BOSS: The Wolf

by Jolie Day

  These boys are my family. My real family.

  That’s another thing money can’t buy—trust.

  I know Eric would take a bullet for me. And I’d do the same for him. Same goes for Clay. Known him since my teens, and when I got back from boarding school, it was like I’d never left. I know we don’t always see eye to eye, and dude gets on my fucking nerves (and I mean on the regular), but I’ve got to give a couple things to the guy: He cares. He never bullshits me. Gives it to me straight, no matter what.

  Which brings me back to dear ole dad…

  My father lost himself in the biker world, right along with Clay’s dad—even if he was more sheltered from the rowdy ways of our parents. By the time the club was wrapped up in so many illegal and corrupt activities that it seemed like the only way to make it out clean was to leave, it was too late as far as the old boss Alvarez was concerned. The crazy bastard started killing almost anybody who tried to get out, my and Clay’s father included.

  Yep, bodies found dead in some dumpster outside the city only a few weeks later. Can’t say that I was sorry—because I wasn’t. “That’s what you get,” Mom had said.” He probably did deserve it. Not that I gave a rat’s ass about him.

  I can see Max thinking about it all too hard, worrying Clay will go rogue and try something stupid.

  “I won’t let him do anything.” I say what Max will never admit out loud. “You put way too much on the line to bring this club where it is today. I’m not about to let Clay ruin that just so he can feel like some kind of badass.”

  “Kids these days,” Max taunts, like he’s more than just a few years older than us. “You bend over backward to try and give them a better life, and they just throw themselves back into all the trouble you were trying to save them from.” He says it with a smile, but I know it hurts him to think about. After all, it was up to him to take out Alvarez just so the club could clean up its shit, the deaths, its fucked-up past, and start over with a better leader. Max wasn’t a murderer, but he was and is loyal to the death. It was just days after my father went missing—after he was killed, when he was the one to step up and put a stop to it all.

  It’s the kind of thing Clay could never understand. Max didn’t need to go around looking for trouble to prove anything. He only needed to kill once when it really stood for something, and now he’s one of the most feared and respected guys around. Max told me himself that he’d been scared shitless and sweated like a fucking pig. He said taking a man’s life changes you, and he’s sure as hell not ready for a repeat.

  “Wanna ride out over the bridge with me on your way to work?” He slings some money on top of our bill before we walk outside.

  “Nah, I’ve gotta go. Damn. I’m already late for work. You coming out tonight?”

  “Not sure yet. Might be heading home to spend some quality time with Reg. She misses me. Can’t say I blame her.” He smiles just before he slips on his helmet.

  “I’ve got all the respect in the world for you, man. But I think you’ll just have to be happily married enough for all of us, ’cause I sure as hell don’t want any part of that.”

  “Just wait.” He gives me a cocky grin, and we lock hands.

  “Wait for what?”

  He starts the engine.

  “Wait for fucking what?” I yell out to him, but he’s already speeding down the road, and flipping me off as he goes.

  Why do I know he’s still laughing? Damn SOB.

  3

  Charlie

  It’s ten degrees cooler outside than it is in my car with its broken-down AC as I race across town to make it to my interview on time. My boobs are sweating. Great. If I didn’t need this job and was just meeting with them to scope out the prospect of it, everything would have gone smoothly this morning. But, of course, because my entire residency in the states seems to rest on this one interview, everything that can go wrong—is.

  In addition to the heat inside the car, even though the early summer air is cool and breezy just beyond my window, there’s the alarming vibration I feel through the gas pedal. Every time I have a chance to accelerate in the stop-and-go traffic across the bridge, the whole car shakes enough to make me wonder if it’ll just blow up all of a sudden with me inside of it.

  But I have tunnel vision for Embry Gear, and I’m not stopping until I get there. The moment I remind myself of that again, trying to shirk the increasing unsteadiness of the engine, the whir of it falls silent, and I barely have enough time to jerk the wheel to the right and steer it off to the shoulder before it dies completely.

  Something under the hood hisses and tons of smoke comes billowing out. Bloody perfect.

  I don’t know the first thing about cars, and I hardly want to show up at Embry’s with a suit smudged in grease and oil. But I do have to show up there somehow, even if it kills me. So, I do the only thing I can think of which is to get out and open the hood, even if I don’t have the slightest clue as to what I’m doing.

  Just as I pull on the latch and prop up the heavy, nearly scorching-hot hood, I hear the startling roar of a bike engine pull up next to me.

  Oh, sod off, I think. First my car breaks down, and now I’ll be harassed by some dirty, smelly, old biker dude while I’m stranded here.

  I try not to look at him, thinking maybe if I don’t pay him any attention he’ll just go away. But the moment he steps off the bike, I can’t help but take a quick peek. He’s not old at all, from what I can tell by his smooth chiseled jaw and thick, dark-brown hair. He keeps a pair of shades on under his helmet, so I can’t see his eyes. But judging by the rest of his face and body, I have to assume they’re just as impressive.

  I try to stay focused on the car and the mission at hand, but I notice, of course, that he’s approaching me and the way he keeps taking me in as I turn away.

  “Trouble?” I hear him ask in a growly, sexy voice.

  “It would appear so.”

  The moment I turn to him, he’s staring at my legs. I can’t help but arch my back a little, thrusting out the curves of my hips. If he’s going to look, he might as well get the best view.

  “Mind if I take a look?”

  The plot thickens. Now I’m not being harassed roadside by a biker, but potentially seduced by one—or at least I hope that’s the case. But I quickly remember the interview, to which I will now most certainly be late.

  I check my phone and nearly freak out at the time. Damn! I’m going to be late! “Go for it.” And please hurry.

  He looks under the hood, and I lean in over him, as if I could be of any help. The wind blows, sending a gust of his manly scent straight to me, overloading my senses. Thinking back on the recent words of Nora and Mrs. Loughty, now I know it really has been too long since I’ve been with a man. I find myself inching closer to him, just to revel in his wafting scent of minty pine and leather a bit more.

  He says something about oil, and I explain how I’m in a hurry. I’m so flustered by his good looks and the very pressing time crunch I’m in that everything spoken between us feels like a jumble of words. Then suddenly, I hear something he says—crystal clear.

  “…if you’re not too afraid to jump on this thing.”

  I swallow hard, wondering if he’s saying what I think he is. But he motions towards the bike, and I immediately feel silly. He notices my blunder more than I wish.

  Of course, he assumes some random British chick in a nice skirt suit stranded on the side of the road who knows nothing about cars would also know nothing about bikes. Well, wrong, mate. I may be no expert, but I did have a chance to get comfortable with them while briefly dating a biker right after I first arrived in America.

  When I went on those three dates with Eric and first got acclimated to a bike, I liked the idea of dating a biker. Unfortunately, Eric always showed up late, and it seemed that he prioritized bikes over women—he was obsessed with them. It’s also possible our jobs played a part, as our conflicting schedules rarely allowed for much time together. Don
’t get me wrong, he was smart, handsome, and easygoing, though I’m not sure he was that into me. Either way, it just didn’t work out.

  I assure him I’ve been on a bike before but decline his offer to ride along. I introduce myself instead. “I’m Charlie, by the way.”

  “Joel. Nice to meet you.”

  As we shake hands, I get the feeling I could really get lost in his eyes for a while, if only he’d take his damn sunglasses off so I could really see them. I notice a sexy scar on his chin that makes him seem even more mysterious.

  It’s the sort of meeting where it feels like time slows a little, but then his name quickly snaps me back to reality.

  Joel—ironically, the name of who I hope will be my future boss. I crack a joke about how I hope he isn’t as big of an arse as my old boss was. We both get a little laugh out of that until I check the time again and realize how late I’m running. He rides off, and a short bit later, the mystery man returns and gears up to pour the oil in.

  Joel gives me the go-ahead to try and start up the car, and thankfully it turns right on. As he leans down to my window, I have to stop myself from gushing about what a hero he is. But even if he hadn’t just saved my skin, I’d still be putty in his hands. He’s so gorgeous, I think, any woman would be.

  As much as I know I need to be focusing on finding a job and not a hot date (or a hot lay—that will work, too), now that I’m so late, there’s a very real chance that my odds of getting this job are screwed. In which case, a brief fling with a biker before I head back to the UK might make this whole America adventure, well, serve some purpose, right? Even if it’s only a frivolous one.

  I flash my most seductive smile, thank him, and hint at my time here being limited. But he doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t make a move. He lingers long enough that I swear he’ll ask for my number, but no. Is he married? I didn’t notice a ring, but I guess a guy like that doesn’t have to be taken to not be interested in me. What a bummer. He didn’t exactly catch me and my sweaty boobs in one of my finest moments.

  To my disappointment, he says something else.

  “Good luck.”

  Then he walks back to his bike.

  I’m tempted to take my time in speeding off, thinking maybe he’ll second-guess himself and come running back to ask for my number. But once again, I remember how dire the situation is. If there’s no biker fling within my reach, it looks like I have no other choice after all. Well, can’t blame a girl for trying (several times)!

  I turn the wheel and dip back into traffic, which thankfully starts flowing more steadily. I now have the rest of the drive to try and come up with an excuse for being late that doesn’t rat me out for having unreliable transportation. I guess next time I’ll just have to take an uber or the subway like everyone else in the city.

  4

  Joel

  Once my bike’s parked in my reserved spot inside the firm’s garage, I duck into the changing room and put on my suit. Each day when the elevator opens to the floor of my office, I always pause for a couple seconds and think about how far Embry’s come since my granddad started this company. Yeah, it might sound cheesy as fuck, but I want to make sure I remember those who came before me. How none of this would be possible without my grandad.

  The lobby’s got white marble floors with black walls and sleek gold molding around the ceiling and floors—designed to be classic and modern, not the gawdy shit you might see in old baroque-style mansions.

  My great-grandfather started this business from next to nothing, teaching his son his ways back when they manufactured denim during the ’50s out of his garage, and then out of an old run-down warehouse—the best he could afford at the time.

  By the mid-sixties, Embry was in full swing with a state-of-the-art manufacturing plant and a little office suite on the fifth floor of this building. The first thing I did when I took over as CEO after college was buy the whole building, which was then completely revamped, including luxury amenities for the staff and myself with a gym and spa.

  I’ve never kept my expectations from my employees a secret—they’re plain as day. My grandfather and his father devoted their lives to building this whole operation from the ground up, and I expect each employee down to the janitor and mail person to do the same. In return, they’ve got unlimited access to one of the most lavish office complexes in the city, along with a higher-than-average pay grade.

  The proud sigh I take each morning before stepping off that elevator is my way of honoring what the men before me did, and to appreciate the fact that all of this, up until now, has been accomplished without the profits of a public stock offering. But that’s about to change, and I know my granddad would be proud.

  “You’re late,” Clay barks, even though it’s an unnecessary reminder.

  I twist my mouth into a frown and think about putting him in his place. But whatever. I know he’s just nervous about the meeting.

  He stares at me for a second, seeming to notice the irritated expression on my face. “I’m just sayin’.” Then he takes a look at his Rolex.

  All right. Fuck that. I’ve had enough. I’m not the aggressive type, never have been, usually friendly and able to get my point across easily. It’s served me well in business negotiations over the years. Doesn’t mean I let people walk all over my ass.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were the boss around here.” I adjust the cuffs of my shirt beneath my suit jacket. “These investment bankers need us more than we need them. They can wait a few extra minutes.”

  He starts walking beside me. “Well…it’s not like you to be late, not for something this important.”

  Eric’s waiting for us around the corner and joins us on our way to the conference room, our assistants scrambling to keep up behind us with coffee in hand.

  “I had to help a woman out.”

  “I bet you did.” Eric snorts.

  Clay gives me a sidelong glance. “What happened?”

  “Her car was broken down on the side of the road. It’s strange. I know I recognized her from somewhere…I just can’t place it.” My mind drifts off to the memory of her long, muscular tan legs in those heels. “She had an accent, too.”

  “I love a chick with an accent.” Eric grins, probably thinking back to one of his many conquests. “Was she hot?”

  I shrug. “She was all right.”

  I notice the guys doing their best to bite back their need to talk shit so we can get our heads in the game for the meeting. The investment bankers are waiting for us in the conference room along with the rest of the board.

  “Morning, gentlemen.” I unbutton the front of my jacket, then take my seat at the head of the table. “Thank you for joining us today.”

  I know better than to apologize for being late. A good boss never lets himself do anything bad enough to warrant an apology. I lean back in confidence, and the rest of the room sits up in rapt attention, eager to please.

  “It’s certainly no trouble at all,” the main banker replies.

  My assistant, Anne-Louise, a woman in her forties with a stylish bob, sees to it that everybody’s got coffee and refreshments while the rest of us flip through the bound reports left for us on the table. This is one of several meetings for the competing investors to make their offers on our upcoming IPO deal.

  I can’t deny how good it feels to see so many top firms and banks fighting over us. But, there’s still the continued pressure of hyping up the potential of this deal so we can sell off the stocks for the highest price. The more money we gain from this venture of going public, the smoother our expansion will go.

  “Let’s get right down to it, shall we?” I command once the room settles down. “This is an exciting time for Embry, and I’m sure you’re all aware of our continued success and growth over the years, which is what has brought you here today.”

  One of the younger investors seems pleased with the information he’s reading. “I’m surprised you’ve waited so l
ong to go public. But it certainly leaves us in a great position for hyping up the stock.”

  A few whispers spread throughout the room. I know exactly what they’re saying. The stocks are practically going to sell themselves, given that many people gave up hope on us ever having public stock offerings altogether. It’s exactly why I never caved into the pressure of the board to do this sooner.

  The meeting carries on as we sell ourselves to the room of investors.

  When we go our separate ways, they each look eager and pleased, with the promise of bids to be rolling in by the end of the week. But I see the hunger in several of them who’ll likely be getting back to us sooner in hopes of beating the competition.

  Clay, Eric, and I exchange smiles, knowing that the best bids will be the last to come in—they’ll be the highest and the riskiest. We’d be idiots to settle for anything until we see the full scope of offers. Then there’s the surprise bidders who could attempt to toss their names in the hat between now and then.

  We meet in my office for a small celebratory drink and to discuss the possibilities.

  Eric pours each of us two fingers of bourbon and hands us our glasses. “We’re looking at three or four months before the stocks hit the market.”

  Clay leans against the desk and takes a swig of his drink. “This is fucking huge, man.”

  I nod. “Here’s to Embry and to you guys for helping make these stock options possible.”

  “Hell, yeah!” Eric howls and I shake my head.

  We lift our glasses in a toast, then Eric and Clay trail off to talk about whoever they were fucking the night before and who they plan on seeing tonight—given they don’t meet somebody else when we go out for drinks.