Silver and Chrome: A Bad Boy MC Romance

by St. Clair, Aubrey

  Silver & Chrome

  Aubrey St. Clair

  Copyright © 2016 Aubrey St. Clair

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogue, and everything else are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to people or events, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Also By

  Aubrey St. Clair

  Trust

  Fighting For Salvation

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  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Bonus Books!

  PROLOGUE

  EVELYN

  I want to puke.

  I’m dizzy as my fingertips touch the closed door in front of me as it teases me with the afterimage of what is behind it. I’m tempted to push it open again, but what would be the point? The scene isn’t going to change; I know what I saw. There’s no chance anyone can deny or talk their way out of it. And I’m not going to give them a chance to try, either.

  Still, it takes me a moment of standing there with a heart pounding so hard I’m sure they can hear it on the other side. Are they laughing about it? Am I a joke to them?

  I stiffen my fingers against the frosted glass and press against it. Not to open the door—I’d have to turn the handle to do that—but to launch myself backward. I need that extra push to get my leaden feet to actually move. Force them to step back to keep me balanced, and then once they’ve started to move, I can use the momentum to carry me out of here.

  I need to get away. As fucking far away as I can.

  ~ One Hour Earlier ~

  Global warming, my ass.

  It figures that I’d have to make an airport run during one of the biggest blizzards Chicago has seen in years, at least for March. It’s supposed to be getting warmer, not fucking colder. How is it that I ended up moving to one of the only cities in United States that has even worse winters than Toronto? Why the hell couldn’t Visions International—or VI, as everyone always calls it—have its headquarters in L.A. or San Francisco? It’s definitely something I need to take up with Edward.

  Not that he’s likely to change anything. The CEO of a company the size of VI doesn’t normally get affected by such pedestrian matters like weather. He has people to deal with things like that. People like me, apparently.

  It’s not that I want to be treated differently, or special. Hell, one of the biggest reasons I resisted his advances as long as I did was that I was afraid that people would think that I only got my job because I was sleeping with the boss. I made sure that my hard work was already being recognized before I ever even agreed to a first date with him. After all, I don’t plan on being an executive assistant forever. Crossing off the “assistant” part of that title has been a goal of mine for as long as I can remember. So no, I don’t want people to think that I get special treatment.

  But maybe, in this one instance, he could have found someone other than his EA/girlfriend to pick up Mr. Himura from O’Hare?

  Like the car service that I had booked a week ago for this very job.

  I know that this is a big client, representing millions to the company, but we have deals like this happening all the time. I’m not sure why Edward made a last-minute decision that he didn’t trust the service in this storm and wanted me to attend to it personally. There may be more at stake here than I know about, but given my position, I should be in the loop. That’s yet another thing he and I will have to discuss at home.

  If I even see him there tonight, that is. The very definition of workaholic was modeled on men like Edward Stonewall. I don’t think you can build a company as big as VI by leaving work in time for dinner. Some days he isn’t even home by breakfast and I meet him in the office, bringing him a fresh suit to replace the rumpled one he’s worn all night. That was more of a pain before I moved into his penthouse last month. Now that we live together, it’s just part of the routine. He works all night at least once or twice a week, and a weekend to him just means that he works a few hours less and does it from home, or his phone, while we’re out and about.

  Usually.

  The one positive was that he rushed me out of the office so quickly that I forgot my laptop, which means I can’t do any more work tonight. That’ll probably annoy him, but it’s his fault, and I’m feeling too petty for having to make this trip to even consider swinging back afterwards to go and get it. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll bring it home with him tonight. God forbid we take the weekend off and actually do something fun.

  I take a sip of coffee to take the edge off of my sour mood as I look out across the endless white tops of the cars sitting ahead of me on the I90. Even if it wasn’t already getting dark, it would be impossible to tell the color of any of them in this storm, and the fact that we aren’t even moving is letting the snow accumulate even more.

  At this rate, even the two hour lead time I have to get to the airport before Mr. Himura is due to arrive might not be enough. I’ve barely made it out of downtown.

  My phone beeps from my purse, and since I’m not moving anyway, I pull it out, expecting a text from Edward wondering if I’ve made it to the airport yet. Mental replies that range from scathing to sarcastic are all running through my head, and I’m almost disappointed to find out that it’s just a news alert.

  Unexpected Blizzard Causes Chaos at O’Hare.

  Fabulous. I let out a groan as I flip over to my airport app to check on the status of the flight from Tokyo.

  It’s been diverted to Detroit. Wonderful.

  The only thing in my favor tonight is that I’m stuck right next to an exit, allowing me to ease out of freeway gridlock without any further delay. Mr. Himura is going to need a new hotel and pickup in Detroit, and that will be a pain in the ass to do on my phone. I need my laptop after all, which means heading back to the office instead of home.

  I can feel my annoyance start to rise even higher until I realize that even backtracking from where I am now will still save me far more time than continuing on to the airport, waiting for my pickup, and then driving him back to his hotel downtown. This flight diversion actually saves me from wasting another Friday night sitting in traffic on a day where everyone else in their right mind is curled up at home with loved ones. Or at least, a good book and a bath.

  The latter is my new plan, since I know the weather isn’t going to send Edward home early, even if he did tell everyone else that they could leave. I was actually surprised by that gesture.
He’s normally such a hard-ass at work, expecting everyone else to work the crazy hours that he thinks is normal. He pays well, though, and most of his executive team are pretty rich, so it’s rare to hear any complaints. Of course, that doesn’t mean anyone stuck around to keep working once he told them they could leave early.

  If you can call four in the afternoon early.

  Still, it’s a step in the right direction for Edward. I know that people often wonder why we’re together. In truth, he can be a complete ass sometimes. But he doesn’t act like that to me. He’s always treated me like his princess. It’s just that most princesses can command more than a few minutes a day from their Prince Charming.

  I’ve been trying since we got together to get him to soften up a little bit to his staff. Maybe today is finally a step in that direction. I’ve heard people talk about him behind his back. Most of them think he’s a complete asshole. I’m just trying to get them to see the side of him that I’ve seen.

  By taking the side streets and shortcuts I’ve figured out running errands over the last eight months, I get back to the office in less than thirty minutes. Edward had me schedule a conference call with Sydney for before market opens, which means he’s on that now, otherwise I would have called to let him know about the flight issue. It’s probably something I should handle in person, anyway. Given how important this meeting seems to be, Edward is likely to blow his top if he doesn’t have me around to talk him down. That’s much harder to do over the phone.

  I pound on the button for the fortieth floor, anxious to get in and out of here as fast as possible. Maybe I won’t even tell Edward about the change in plans until he gets home tonight. Besides, my mood was just starting to improve and I’m not sure I want his anger at an uncontrollable situation to bring me down again. The problem with a man like Edward is that he’s so used to getting his own way that anything he can’t control makes him crazy. I can’t imagine a snowstorm will be an exception.

  I step out of the elevator as soon as I reach the top floor of the cone-shaped building, stepping out into the familiar space. Everything seems the same as always, with one exception: it’s unnaturally quiet, the by-product of Edward having sent everyone home early. Normally each of the windowed offices that span the perimeter of the floor has one of the executives working in it until late into the night. It almost seems like a waste to give them all such incredible views, since I don’t think any of them ever pause long enough in the day to enjoy it.

  I can tell by the frosted glass doors that all of the offices on this side have their lights off. All except for one; the office of Charles Carmichael, VP of Sales. Charles is married. I’ve met his wife on many occasions, but they also have three young boys, and I get the feeling that he works late sometimes rather than go home and deal with them.

  As I pass by his office, I hear a sound that makes me pause. It sounds like groaning.

  His door is closed, but not all the way, like it was pushed shut in a hurry. Then I hear it again. This time it is more of a moan than a groan, and I’m close enough now that I can tell it’s coming from a woman. Is Mrs. Carmichael really the type to stop by for a quickie in the middle of a freak blizzard?

  "Fuck yes, give it to me!" The voice is hushed, but loud enough to sound familiar. My eyes flick over to the desk outside of the office. Lindsey Spears. Charles' secretary. Oh my God, he's having an affair!

  My heart starts to pound as I consider the implications. It's actually not all that surprising. I've never had a very high opinion of Chuck. And Lindsey has always seemed a bit on the slutty, happily-sleep-her-way-to-the-top side, but to do it here in the office with Edward on a conference call across the floor seemed very dangerous. He would be furious. The question is, should I tell him?

  "Oh God, yes," she moans again. I hear Chuck grunting now as well. He must be getting close to coming.

  Under normal circumstances, I’d think it was kind of hot, secretly listening to people fuck. They sound really into it, and the way she’s talking to him doesn’t sound like this is their first time. But the thought of his poor wife at home taking care of his three kids sucks all of the joy out of it. For me, at least. Doesn’t seem to be having any negative effect on the two of them.

  I have to tell Edward. Let him deal with it. But I can't interrupt his call for this, and if I wait, they might be done and it'll just be my word against theirs. Chuck will just claim I misheard things. He's in sales. He'll find a way to talk his way out of it.

  "Oh, my God. Holy shit. Slam me with your hard cock, you animal!"

  I roll my eyes at her over-the-top dirty talk. She's probably faking her orgasm, too. I can't imagine Chuck is that good.

  Making a quick decision, I put my hand on the door. It's now or never. Catch him in the act and, if I'm lucky, interrupt him right before he finishes. Totally cock block the asshole.

  Taking a deep breath, I push the door hard. As soon as it opens, I catch a glimpse of Lindsey. She's completely naked and leaning over Chuck's desk. The puddle her long, blonde hair is forming around her is a sharp contrast to the ebony wood it's draped over, but it quickly disappears as she lifts her head and gapes at me in shock. Her big, green eyes are wide and her mouth is open even wider, although in fairness, it might have been like that before I even came in.

  The door slams against the opposite wall as I lift my eyes to look at the man holding onto her hips, buried deep into her from behind, and just as naked. His eyes are wide as well, but the look of shock on his face is even greater. I only make eye contact with him for a second before the door rebounds off the wall to close the couple back inside the office. But it’s enough time to weaken my knees and take my breath away.

  The man fucking Lindsey isn't Charles. It's Edward.

  CHAPTER ONE

  BASH

  I take a drag of the joint that Jez passes to me, only inhaling a bit while keeping the rest in my mouth and blowing it out after a few seconds to make it seem like I took a normal hit. As much as I’d like to get high right now, especially with Jez rubbing her tits back and forth against my arm to get my attention, Axle’s is busy tonight. More so than usual, which means I need to stay alert. All I need is another fucking incident bringing eyes down onto the MC.

  Jez takes the joint back and inhales deeply, intentionally thrusting her tits against my arm again as she does. I know she’s looking for me to take her back to my place tonight. I might do just that. I could use a good lay, let loose some of the fucking tension I’ve been feeling lately. And Jez is an enthusiastic fuck, if nothing else. The nice thing about her is that she knows that fucking me isn’t going to lead to anything deeper, and she doesn’t care. She’s a true house mouse, and she’ll be in someone else’s bed tomorrow night. Chicks like her are a good distraction for the club, and distractions are what we need most right now.

  I scan the crowd, looking for potential signs of trouble. At least there’s no cops here tonight. Our club is small enough not to attract much attention from the law, but even so, we’ve been lucky with some of the shit we’ve done in the past. But how long can our luck hold out?

  How long can mine?

  Most of the crowd is familiar, or at least typical of a Saturday night. Regulars and college kids who like the cheap booze enough not to mind the occasional biker brawl or lingering stink of tobacco and pot that has seeped into every inch of this place over the years.

  I do notice one new face, though. There’s a gorgeous blonde sitting at the bar with a friend. She’s dressed in clothes that are far nicer than a place like this warrants, and clearly looks uncomfortable.

  What the hell is a woman like that doing in a place like this? Probably lost.

  When she glances over here, our eyes meet briefly and I flash a smile that is more malicious than friendly. It makes me laugh when she turns her head quickly away. If she leaves here telling all her friends to avoid this place, all the better for me. It’s not like she’s my type, anyway.

  Billiard balls crack agai
nst each other, yanking my eyes off of the stranger and back to the game.

  “That’s a scratch. You missed everything,” laughs Snake. He’s speaking too loud, as usual, as if the whole bar is interested in what’s happening on the pool table.

  “The fuck it was,” snarls Ripper. “I hit the nine ball.”

  Snake’s head spins around so fast that his thinly braided beard slaps against his cheek. “Bullshit. There was like, an inch between them. I’d say you need your eyes checked, if I didn’t already know what a filthy fucking cheater you are.”

  Here we fucking go.

  Before I can even slide off of my stool, Ripper has lifted his pool stick and slammed Snake across the head with it, toppling the wiry man over. As Snake spins, he grabs a nearby table for balance, sending beer bottles over like dominoes onto a bunch of college kids.

  The young men at the table all jump to their feet, fists clenched, as one of them pushes my bleeding VP off of the table and glares over at Ripper. These guys have no fucking clue what they’re in for if they don’t back off. And as much as I’d love to kick some college kid ass right now, that would definitely quality as another incident. So it’s up to me to shut it down before it gets out of hand, as usual.