Picking up the phone again I say. “Sorry. Molly’s on maternity leave and I don’t know shit about Excel. I found the invoice. I’ll get the payment in the mail…” I’m stopped by the woman on the other end. “I pay online? How the fuck…?”
“I’ll help you,” Lainie Palmer-Bottoms whispers.
“I’ve got someone here who can do it. I’ll send it in a few.” I listen to the woman thank me even though I can tell by her tone she’s unhappy. We hang up and I smile. “You saved my ass.”
“Well, I’m sure you would have figured it out.”
Oh, she’s one of those. A bright-side-of-lifer. I grunt, “No. but, I can’t help wondering who else I stiffed last month.”
Lainie blushes and it makes me smile.Stiffed. She’s got a dirty mind. I like that. “Let’s get back to the interview so I can continue fucking up Molly’s entire system.”
“Right.” She sits back down and gets into position. “So, you aren’t a motorcycle club.” Opening up her little notebook up, she jots something down. Without looking up at me she asks, “So, does that mean you all don’t have old ladies?”
I’m struck dumb by her question, but I shake my head. “No. We don’t call our partners and wives by that moniker.”
“Oh, you’re married?”
She sounds disappointed. Sweet. “Divorced. Just like you.” I smirk. But it occurs to me. These are strange questions. “Why is some online rag interested in my shop? I don’t get why you’re interviewing me.”
“Your shop?” She blinks her pretty lashes at me. “No. I, oh, I guess I didn’t really explain.”
I wait but she must be doing the same thing. “Explain what?”
Releasing a laugh, “I’m writing a book, silly. About a biker gang and their old ladies.”
Silly?I bet she says golly-gee-willikers too. “What kind of book? I mean, is it non-fiction?” If so, she’s barking up the wrong tree.
“No, it’s fiction.” She leans forward like she’s going to share a secret. “A romance.”
“A romance?” What the hell is she doing here with me? There’s not one fucking romantic thing about me. Just ask my ex-wife. Hell, ask all of my past girlfriends.
“Yes,” she whispers, “asteamyromance.”
“Steamy, huh? So, lots of fucking and what-not?” See? Not romantic.
She turns a pretty shade of pink that I like very much. “Sure. I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
I could put it in a whole other way but the fucking phone rings again. “GCM. Keeton.” I listen to the vendor on the line and squeeze my eyes shut. Another non-payment phone call. “When was it due?”
As I listen, I watch little miss steamy romance stand up and walk around the desk to her spot in front of the computer. This time I don’t move much. Her leg brushes against mine and my cock nearly punches out of my jeans. This girl is driving me crazy. From her bent position, she turns to look at me. Goddamn, if I could only lift that skirt up… “What’s the name?” she whispers.
“Hang on a sec, Kate.” I place my palm over the receiver. “Force Tires.”
I watch her click around on the computer, “Ah ha!” She stands, turning to face me. A smug little smile on her face. “Is this it?”
I peer around her, letting my eyes scan her tits again. Damn, they’re stellar. “Yep.” Placing the receiver back over my mouth I say, “Got it. I’ll take care of it today.”
Hanging up the phone, I watch her return to her seat. “So, you don’t know anything about motorcycle clubs?”
“Well…”
“Do you know anyone in a motorcycle club who’d talk to me?”
I blink, picturing her talking to some criminal. I don’t like it. “A friend of mine rides with a club. John.” He’s not really who she wants to talk to, though. He’s a dentist and his old ladyis a pediatrician. I don’t think that’s what she’s after.
“John? Seriously? Not Snake or Axle?” She looks up. “Ooh, or what aboutViper?” Her voice is breathy saying ‘Viper’ like it’s some kind of cookie.
If I weren’t completely dumbstruck, I’d probably laugh but she’s serious.
