“I’m sure Harry’s PA can set something up for all of us,” I say with a tight smile. “After we’ve got through the depositions maybe.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
One glance at Harry and I can see he wants me to do this. To go to dinner with this pervert. There is a line, and they’re both trying to push me across it.
“Let’s say I’ll focus on your case, keeping your money safe, then we’ll talk about that.”
Harry’s sharp intake of breath tells me he didn’t like that one bit. Vance smiles, showing his pearly white teeth like a fucking shark.
“Good idea,” he smirks. “A celebratory champagne dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. I’ll hold you to that, Cassie.”
He’s picturing holding me somewhere, that’s plain as day on his face.
Without saying anything further, because I really don’t trust myself, I nod at them both and leave.
Laura my assistant, follows me into my office and leans back against the door.
“Proud of you.”
“For what?” I set my files down and rub my eyes.
“Not hurling him out the window?”
That makes me smile. Laura understands. She’s read the case files.
“Can you believe he asked me to dinner?”
She huffs out a sarcastic laugh. “Uh, yeah. What did you say?”
“I invited Harry along.”
“Nice. Anyway, that’s enough air talking about that pencil dick. What do you need me to do?”
We go over who I need to depose and Laura jots everything down saying she’ll set it all up. I try not to think about their plan to undermine the victim’s credibility. But it stays with me long after I head home.
I’m not a quitter. But I may end up doing something that gets me fired if I don’t make a choice.
Once I’ve changed into comfier clothes, I grab a bottle of red wine and a glass and sit on the couch, pushing work from my mind. This place is my sanctuary, I don’t want to lethimin here.
Silence has never bothered me. My family are loud and thrive in crowded places. Living at a motorcycle club will do that to you. Not me. I avoid going there as much as I can, only calling in to see Waverley, or when there is business to deal with.
There is an entirely different reason I’ve avoided the clubhouse so much lately. A southern, tattooed, six-foot-three-man sized reason. It still makes me so mad knowing I gave into my base urges with Handlebar. I can’t even blame alcohol.
It was all about him. He’s one of the most attractive men I’ve ever laid eyes on. A real dichotomy from the bikers I grew up around. Sure, there are a handful of good looking guys there, but Handlebar is on a whole other level.
Even the other guys give him shit about it. More than once I’ve heard some of them calling him Pretty Boy instead of Handlebar. From personal experience, I can wholeheartedly say, he is not a boy. And I don’t particularly like calling him by his road name. I’m not going to even try to unpick why that is.
Regardless of what we did and our mutual guarded interest, it wouldn’t work.
The thing about Eli is he’s secretive. I know nothing about him. Other than he’s hot, and an absolute master in the bedroom. Who would have thought I’d let any man dominate me? But the soft southern accent and the way he put his hands on me turned me into Jello.
Thinking back on our one night together my body begins to tingle. A pull in my lower belly signals how turned on I’m getting from remembering that night.
Whenever I’m at the clubhouse, I’m aware when he is nearby. His eyes follow me everywhere I go. At first, it irked me. It was one night, he should get over it and move on. Now I find myself looking back. Wondering what it would be like to act on the attraction that has by no means dissipated.
If Waverley had her way, I’d have hooked up with him long ago, and probably more than hooking up. She’s kept my secret, Waverley is good like that, she’d never betray anyone’s trust.
Her friend Nessa is a different story. We get on okay, and I’m impressed by her owning her own marketing company, she isn’t just a pretty face and a giant pair of boobs. It’s the way she eyeballs Handlebar whenever she’s at the compound. Another thing Waverley made a point of joking about.
