by Lexy Timms
“Right now,” Matt replied.
“Thank fucking-goodness,” Saks said.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Oh, Chrissy,” Charles Grayson purred over the phone, a few days after their luncheon, “I have someone who’s very, very interested in you.”
Chrissy slipped off her spiked heels under her desk table and rubbed her feet. “I don’t know, Charles. I’m meeting with Drummond Walker this Saturday to discuss new job duties.”
“That’s fine. But you shouldn’t knife new opportunities in the back. At least, you can walk into your meeting with that old curmudgeon with a position of strength. Your boss isn’t known for paying industry standard. Let him know there are other offers on the table.”
“He’s done all right by me.”
“Can you live in New York on your salary?”
No. She couldn’t even afford a postage-size efficiency. “Point taken.”
“Walker’s lucky to have you. And the person I’m sending you to see is ecstatic to meet you. Come on, girl! You really don’t have anything to lose in going to the meeting.”
Chrissy thought that Charles must have worked his client hard to be this insistent for her to meet him. And she was the one who called him. At least she owed Charles the courtesy of meeting the client. “Okay. When?”
“Today. Lunch. One. Fiorio’s.”
“Are you going to be there?”
“Just for introductions. I have another client to meet now as well.”
“Busy guy.”
“You wouldn’t want it any other way, sweetheart. Later.”
She texted Jessica from her phone: Mark my lunch spot for 12:30 to 2:30.
Jessica: Business lunch? :)
Chrissy: Stop fishing.
Jessica: Mean boss :(
Chrissy: That’s not what you say in your performance evaluations.
Jessica: Only because you hold the power of my paycheck in your hands.
Chrissy: Get back to work. ;)
Jessica was one of the people who made where she worked bearable. Chrissy looked over the latest social media campaign she’d pulled together and sighed. There was nothing new, nothing flashy in this package. Not that Richard allowed her to do anything creative or bold. Maybe it was the right time to get out from under his thumb and find a place where she could spread her wings.
But, said the little voice inside her, you worked hard to get to this point. To be offered a promotion.
But was it a promotion? No one was talking, and through the week Richard was more closed- mouthed than ever. And despite the steady supply of cronuts shunted to Chloe, Jessica was unable to pry out any new information.
So, lunch it was.
At precisely five minutes to one she stepped into Fiorio’s and met Charles.
“Always on time,” he said with a broad smile. “Come on.” He led her to a table where a handsome older man sat. He smiled when he saw Chrissy and stood, which impressed her. Businessmen almost never stood when meeting a potential subordinate. “Mr. Pearson, this is Christine Serafina. Chrissy, James Pearson.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Pearson,” she said with a smile as she shook his hand.
“Please sit. Charles, are you joining us?”
“I have other business. Call me later.”
“I will.”
Chrissy settled in her chair and regarded James Pearson. He was in his forties, salt and pepper hair, and wore a dark Italian suit with a crisp white shirt and red paisley tie. Chrissy could swear his crystal-blue eyes twinkled when he looked at her.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
“No, thanks. Not during working hours.”
“Sane and sober, eh?”
“You tell me,” she said with a lift of an eyebrow.
“Confident, too. Good.”
The waiter came by, and Pearson placed an order for a bottle of wine with two glasses. Clearly, this was a man who took command of a situation.
“Are you ready to order, sir?”
“Yes, I think so. We’ll both have the lobster salad for starters and the burnt Rib-eye.”
“Very good, sir.”
Chrissy studied him. He hadn’t bothered to ask if she was a vegetarian or anything. Even though the lunch he’d selected sounded amazing, she still wasn’t impressed.
“Is that okay?” he asked when he caught her staring at him.
“You’re used to ordering for women.”
“It avoids the awkward, ‘what are you having’ conversation. But you didn’t answer my question.”
She took the napkin from the table and put it on her lap. How did she handle this without looking like she couldn’t handle the situation? She smiled tightly and shrugged. “I can’t argue with steak.”
He nodded. “And it’s very good here.”
“Yes,” she said, feeling a frost steal over her. It didn’t make any difference that he was as handsome as a god, or obviously rich. That damned imperious attitude of his was a turn-off. She didn’t think that she could work for a man like that.
“Did Charles tell you about the job?”
“No,” she said.
“I’m looking for an executive secretary. My companies take me all over the world and I need someone to travel with me to my various holdings and help keep my day straight.”
Crap! This is what Charles set her up for? An administrative assistant job? “I’m afraid there’s a mistake. I’m a social media director.”
“I know what job you have now, and I know what you earn. I checked you out very thoroughly before I took this lunch. In fact, you’re one of three people I picked to interview. The facts are simple. You’re attractive, professional, you work hard, and from what I’ve been able to tell you’re discreet. You have no romantic entanglements, and you live nearly alone. You have an extensive family network, but you’ve deliberately chosen a career path when the women in your family typically don’t work.”
“You know who my family is, then?” She actually took some satisfaction and saying that.
He nodded. “That’s not an impediment for me. What I’m offering is not just a job, Ms. Serafina. It’s an opportunity not just to travel the world, but to meet some of the most powerful people on the planet. The connections you make working for me will allow you to write your own ticket.”
“You sound like you don’t expect me to stay.”
“I don’t. I don’t keep anyone past age thirty. My last assistant is now vice-president of a German bank. The one before that is the sales director of a multi-national food conglomerate. They all become millionaires or multimillionaires in their own right by the age of thirty-five.”
The waiter brought their salads and set them on the table.
“That sounds nice,” she said unenthusiastically.
“You're not impressed?”
“With all due respect, Mr. Pearson, my family might not have the money you obviously do, but I’ve been raised a rich man’s daughter. Money doesn’t impress or motivate me. Having an impact on my world, the things I do, that’s what gets me out of bed in the morning. I wouldn’t be talking to you now if I felt my potential was being utilized. And, again, with all due respect, keeping your schedule straight and booking your hotel rooms isn’t going to do it for me.”
A slight smile played at the corners of Pearson’s lips as he cut into the unshelled lobster claw on his salad. “You think so?”
The way he said it stabbed a moment’s doubt in Chrissy’s heart. It would be awesome to travel the world and meet its movers and shakers. Was there more to this than he was letting on?
“I like your attitude, Ms. Serafina. Believe me, I don’t want people who take the job and exploit it for the next place to move on, though it is one of the perks.”
Now she was confused. She’d just shot down an offer before he made it, but instead of being perturbed or upset he kept talking to her as if they’d already made a deal.
“You are,” Pearson continued, “one of those ra
re people with principles. I seldom meet people like that, so I’m fascinated. Let me ask you—if I said the job paid half a million a year, would that change your thinking? That, on top of all travel expenses and a company car?”
Chrissy nearly choked on the piece of lobster she’d just put in her mouth. She coughed and cleared it from her throat. She pulled up her napkin and discretely spit the offending piece into it. Then she took a sip of water.
Pearson peered at her with an amused expression on his face.
“You can’t be serious. For an administrative assistant’s job?”
“Oh, not just a secretary. Mistress of my life.”
Now Chrissy was sure the guy was playing with her. “Mistress?” she sputtered. A blush crept from her breast to her throat, and onto her face. As the impact of his words hit her Chrissy stood, full of righteous indignation. Cocky son of a bitch. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Sit down, Ms. Serafina,” he said sternly. “I didn’t mean that in a sexual sense. Seriously, calm down. Do you always fly off the handle when someone says something off-color?” He stared at her with narrowed blue eyes, as if she were a little girl who needed to be punished.
Chrissy swallowed hard. Now she’d done it. She’d offended a rich and powerful man, a client of Charles’. A man like that could make things difficult for Charles, even speak against him to his rich and powerful friends. Possibly sour her reputation among people with whom she might seek a job. This was her fault? What a freakin’ mess! Saks came to her mind for a moment. She hadn’t called him or replied to his texts. Nor had he made any effort since her text. Somehow, she knew he’d never let a man like Pearson make her feel like a child.
She took a deep breath and sat down slowly. She didn’t like this man at all, but all she needed to do was to make it through the rest of the lunch.
But if he said one more creepy thing, he was toast.
“You must forgive me for flying off the handle at your off-color remark,” she said, more frostily than she intended. But now that she’d started with that tone, she couldn’t back off. “I’m not used to men talking to me like that, or making assumptions about what role I’ll play in their life.”
To her surprise, he smiled and then laughed. It spilled out, one chuckle after another, for a long time.
She sat there, stunned. Embarrassment crept over her until finally he wiped a single tear with his napkin.
“Very good, Ms. Serafina. You put me in my place.”
“Is that job requirement?” she said sarcastically.
“At times, yes.”
Her eyes widened in realization. “Were you testing me?”
“Guilty.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I had to see if you had the steel to keep things under control.”
“You keep talking as if I’m going to accept your offer, Mr. Pearson.”
The waiter brought the entrée and Chrissy stared at the huge, thick rib-eye on her plate.
“The money, the travel, and connections aren’t the only perks of the job,” Pearson said with a smile. “Did I mention that all meals are included?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“MATT, THIS IS A NICE car. Very nice.” Saks leaned into the leather seats of the lawyer’s black Lincoln Continental.
“Thanks,” Matt said, settling behind the wheel. “You’re paying for it.”
“Say what?”
Matt laughed. “No, bro. Sorry. That was a bad joke. I’m a trust fund baby. I get a new one each year.”
“Must be nice.”
“It helps with the illusion that I’m a successful lawyer.”
“Instead, you get jokers like me.”
“To be honest, if Luke hadn’t call me I wouldn’t have taken your case. I don’t do traffic cases. But for Luke, yeah. I’ll do it. Helps my reputation at the courthouse as a gang lord lawyer.”
“You like to live dangerously.”
“No. I like to, well, that’s another discussion. So, tell me, what the hell happened at the traffic stop?”
Saks gave him all the details, from his ill-fated passing of the too-slow car ahead of him to the trooper slapping the cuffs on him.
Matt listened in grim silence.
“What did he clip me for?” Saks asked.
“He didn’t tell you?”
“Just the resisting charge. It’s a bullshit charge.”
“I know it. He knew it. The trooper was yanking on biker chain. I bet he was hoping he’d get something more substantial, like a nice, juicy drug bust out of you. He didn’t know he pulled over the Boy Scout of bikers.”
Saks scoffed. “Boy Scout of bikers?”
“Luke’s words, not mine. But don’t go too hard on him. It was Luke who made the call to your cousin.”
Geez. Saks had so many cousins he couldn’t keep count of them. “Which cousin?”
“The detective. He called around and found you in lock-up.”
“Luigi,” Saks said with satisfaction. He always could count on Cousin Lou, who was like himself with the family—the odd man out.
“Luigi? I thought he called himself Louis.”
“That’s what he uses at the station. He got tired of the Mario Brothers jokes.”
“I can see that.”
Saks sighed and nodded appreciatively. “Luke was smart to call him. He’ll keep my arrest on the down low until I can mention it to my family.”
“They the type to give you a hard time about it?”
“Yeah. The teasing will be ridiculous.”
“Teasing?”
“Yeah. In my family, a traffic ticket is a joke.”
“And who’s your family?”
“You don’t know?” Saks said in surprise. “I’m a Rocco.”
“The Roccos?”
“Yeah.”
“I see. Well, I guess I’ll get extra street cred out of your case.”
“Not from me. I’m the Boy Scout, remember?”
“Funny,” Stone deadpanned. “Okay. Here we are.”
Saks didn’t think to ask where they were heading, but he saw the sign for Central Valley Bike Repair from the road, and then they drove into the back lot and Saks spied the lights from the clubhouse blazing.
“What’s this?”
“Not my idea but, apparently, your arrest has ‘far reaching consequences.’ At least that’s what your club president said on the phone.”
Oh shit. The day was going from terrible to hellish. He did not want to face the wrath of club president, Oakland Walker.
“Here’s what you need to know. The trooper said he clocked you at fifty-six which, considering the bend you took in that road, I think is ridiculous. Fortunately, in Connecticut it’s not about how fast you’re going, unless you’re going eighty-five, but what kind of road you’re on.”
“But the speed limit is forty.”
“Yes, because it cuts through the reservoir. But no one goes that speed. Cop saw a biker, and he thought he’d get the easy ticket. But that’s not going to happen. Here.” Matt shoved the ticket and a pen into Saks’ hand.
“Sign it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Plead not guilty.”
“But I am.”
“Look,” Matt said, “it’s not about whether you’re guilty or not. It’s whether or not they can prove it. In cases like this, they go on the word of the officer, but considering how he treated you I bet I can dig up some stuff that will make the prosecution back off. I might even get the charges dismissed.”
“You think so?”
“I make no guarantees. We’re dealing with the legal system here. But I’ll give it my best shot.”
“Thanks,” Saks said. “I appreciate it.”
“You’ll appreciate it more when you get my bill.”
“Do you need a retainer?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Give me your card and I’ll send a check tomorrow. Two thousand good?”
“That’s what I like. A m
an who knows the value of good legal representation.”
Yes, Saks did; another lesson courtesy of his father. “I expect you to earn it,” Saks said. He pushed open the door. Matt just calmly sat at the wheel. “Are you coming?”
“Nope. There are some things I don’t need to know, like what goes on in that clubhouse.”
“I thought you were into bikes.”
“I am. Just not bikers. I’ll start on your case tomorrow.”
“Later,” Saks said.
Matt pulled away and Saks stood staring at the front door of the Hades’ Spawn clubhouse. Luke had built it from a prefab Quonset hut, but it was a fancy modern model, with wood shingles at the left of the door and a large window on the right. The right side was painted a purplish grey, just as the walls inside the club were. He climbed the cement steps and pulled open the door.
To the left side was a dark wood bar with high wood stools before it, and a large-screen TV mounted to the far left on the wall behind it. Glass shelves behind the bar held the different liquors Luke spared no expense in stocking. Round tables and chairs were set throughout the room. A step beyond the bar led to the two pool tables there, sitting before the Hades' Spawn logo painted on the wall.
Luke stood behind the bar with a cup of coffee while Spider and Oakie sat at it, drinking drafts. So, it was an executive meeting, was it? They all turned to look at Saks as he entered. Oakie, beneath his unruly white beard and bushy eyebrows, had a sour expression on his face.
Saks took a deep breath and stepped to the bar. “Hey,” he said by way of greeting.
“Hey,” Luke greeted. “Shitty day, eh?” He pulled a draft and set it before Saks.
“You could say that.”
Spider, hunched over his drink, glanced at Saks next to him. Spider was in his late thirties, still trim, with dark brown hair. His day job was insurance adjuster, which Spider never found at odds with his weekend life as a Hades’ Spawn. The Spawn was a social club, not a one-percenter, not into drugs and crime despite the problems the club had suffered. Spider was one constant throughout, which was why last year he took on the job of vice-president after Luke stepped aside.
Or rather was tossed out. That was a painful time, and Saks chose to stand by Luke rather than follow Oakie. Oakie never forgot that, and though Saks was now Road Captain Oakie never warmed up to him again.
