I grinned despite myself. “Still not tired of chauffeur duty?” My new steel-toed boots knocked together beneath the dash.
He caught my gaze straight on. “Not when it’s chaufferin’ you.” He put the truck in gear and pulled out of the drive as I smiled to myself.
Bronc’s presence in the truck was as solid as the early morning light pooling across the dash, catching in the creases around his eyes and hinting at his own years. It mixed with the heavy heat of the air and created a new, intoxicating blend I struggled to understand. I was so attracted to this man. Wanted him like I’d never wanted a man before.
He drove with ease, and I let my gaze drift out the window, clinging to the endless plains instead of to the man next to me. My new jeans felt tight against the seat. The white tank clung to me in a way that would’ve gotten me banned from Harrison’s dinner parties. I kept my eyes on the road. “It’s been busy in the shop. I wouldn’t think so many people around here besides your club rode motorcycles.” I tried to sound casual to mask my worry over the growing concerns that I’d found in his books.
Bronc’s voice carried a rough edge as his laugh settled around us. “Be amazed at the weekend warriors that live in and around Amarillo. Folks everywhere want the freedom that a bike signifies. Doesn’t freedom sound good?”
I flinched a little, wondering how much of me he saw. If he knew that my entire life was a disguise. The empty road stretched on like a promise, long and unwavering.
“Yeah, guess it does.” My hand brushed against my bangs, trying to smooth them down. His knowing glance took in more than I was ready to offer.
His truck eased onto the highway, and he shot me a sidelong look that carried the heat of his arm against mine on the console. “So, you found a smoking gun yet?”
I wanted to matter. To prove my worth to him, to them. Let him know I could be useful. “I’m still getting things organized. I’ll hopefully know more today.” The early light reflected the steady glow of his calm, solid presence. I turned the air vent toward me to let the air blow around me.
“You’re doin’ a good job, Julia.” I felt him next to me, sure and certain as the rising sun. My breath caught like I’d been expecting a storm and found life giving rain instead. I trusted the feel of it, if only for a moment.
His words settled in, burrowed deep inside me. Words I wasn’t used to, words that built instead of broke. I sank into the seat, letting the thrum of the truck fill every part of me as I moved further from the life I left behind.
When we stepped out of the truck, the wind whipped and tangled my hair, but I didn’t care. For once, I didn’t worry about who might be watching. The solid sound of Bronc’s laugh moved over me, unfamiliar but warm. I let myself sink into the assurance of it, knowing it could pull away without warning, hoping it wouldn't.
The shop hummed with the electric sound of tools and grit. Like I’d dropped into the heart of a machine that pumped noise and heat instead of blood. The clamor of voices met me, and I cut through the bustle and ordered my thoughts while everything in the shop moved around me. I set my bag down on a bench scarred by years of hard use and let the steady lines of numbers steady me in return.
Their precision quieted the chaos around me, offering a kind of comfort I’d been missing since I left New York. Mechanics shouted and joked as they moved from bike to bike. Wasp wore a bandana, Radar had piercings like some kind of sideshow act; both were friendly and easygoing.
I moved my focus to the tidy columns instead of them. Tapped into the part of myself that used to balance every aspect of my life with the same careful, controlled arrangement of numbers and rows. That part that used to think everything in life could be quantified, given order.
The sun cut through dusty windows and across the shop, and I slipped into the books like moving into another world. The small desk was in a corner away from the worst of the noise. Far enough from the open garage doors that the heat didn’t drown me, but close enough that I still felt the tightness in the air.
I rolled the sleeves of my plaid overshirt to my elbows and refused to let anything else matter. The gentle smudge of graphite and the crisp marks of ink against yellowed pages pulled me away from the clatter and chaos and pulled me into the familiarity of my own skill.
Skeeter’s glances cut through my concentration. I could feel his eyes on me even when I couldn’t see him. He watched from behind the register, like he was waiting for me to fail. He was older than the others, looked as though he’d been there since the shop first opened. As if it were part of him, and I was the interloper.
Some books were as full of dust and disorganization as the shop. Skeeter’s suspicion made it clear that he didn’t want me involved with either. I saw numbers that should’ve matched but didn’t. Items unaccounted for. I sighed as I shifted pages around, not used to seeing this kind of disorder. Not used to seeing any disorder.
I noted minor discrepancies on the ledger. I could fix the mess if they gave me a chance. Bronc would, but Skeeter didn’t want to. His looks told me as much. And I wondered why. What was he afraid that I would uncover? The same tightness coiled in my chest that had when I discovered Harrison’s offshore accounts. It was a familiar, unwelcome sensation.
Sunlight filtered through the room, but I felt the tension like a shadow. Like someone was watching and waiting for me to pullthe curtain back. A bike roared to life, and my head snapped up at the sound, too used to the silence of my penthouse back in the city. Where I couldn’t leave without someone noticing.
The subtle inconsistency in the numbers matched the unease I’d been feeling. The closer I got, the more I saw the way they might jostle numbers—hide dollars here and there. I had to look for more patterns and inconsistencies.
Bronc stepped out from the shop floor, and I felt his presence cut through the haze of work and doubt. He motioned for me to follow. Led me into the cramped office where he’d cleared a space for me to join him. “Let’s look at some invoices.” The deep, steady current of his voice settled some of my earlier concerns, and I found myself drawn toward it, toward him. I took my place beside him and felt the strength and heat of his arm next to mine.
He led me past neon signs and machinery that lined the walls. I could feel Skeeter’s glances like he were physically in the office with us. They pierced my concentration the same way as out on the floor, but Bronc’s presence was something I couldn’t ignore. Something I didn’t want to ignore.
The space he’d cleared for me was an invitation. And I took it as a promise. The way he looked at me as I sat made my pulse rise, made me wonder what it would be like to be wanted by him. “These are the invoices I wanted to look at.” His deep, steady voice settled the turmoil of doubt that seemed to follow me, and I drew toward it, toward him.
He pulled a worn notepad toward him. “Let me know if you find something.” His words gave me a confidence I wasn’t used to. The doubt I had that morning cracked around the edges. I picked up a pencil and started a list, leaning in to show him. The rough page seemed at odds with the way he took it. Carefully, gently, almost tender.
We bent over the desk, and Bronc’s hand brushed against mine. It was steady, deliberate, unlike anything I’d known before. He wasn’t Harrison. Wasn’t even like any of my father’s associates.They never cared about more than their next business acquisition. They never had more than one face.
A promise wrapped in calluses. I moved a little closer. Felt like he was opening himself, opening a door. One I couldn’t believe was mine. The sharp, contained ticks of numbers and totals filled the room like the heat from his arm, like a physical thing I couldn’t help but breathe in. This shop mattered to him, and the fact that he trusted me enough to let me in made my stomach do a little flip.
My heart sounded louder than the hum of the shop. The powerful lines of his body made me dizzy. I pointed at a column that seemed off. He nodded once, like he already knew. It was no more than I expected. It was almost as if he needed confirmation. No less than what I hoped for.
I was ready to question him, to challenge him about the things I’d seen. His voice met mine before I could.
