“It is. The work itself I love—helping clients tell their stories visually, creating brands that connect with people. But under current management, it’s becoming soul-crushing.”
“Why stay?” Diesel asked bluntly.
Morgan shrugged. “Bills. Rent. The practical realities of adulting.”
“What would you do if money wasn’t an issue?” Viper asked, echoing something similar to what Bullet had asked her the day before, his gloved fingers carefully selecting a fry.
“I’d focus on cause marketing,” Morgan answered without hesitation. “Telling the stories of organizations actually making a difference.”
She paused, then added, “In college, I interned with a nonprofit that helped revitalize local arts programs. I got to design a campaign that boosted their donor base by over 30%—still one of the best projects I’ve worked on.”
A small smile tugged at her lips before it faded. “But my dream job? There's this coastal conservation foundation—small, elite, massively impactful. I applied a few years ago, but they’re nearly impossible to get into unless you know someone who knows someone. One of those places where résumés just vanish unless they come with an inside connection.”
As she spoke about their mission and the kind of work she’d love to do for them, Morgan realized she was more animated than she’d felt in months. Being around these men—their quiet confidence, the way they carried themselves, their understated success—made her own, almost forgotten dreams, feel less impossible.
By the time they finished eating, Morgan felt as though she’d known these men for years rather than hours. The conversation had flowed easily from work to travel to movies, revealing a universal disdain for reality television but eclectic love for different genres.
“Ready for the return journey?” Bullet asked as they prepared to leave. “Different route, more technical riding. We can take it slow.”
“I trust you,” Morgan said simply, and meant it.
Outside, as they walked toward the bikes, Viper’s phone chimed. He checked it with a frown.
“Problem?” Bullet asked.
“Fabric shipment issue I need to handle,” Viper said with a sigh. “Milan’s having a meltdown. I’ll need to head back early.”
“Everything okay?” Morgan asked, concerned.
“Nothing catastrophic, just timing issues,” Viper assured her. “Fashion waits for no man.”
“I’ve got to head back early too,” Diesel added and Morgan’s eyes narrowed at the suspicious timing. “Meeting tonight I forgot about.”
Hawk didn’t even bother with a pretense. “You two should take the scenic route. Weather’s perfect for it.”
Morgan looked between them, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “Are you all trying to give us alone time?”
“Us? Orchestrate something?” Diesel’s exaggerated attempt at innocence was laughable. “Never.”
“Completely coincidental,” Viper agreed with a straight face.
“Totally unplanned,” Hawk added.
Morgan laughed, genuinely touched by their transparent matchmaking. “Well, thank you for the coincidental alone time, then. It was wonderful meeting all of you.”
Each man gave her a different farewell—Diesel’s bear hug, Viper’s precise handshake with his gloves still firmly in place, and Hawk’s respectful nod. Within minutes, their bikes roared to life and departed, leaving Morgan and Bullet alone in the parking lot.
“Your friends are about as subtle as a sledgehammer,” she observed with a smile.
“They mean well,” he said, sounding both embarrassed and fond.
“I like them,” Morgan assured him. “They care about you. That says a lot about the kind of man you are.”
He seemed momentarily at a loss for words. “I need to put my helmet back on for the ride,” he said, reaching for it. “Would you mind turning around for a second?”
Morgan nodded and obliged, facing away from him. She heard the rustle of fabric as he pulled down the mask, the soft click of sunglasses folding, then the familiar sound of his helmet being secured.
“All set,” he said, his voice now coming through the helmet’s modulator.
