker as I send a message about potatoes that’s sure to get a response from him. Sure enough, moments later his message comes in. “Insubordinate and churlish.” I crack up laughing at the reference to a skit I had shown him a long time ago. The man forgets nothing. Well, usually anyway. Setting my phone on the charger, I roll over, already drowsy. Outside my window, the sound of the wind blowing through the trees taps out a rhythm that has me drifting off, the smile still on my lips. Just six more months, and I’m out of here. And, nothing’s stopping me this time… /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 2Subscribe for new posts every week!This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to I'm Just Here For BOOKS at everblueauthor.substack.com/subscribe