Morgan woke to the insistent blare of her alarm with a groan. Monday mornings were never her favorite, but today felt particularly cruel after the freedom and exhilaration of yesterday’s motorcycle adventure. Her body ached in places she didn’t know could ache—inner thighs, lower back, shoulders, neck—all reminding her of the few hours she spent on the back of Bullet’s bike yesterday, even if they did take quite a few breaks throughout the day.
Bullet. No—Archer, she corrected herself, savoring the knowledge of his real name. In her sleepy state, she could almost feel the vibrations under her legs, the feel of him as she tightened her arms around him as they leaned into the corners.
Had that really happened? Had she really spent yesterday riding along coastal highways with a man whose face she’d never seen, then fallen asleep against him while he massaged her feet?
Her phone chimed with a text notification, banishing any lingering doubts.
Good morning. Hope you’re not too sore today.
The simple message sent a flutter through her stomach. She smiled as she tapped out a reply.
Everything hurts. Totally worth it. Good morning to you too.
His response came immediately:Try a hot shower and stretching. It gets easier the more often you do it.
Is that a motorcycle thing or just life advice in general?she texted back, feeling a playfulness she hadn’t experienced in months.
Both. Still on for tonight?
Morgan’s smile widened.Definitely. My place? I’ll cook.
I'm looking forward to it. Have a good day, Morgan.
She hugged the phone to her chest for a moment, feeling ridiculously like a teenager with her first crush. Then reality intruded in the form of the clock—she had forty minutes to get ready and make it to the office.
The hot shower did help ease her muscles, just as Archer had suggested. As she dressed in her work clothes—a navy pencil skirt and cream blouse that felt confining after yesterday’s freedom in leather—Morgan found herself wondering what Archer was wearing to his meeting. A suit, probably. Something expensive and well-tailored.
Or maybe he wore leather jackets and intimidating helmets to his meetings too. She still knew so little about what he actually did for a living.
As she gathered her things for work, Morgan spotted the riding gear she’d neatly folded the night before on her dresser. The expensive-looking leather jacket, the fitted pants, the boots that must have cost more than her monthly rent. Who was Viper to design such pieces that she was sure the average biker wouldn’t be able to afford. As she thought about it more, men who rode motorcycles as a weekend hobby didn’t typically invest in the quality of gear she noticed them wearing yesterday.
Who exactly was the man behind the mask and sunglasses?
“Earth to Morgan!”
The sharp voice of her boss, Richard, pulled her from her daydream. She’d been staring at the same mock-up for twenty minutes, her mind wandering to strong hands and intricate tattoos.
“Sorry, Richard. I was just considering alternative approaches for the Henderson campaign.” The lie fell easily from her lips.
Richard gave her a skeptical look but didn’t push further. “Our next meeting is at 3:00. I need your revisions by 1:00.”
“I submitted those on Saturday,” Morgan reminded him. “The version with the blue gradient background and simplified logo treatment.”
“I need more options,” he said dismissively. “The blue doesn’t pop enough.”
Suppressing a sigh, Morgan nodded. “I’ll have it ready before I leave for lunch.”
As Richard walked away, her phone vibrated in her desk drawer. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then checked the message.
Thinking about you during a meeting about security protocols. I much prefer thinking about you.
The simple text sent warmth spreading through her chest. She quickly replied:Same. Except substitute “security protocols” with “color gradients that will never see the light of day because my boss can’t make decisions.”
Three dots appeared, then:Sounds frustrating. Can you escape for lunch?
Meeting my friend Tessa for lunch today. It’s because of her that I met you.
Ah. The catalyst. Tell her thank you from me.
