“All of that’s a lot to compartmentalize, Georgiana,” hepointed out.
“Yeah, well, it’s my job.I know journalists who’ve been atit far longer than me and they don’t act like harridans, raving about freakingcarry-ons because they met a douchebag who was all down to make a kid, and evenmore down to walk away from her.”
Yup.
He shouldn’t have asked if she was okay, because he sure asshit did not need to like this woman.
His brother was dating her sister, for one.
And even if there was a reason behind it, she absolutely didnot make a good first impression.No man (or woman, undoubtedly) wanted to besomeone’s punching bag on a consistent basis when that someone was in a badmood.
Then, of course, there was her bullshit about bikers.
He knew she was looking at him when she asked, “Did I blowyour afternoon?”
“My plans got sidetracked so I was free,” he told her.
“What were your plans?”
“Seems we share a theme,” he muttered.
“What?”she asked.
“I’ve been recruited to try to help reach a kid at King’sShelter who’s fucking up his life.”
“King’s Shelter?You?”
And there it was.
A reason why he wasn’t going to be able to like this woman.
“Yeah, bikers do more than get drunk, bang biker bunnies,start bar fights and get arrested,” he said sarcastically.
“It’s not that—”
He cut her off.
“You ever heard of BACA?”
“Sorry?”
“BACA.Bikers Against Child Abuse.”
“Yes, I have.They do good work.”
“Well, essentially, they’re an MC.An MC that does goodwork.Not all bikers are Hells Angels and the Bandido Nation.That’s thefuckin’ point of the term ‘one-percenter.’Ninety-nine percent of bikers arejust bikers.One percent are outlaws.Chaos is not a one-percenter.”
“You were, though,” she said softly, not an accusation, afact.
And she was right.
That was a fact.
The operative word beingwas.
“We’re not anymore.”
The cab fell silent.
