Page 43 of Wade’s Wrath

“Been told.” She shoved his chest, and he laughed. For the first time since she'd run from her wedding, Harlow realized something. She had a job, she had somewhere safe to sleep, and she had people willing to help her. None of it belonged to her father, and none of it had been chosen by Frank. She'd chosen it. She'd chosen Wade's Watering Hole, and she'd chosen to help the Savage Bastards. And maybe, eventually, she'd choose Wade too, but this time, the choice would belong entirely to her.

Harlow had officially been employed at Wade’s Watering Hole for three hours, and she already decided Wade was terrible at running a business. Not the bar itself. The bar ran surprisingly well. His record keeping, however, was a fucking disaster.

She sat on the stool behind the small desk in Wade’s office, staring at three months’ worth of receipts stuffed inside an old cigar box—an actual cigar box. “You cannot be serious.”

Wade glanced up from where he was leaning against the doorway. “What can’t I be serious about?” he asked.

She held up the box. “This.”

“What about it?” he questioned.

“This is your bookkeeping system?” she asked.

“It works for me,” he said.

“No, Wade. It absolutely does not work,” she insisted.

“Been working for eight years,” he defended.

“I'm surprised the IRS hasn't kicked down your door,” she said.

“They've got to find me first,” he mumbled under his breath.

Harlow slowly lowered the receipt she'd been holding. “Please tell me you're joking.” His mouth twitched. “Jesus Christ.” She dropped the receipt onto the desk, and Wade laughed. The bastard enjoyed messing with her far too much.

They'd left the clubhouse after Butcher promised to have several of the Savage Bastards start looking into Kane Logistics and Donnelly Meridian. Harlow wasn't sure how she felt about a motorcycle club investigating her father, but she'd stopped pretending she didn't want answers, because she did—even if they destroyed what little remained of the life she'd known. She couldn't unknow what she'd seen in Frank's office, and if her father was involved, she needed to know that too.

Sitting around waiting while other people figured out her future wasn't an option anymore. So when Wade offered her a job, she accepted immediately—maybe too immediately, judging by the look he'd given her, but she didn't care. For the first time in her life, Harlow had a job that Richard Kane hadn't arranged, and that mattered to her, even if her new boss was apparently allergic to filing cabinets.

She picked up another receipt. “This is from four months ago.”

“Okay, so?” he asked.

“So, it was in the box marked June,” she said.

“Probably happened in June,” he defended.

“The date says March.” Wade shrugged, and Harlow stared at him. “Get out.”

His eyebrows rose. “This is my office.”

“Not anymore,” she insisted.

A grin slowly spread across his face. “Already taking over?”

“Somebody has to,” she hissed.

“I've managed fine without your help,” he challenged.

“You have a liquor invoice folded around a takeout menu,” she chided.

“I was hungry.” She threw a balled-up receipt at him, and Wade caught it against his chest. “Violence in the workplace. I'm gonna have to write you up,” he teased.

“You said you're HR,” she reminded.

“I am,” he agreed.

“Then I'm filing a complaint against you,” she said.