What the hell was a shazam?
“Your turn to try your dress on, Val.” Her voice brings me back to the present and I accept my maid of honor dress that the sales associate is holding for me. I go into the dressing room and slip it on. I study myself in the mirror, sliding my hands down my hips over the chiffon material of the dress. It’s beautiful despite not being my style. Very girlie in a dainty way, exactly the kind of dress my sister would wear. It’s bohemian style, off the shoulder ruffles that are surprisingly flattering as I turn my body sideways to get a better look at the back of the dress. The dress is flowy instead of tight, making it comfortable enough to wear for the eight hours I’ll probably be in it. I sigh in relief, thinking I don’t look half as bad as I thought I would. I walk out of the dressing room and dutifully stand on the podium, facing my sister and mother for their approval. My happiness in my appearance starts to fade as both of them just stare at me in silence. Confused, I turn around to look at myself in the three-sided mirror, not seeing anything different from my appearance thirty-seconds ago in the private dressing room.
“What’s wrong? Do I look like a smurf or something?” Their laughter fills the air as my joke breaks the uncomfortable silence.
“No silly, and this is periwinkle blue, not electric blue.” Alyson corrects me as she approaches from behind and places her hands on my shoulders. “You take my breath away. The dress fits you perfectly. The color of the dress makes your eyes even more mesmerizing than they already are.” I look into the mirror and have to admit that she’s right, my eyes do seem to standout more with the color of this dress. Note to self - buy more clothes in periwinkle blue.
“Valerie, you look stunning!” My mother stands on my other side, smiling at us in the mirror. “I can picture you with your hair down in waves, light color palette of makeup complimenting those gorgeous high cheek bones of yours. And of course, you will not be wearing your glasses that day, right?” I roll my eyes at her all knowing mother-is-getting-her-way look because she knows full well that there is no way in hell my sister is going to let me wear my glasses on her wedding day. I’ll be shocked if they are even permitted during the bachelorette party. My mother and sister have been extremely vocal about their disapproval over my eyeglasses, my style of clothes, and my signature hair style of a high, tight braided pony-tail. Unlike them, who spend hours doing their hair and makeup, my hair style of choice can be completed in five minutes and my makeup is bare minimum of foundation, mascara and lip gloss.
Sometimes I feel like the third wheel when we are all together. They are both the epitome of a girlie girl. Both love clothes, makeup and staying up with the latest trends in the fashion world, whereas I couldn’t careless about any of that stuff. Although I do like some of the more expensive brands of clothing, I don’t go for style; I go for comfort. My color palette always tends to be white, black, beige and gray compared to their loves of florals, pastels, and patterns. As I examine myself more closely in the mirror, I don’t see the beautiful girl that they rave about.
All I see are the cold, steel eyes of my father staring back at me.
And it makes me cringe.
Because looking like my father reminds me of what I’m not.
The son that he wished for, but never got.
Chapter Three
ROWAN
“Rowan, Kyle, I need to see you in my office before you head home today,” Wes yells out at us over the loudness of the shop before disappearing back into his office. I glance over at Kyle with a questioning look, wondering if he knows what’s up, but all he does is shrug his shoulders and continues concentrating on the bike he’s working on. I look at the clock to see that it’s almost quitting time, so I decide to start cleaning up my station and put things away in order to organize my space for tomorrow.
“You up for The Knot tonight?” Kyle asks thirty minutes later while we walk to Wes’ office. The Knot is a local club that the single men of the Broken Eagles Motorcycle Club frequent, especially on Thursday nights for ladies’ night. All I wanted to do when I first got to Nashville was party hard to drown out the memories of war and forget my old life in Boston. The Knot was my first introduction to the party scene in town. I used to love going there, making it a game between all of us to see how many phone numbers we could acquire in one evening or better yet, if we were scoring by bringing someone home with us. Lately though, it’s been the last place I’ve wanted to go. I’m tired of the scene here, especially with the same ol’ local girls. If they haven’t bagged one of the Mayson men yet, they set their sights on one of us military guys. I need to check out the other bars in Nashville, but dating isn’t on my radar right now. I’m blessed that I don’t have to put much effort into getting laid. When I want, I can get it.
Any time.
“Nah, Bro. I think I just want to chill tonight.” I feel bad turning him down again, especially since our single friends are becoming few and far between. Most of our Navy SEAL brothers are taken, which leaves only a handful of us available. Because Kyle and I have known each other the longest, he tends to always hit me up first for after work activities. Kyle still likes to party, whereas I have started to become content being at home and watching Netflix most nights.
“Like what, going to dinner? We could go get Mexican if you want.”
“You asking me out, Kyle? Just warning you, I don’t put out on the first date.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him as we enter Wes’ office.
“Dude, you’re not even my type. Tits aren’t big enough.” He winks at me and I chuckle, punching him lightly in the arm before we take our seats in front of Wes’ desk. Kyle’s always quick with his comebacks and definitely likes to be the one with the last word in.
“Alright ladies, enough of your cackling. We actually have some serious business to discuss.” Wes shuts the door behind us and proceeds to sit down. He leans forward with his elbows on his desk, his face turning serious. “We received a letter from the IRS today. We’re being audited.”
“What?” Kyle asks in disbelief. “Bullshit we are!” Wes hands him the IRS letter to read and I lean closer to Kyle so I can see it for myself. Sure enough, the IRS is requesting an audit and wants to examine all of our parts, services and sales invoices, as well as deposits and payroll records. I study Kyle as he finishes reading the letter, trying to read his facial expression once he hands the letter back to Wes. His face is void of emotion, his eyes firmly focused on Wes, but his body is stiff and tense, indicating his defenses are up. His body language screams that he has taken personal offense to this letter. While we both work mainly on repairing bikes, Kyle’s the main bookkeeper, with me as his backup. I always had a passion for numbers and the Navy helped me obtain my degree in finance - as did Kyle. He started working at the shop a couple of months before I did, so he got the job first. Whenever he’s not around, I take over the books, which is few and far between since Kyle rarely takes any time off and is hardly sick.
“As soon as I received the letter, I called our accounting firm in Nashville. I scanned it to our CPA, who explained that this is normal and that we shouldn’t have anything to worry about,” Wes says while looking directly at Kyle, who visibly looks relieved at this news. “They’re going to send one of their auditors here on Monday, who will respond back to the IRS on our behalf and will work with us to gather the information that’s being requested. I want both of you to clear your schedules next week to be accessible for the auditor. No taking time off for the next two weeks. You can work on current projects and accept new repairs, but they must be flexible repairs so that if the auditor needs you, you can stop what you’re doing and work with them. Is this a problem for anyone?” Kyle and I both shake our heads no.
“Kyle, I want you to have everything ready for the auditor on Monday, including all reporting paperwork we turned into the CPA and any reports that our software program can print out for us that you think might be helpful to them. Rowan, I want you to work with Kyle on making sure everything is ready
and that nothing seems to be missing.” Wes gives me a knowing look - a look that is saying he wants me to watch Kyle closely. It’s not because he doesn’t trust Kyle. It’s more like he wants to make sure that we don’t appear to look as if we’re holding back anything from the auditor. I nod my head slightly at Wes, acknowledging his silent request.
“The auditor will be here at nine in the morning on Monday, so please make sure we are all squared away by then.” Wes leans back in his chair and places his hands behind his head. “Any questions?”
“I can stay here this weekend and start going back through the books to try to find what we didn’t report?” Kyle offers, but Wes shakes his head no.
“There’s nothing to worry about, Kyle. Let the auditor handle it. Help them by providing any single piece of paper they want and then that’s it. We have nothing to hide, right?” Wes asks Kyle, his eyes boring into him, daring him to lie to his face.
“No, sir!” Kyle responds firmly as if he’s back in the military.
“Damn straight we don’t,” I say with confidence, knowing that this is probably a simple mistake that will come to light very quickly once the auditor arrives.
“Good. Now get the fuck outta here so I can go home and see my wife.” Wes walks around his desk, opens his door and slaps us both on the back as we walk out. Wes and his wife, July, act as if they are newlyweds, when in fact they have been married for a couple of years now. Wes barely hangs out with the boys, always choosing his wife over us. I don’t mind it, but Kyle and some of the other guys bitch about it. I look over at Kyle walking next to me, his silence portraying that he’s deep in thought still from the meeting.
“Bro, stop overthinking things. All will be fine. If Wes isn’t worried, then we shouldn’t be worried,” I say, trying to reassure him so he would stop thinking the worst. I throw my arm over his shoulder and give him a shake to snap out of it. “If you stop sulking by the time we get to the restaurant, I’ll be your wingman at The Knot tonight.”
His eyes light up at my offer, that signature smirk of his playing right back on his lips. “Game on,” he says with a wicked smile. I ruffle his hair and laugh, knowing full well that the idea of him getting laid tonight would bring him out of his funk.
Chapter Four
VALERIE
What does one wear to audit a motorcycle repair shop?
The question keeps playing in my head like a broken record while I stand and stare at my closet. If it wasn’t for my mother and sister, I probably would have no wardrobe. I have no time to go shopping, nor do I have the patience for it. Fortunately for me, my mother and sister love to shop, taking it upon themselves to become my personal stylists. With my preference on wearing solid colors and no patterns, my closet looks like a rainbow due to my OCD demanding that my clothes are in color coded order. I don’t know who half these designers are, but I’m sure they are all expensive and more money than I would normally spend on myself. I scan through my shirts, sighing in frustration as to why I just can’t pick something and be done with it. The only person who can help me with this is my best friend, Emma. I won the roommate lottery my freshmen year in college with her and we instantly became best friends. Come to think of it, she’s really my only other best friend besides my sister. Emma was my saving grace in college. Without her, I would’ve had no social life whatsoever during those four years. There were some nights where she literally had to drag my nose out of a textbook and convince me that if I didn’t live a little, I would miss the whole college experience of enjoying our last remaining years of not having to be an adult yet. I survived those four years because of her and even though she has moved to Chicago for her career, I know we’ll forever remain best friends.
I grab my cell phone and decide to Facetime with her, not caring about how early it is and that she might still be sleeping. Emma is an event coordinator at The House of Royalty, one of the premier nightclubs and event spaces in Chicago. She thrives on planning the glitzy parties and late nights, while I thrive on being in my pajamas and bed by 10 p.m. Due to our busy schedules, we rarely get to talk on the phone and the majority of our conversations have to be via text messaging. All I care about is that we keep in touch in some form of communication and if text messaging is how I get my weekly Emma fix, then so be it.
I’m about to give up hope after the fourth ring when she finally picks up, making me giggle at her disheveled appearance of bed head and sleepiness. Instead of being happy to hear from me, her facial features express annoyance with one of her eyes barely open to look at me. “Are you in jail? Dying? Because if you’re not, you will be for calling me at this hour,” she grumbles.
“Good morning, Sunshine!” I yell out in fake enthusiasm, getting some enjoyment from watching her wince at my loud tone of voice.
“You’re so annoying right now. Since you’re not dying or in jail for that matter, there better be a really good reason for you to be calling me so early in the morning,” she mutters as she cradles the phone in front of her while shifting to lay on her side. Funny that she thinks seven in the morning is early for a weekday. I’m normally eating breakfast at this hour and leaving for work thirty minutes later.
“Did Grumpelstiltskin have another late night?” I joke, using my college nickname for her. Emma is not a morning person and is one of the most grumpiest people you will ever meet if you wake her up before 8 a.m. It’s only after her second cup of coffee kicks in that she starts to resemble the normal human being that I love.
“Yes, I had a late night with the most glorious man in between my legs. Now get to the point of why we’re talking at this ungodly hour.”
I frown at this news, not recalling her telling me of a new boyfriend recently. “Back up for a second - who did you have sex with last night?” I demand, needing to know since I vicariously live through her sex life because mine is nonexistent. Lately, Emma has started to make “there are plenty of fish in the sea” her motto when it pertains to men. When she first moved to Chicago, she was determined to find a boyfriend so she wouldn’t be alone in a big, new city. Two failed relationships and dozens of dates gone bad, she now says it’s just easier to hook up with men than finding time to date them due to her schedule. Personally, I think she uses work as an excuse to guard her heart from falling for a guy and getting burned again.
“Do you remember me mentioning a guy named Torrin Richards?”
“The name is somewhat familiar, but not one that you have mentioned recently.”
“That’s because he has been out of the picture until about three weeks ago when he came back to work at the club.” My eyes go wide in shock as the wheels in my brain start turning with recognition.
“The dangerously hot looking ex-boss?” I vividly remember her telling me he looked like a cross between an MMA fighter and a mobster, with eyes that stared into you so intensely, it made you squirm. But in Emma’s case, his stares just always made her panties wet.
“Yup, that’s the one,” she confirms with a slow nod of her head.
“You had sex with your old boss who is a coke-head?” I practically scream into the camera, not understanding how she could have thought that was a brilliant idea. Torrin resigned from his position as general manager of The House of Royalty because his cocaine problem got out of control. I remembered Emma saying she was relieved he was gone because she was tired of covering for him when he didn’t show up for work.
“Your squawking is hurting my brain. I need coffee for this conversation.” I watch her throw the covers off her body and slowly make her way into her kitchen. I start pacing in front of my closet, worry filling my heart for her as it seems his good looks are clouding her judgment.
“Emma, you know having sex with your boss is a horrible idea, right? There cannot be a repeat performance!” I chastise, causing her to roll her eyes at me while scooping coffee into her french press.
“First off, we didn’t have sex. His tongue was between my legs all night, not his dick.” I shudder as her w
ords create a mental image I didn’t need to have of her this morning… or ever. “Secondly, he’s technically not my boss, and thirdly, he’s been clean for two years now.”
“Why did he come back? Wouldn’t that kind of environment trigger him to want to use again?” Even though the club has transitioned into doing more corporate events, it still will occasionally run as a nightclub for VIP deejays to come play at, which makes it booked for most weekends.
“He’s been friends with my boss for a long time. Since she’s married to one of the owners, she convinced hubby dearest to give Torrin a second chance back at work. Apparently, Torrin came to Layla asking for a job, wanting to test his mental strength by putting himself back into that environment. He thinks that part of his lifelong journey in staying sober needs to have him in environments where it’s around him all the time. If he can be around it and not want to use, then he knows he’ll be okay.”
“He isn’t too far off. A lot of staying sober is being mentally strong,” I slowly say, reluctantly agreeing with his thinking. “Still, I don’t think you should shit where you eat.”
“Whoa, language Dawson! I’m not used to hearing such vulgarity out of you.” I laugh with Emma since it’s rare that a curse word would ever pass through my lips, but working with mostly men has definitely brought out my “rougher” side. My very Southern mother would have heart palpitations if she heard a lady like myself cursing. As much as I love my mother, when she gets all high and mighty in her views on cursing, it makes me want to curse even more in front of her. But I keep my mouth shut like a good, respectable child does.
Until Valerie: Happily Ever Alpha World Page 2
