Savage Collision: A Hawke Family Novel (The Hawke Family Book 1)

by Gwyn McNamee

  “Your bravado is exactly what concerns me, Danika.”

  I smile at her, grabbing her arm and tugging her toward the elevator with me. I definitely need to get some drinks tonight, and I know Caroline is always up for whatever, so I try to steer the conversation away from her unfounded fears. “I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.”

  Mostly.

  After three days of agonizing Savage fantasies and frustrating non-movement on my story, I walk into my office and immediately see an over-the-top bouquet of at least a dozen white roses occupying the center of my desk. Glancing up and down the hallway, I check to see if the person who left them might be lingering nearby, but the entire office is empty. I’m almost always the first person in, and it’s barely seven a.m.

  How did these even get delivered?

  My bags slide down my arm and onto my chair. I don’t know why, but finding this in the middle of my desk in the deserted office is making me more than a little nervous. I refuse to acknowledge it might be related to my current investigation; that means admitting Abello can get to me.

  A small, white envelope is nestled in the petals and I reach in and pull it out. I slip my finger under the seal and open it. I’m half-expecting it to be from my sister, as an apology for all the shit she put me through in the last couple weeks. She knows I love white roses, and there aren’t really any other possible senders.

  Except maybe Max.

  I met him the same day I met Savage. Caroline and I went out for drinks, and it wasn’t like I was looking—okay, maybe a little bit—but he was there, and so damn hot with his dark hair and flashing blue eyes. He reminded me of Savage, a little too much. We had amazing sex that night, but I just couldn’t get there. I’ve never not been able to orgasm. Talk about fucking frustration!

  I would have stayed with him longer and continued to try, but I kind of ruined the mood by accidentally whimpering Savage’s damn name when Max had me pinned against the wall, his cock buried deep inside me.

  Smooth, Dani, real smooth. Just remembering the look on his face and the tensing of his body makes me cringe.

  Pulling the card from the envelope, my heart races when I see the elegant, sloping scrawl of the writing in the note, certainly not Nora’s handwriting.

  Ms. Eriksson –

  Dinner.

  Friday.

  Angelo’s.

  8:00 p.m.

  Savage (504) 202-5555

  That pompous bastard!

  I throw the card onto my desk and, knocking my bags down to the floor, drop into my chair in a huff.

  That arrogant prick!

  Who the hell does he think he is? What makes him think I would ever even consider going to dinner with him? He didn’t even ask. He just demands with a goddamn four-word note?

  Presumptuous fuck!

  A litany of curses spew from my mouth as I stare at the beautiful flowers taking up the majority of my desk. As if it isn’t bad enough I haven’t been able to stop fantasizing about him since I met him, now he’s demanding my presence at dinner?

  I won’t go. He can sit there, alone, waiting for me. That will teach him a lesson about how he treats women—damn pussy peddler.

  And Nora defended him! Thinking back to my conversation with her earlier this week, I find it hard to believe we were talking about the same man.

  “He’s not as bad as you think,” she’d insisted.

  “Yeah, right. He pays women to shake their asses and tits for pervs. I’m sure he’s an angel.”

  She’d sighed and rolled her eyes at me. “Really, Dani, he’s not a perv, at least, not with us. He’s really a good boss and doesn’t ever cross the professional line with anyone.”

  The way she told it, he’s some kind of fucking saint, acting like an overprotective big brother to all the girls working for him and taking care of them whenever they get into any kind of trouble. If she had her way, he would win a fucking Nobel Peace Prize.

  “Professional? You call parading naked women across a stage for men to gawk at professional?”

  She glowered at me, and I knew I said something I shouldn’t have. “Look, Dani, I get that you don’t approve of me dancing, but it’s my decision, not yours. I’m happy doing it, so why can’t you just leave it alone? Savage is a good boss who takes care of us. He always thinks about the girls’ well-being. I’ll be okay.”

  Well, she may have full confidence in her boss’ motives and glowing character, but my experience with Savage couldn’t have been more different. The man is self-centered, arrogant, holier-than-thou…and fucking beautiful. How the women at the club are immune to his good looks and radiating sexuality is beyond me.

  I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since the second I saw him sitting regally behind his desk, the master of his pussy universe. He doesn’t belong in an office. He belongs in the movies, preferably a porno, where I can see what he has under those clothes. His broad shoulders and the fabric straining across his biceps had me practically begging to touch him.

  I shake my head.

  No, fuck him. He can sit and wait for me, forever. I am not giving in to his arrogant demand.

  The card goes into the garbage can under my desk and I turn to my computer and pull up my email. I barely have time to read the first one when I hear a familiar squeal from behind me and drop my face into my hands, letting out a groan.

  I should have trashed the flowers, too.

  “Ho. Ly. Shit! Who the hell sent you roses? Have you been holding out on me, girl?” Caroline grabs the back of my chair and spins me around to face her. She glares at me momentarily before she begins digging around in the flowers.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Looking for a card so I can find out who sent these, since you have obviously been keeping important information, like the fact that you have a new fuck buddy, to yourself. Oh, my God, is it that guy from the bar the other night? Max?”

  I surreptitiously push the garbage can further under my desk with my foot while Caroline is still nose-deep in the long stems. The last thing I need is her finding the card and asking all sorts of unanswerable questions.

  “There isn’t a card. There isn’t a fuck buddy. They’re from my sister.” The lie slips out so quickly and so easily, I’m confident she’ll buy it.

  Turning to face me, she props her fists on her hips and gives me the “you have got to be fucking kidding me” look. “Your sister? Nora, broke college student, Nora, sent you two dozen white roses that probably cost over a hundred bucks?”

  Shit. Maybe I should have thought out that great lie a little better.

  Caroline doesn’t know about Nora stripping yet. I hate keeping things from her, but Nora asked me not to say anything, and I can’t rat out my own sister, even to my best friend.

  “Yeah, she got a job and wanted to thank me for all of the support I’ve given her recently.”

  Caroline laughs and sits on the edge of my desk. “Girl, I don’t know why you don’t want me to know who really sent these, but you can drop the act. You’re a terrible liar.”

  She’s right.

  I know any other attempts at deception will be pointless, but that doesn’t mean I have to give her the whole story. I let out a sigh of resignation before dropping my head down onto my desk. “Ugh, fine, they’re from this guy I met the other day, and no, before you ask, we haven’t fucked. He’s my sister’s new boss.”

  I don’t have to be able to see Caroline to know her mouth is agape and her green eyes are bulging out of their sockets at the prospect of a new man in my life.

  “And just how did you come to meet Nora’s new boss?” she asks, the sing-song tone in her voice making me curl my fists at my sides.

  There isn’t any point in continuing to keep it from her. She knows me too well, and she’s the queen of poking and prodding until she gets what she wants. The only thing she hasn’t been able to get out of me is the subject of my big story.

  “I went to make sure she was
being treated right.”

  “Ha! I bet you a million dollars you went there to give this poor guy a hard time.”

  I lift my head and throw my best death glare at her. If I didn’t love her so much, she might be the recipient of a cunt punch.

  “You telling me you didn’t?”

  Crap. I did. I push back from my desk, stand and pace around my office, glancing quickly between the flowers and Caroline.

  “Okay, so I kinda gave him a hard time. To be honest, I have no fucking clue why he sent these.” Maybe actually talking about it with Caroline will help me work through my strange obsession with him.

  “Was there a card?” She smirks, and I know she knows there was one and that I probably disposed of it.

  “In the garbage, under my desk.”

  She leans down, grabs the can, and pulls the small, white card from the top. As she reads it over quickly, I watch her eyebrows rise. “Holy shit, he’s asking you on a date!”

  “No, no, he isn’t. He’s demanding my presence at a certain place at a certain time. He isn’t asking me anything.”

  Fucking beautiful arrogant asshole…

  “Aaand that’s a problem because…?” she asks, circling her hand in front of her in an incredibly condescending gesture.

  “Because, I am not one to let a man dictate when, or if, I do something.”

  Caroline doubles over in laughter, tosses the card on my desk, and makes her way toward the door. “That’s a good one, Dani. Just remember, I know all about you and what you let men dictate.” She disappears around the corner and I collapse back into my chair, the offending card mocking me from the desk.

  Fuck. What now?

  “You don’t think it was maybe a tad bit overkill?”

  What? Two dozen white, long-stem roses to a woman I only met once?

  I stare up at Rick, my trainer, as I recline on the bench in the gym and try to look more confident than I really feel. “No, not at all.”

  He smirks at me. “Dude, two dozen roses? I don’t even get my wife two dozen roses on our anniversary,” he says, reaching down to grab another twenty-five pound plate to add to the bar.

  Sweat drips down the sides of my face and onto the bench under my head. I grab my towel from the floor and do my best to mop it off, even though I know I’ll just have to do it again in a couple minutes. “Maybe that’s why you never get laid, my friend.”

  He laughs as he adds another plate to the other side of the bar, making it three hundred fifty pounds. “Whatever, dude, let’s bust out this last set.”

  I re-center myself under the bar and try to get back to concentrating on my workout instead of Danika, but I can’t help but wonder about her reaction to the card.

  I bet she is fucking pissed and I bet it’s fucking hot. A laugh escapes me and Rick looks at me like I’m insane. Thankfully, my cock stays in place instead of inflating to nut-busting proportions like it so often has every time I think about meeting Danika. The flashing anger in her eyes and the way she stood up for her sister have me under some kind of spell.

  There’s just something about that woman that stokes a fire in me I didn’t even know still existed. God knows I don’t have a clue what to do about it anymore. The “invitation” seemed like a great idea at the time.

  I grip the bar tightly, raising it up off the rack and then slowly lowering it down to my chest. My muscles strain and burn as I push it back up, raising my arms to full extension. After repeating the process five more times, I gasp in relief when I finally rack it and finish.

  Rick is in my face immediately, grinning like an idiot. “Way to go, man! You rocked that! I can’t believe you did six reps at three-fifty!”

  I wish I could be more excited about the accomplishment but my mind is elsewhere.

  “Thanks, man,” I reply, wiping my face with my towel. I slowly sit up and look around the gym, searching for Gabe so we can get out of here.

  I finally locate him talking up a petite redhead near the treadmills. I catch his eye, and he winks at me with a knowing grin.

  He is such a dog sometimes. Okay, well, all the time.

  She hands him her cell phone and his fingers fly across the screen, no doubt giving her his number. I swear, I see more women coming and going from Gabe’s condo than you would from a gynecologist’s office.

  I wait until he glances up at me again and roll my eyes, making it clear I don’t appreciate waiting for him just so he can line up another booty call. He shrugs at me and says goodbye to little red before making his way over to where Rick and I are waiting.

  “You ready to go?” Gabe asks, as if he doesn’t already know the answer. We have a routine and we rarely, if ever, break it. Gym in the a.m., early, like really fucking early sometimes, then we head to the office, then the gym again in the afternoon on days one of us really needs to let off some excess steam, and then we head back to our condo building so he can clean up before one of his lady friends arrives and I can relax and unwind from what lately have been excruciatingly stressful days.

  We’re opening several more restaurants and bars under the Hawke umbrella, and it appears it may not have been such a good idea to try to do so many at once. Gabe and I are constantly on the move—examining potential locations, interviewing potential managers, dealing with contractors and the city to arrange permits—and it’s enough to cause constant migraines and sleepless nights.

  “Yeah, I was ready five minutes ago, but you were too busy shaking your dick at that redhead to notice.”

  “And you completely missed his badass bench set,” Rick adds.

  Gabe rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed with my weightlifting skills. “I’ll be sure to catch it next time. I was more worried about getting her digits.”

  I scoff and wipe myself again with my towel. “Shocking.”

  “Oh, you can’t talk, my friend. You’ve been brooding and distracted since you met a certain feisty blonde last week, and you don’t see me sending two dozen roses to someone I barely know and who already hates my guts.”

  “She doesn’t hate my guts,” I retort, a little too quickly.

  Shit. I hope she doesn’t hate my guts. What if she does?

  No, she doesn’t.

  That blush creeping up her neck during our confrontation was a dead giveaway—she was just as attracted to me as I was to her. Rage may have been simmering in her veins but it was mixed with a burning desire she couldn’t hide. I have to believe that. Otherwise, I really will feel like the utter and complete asshole she probably thinks I am.

  I say goodbye to Rick and turn back to Gabe. “Let’s just get the fuck outta here.”

  By the time we get to the club, I’m confident I made the right decision in sending the flowers. I’ve never been one to second-guess my decisions when it comes to women. At least…I wasn’t before Becca, but it has been a long time since I asked someone out on a date, and even longer since I went on a first date with someone, let alone someone who wasn’t exactly thrilled to meet me in the first place.

  I could debate myself in a circle about this. Part of me wants her to decline my invitation, but the bigger part of me needs her to accept. The way she stormed into my office and didn’t give me an inch, despite my somewhat condescending attitude toward her ethical conflict with her sister’s profession and my business…I’ve never been with a woman like that, someone who exudes confidence and doesn’t back down from someone like me.

  It intrigues me; she intrigues me. She makes me question what I’ve been doing the last thirty years with women who were meek, easy, happy to appease. Something about her “take no shit” attitude made me instantly hard, and that truly is a feat. It terrifies me as much as it excites me.

  Waiting two more days to see if she shows for dinner is going to do a real fucking number on my psyche, and my dick.

  The back corner booth at Angelo’s is usually more comfortable. Tonight, sitting and waiting for Danika, my usual table just doesn’t have the same feel. I swirl the Chianti
in my glass and take a long sip, letting the thick wine slide down my throat and praying it helps calm my nerves.

  Nerves. Jesus Christ, I haven’t had nerves about anything since I was in middle school. In the last week, I’ve somehow reverted to my insecure ten-year-old self.

  My watch does nothing to assuage my fears. When I see it’s already 8:15, I shift uncomfortably as the once-delicious wine begins to sour in my stomach.

  She’s late. Hell, I don’t even know if she will show.

  Maybe I fucked up?

  Maybe the flowers were overkill? But, what girl doesn’t love roses? And two dozen of them at that? I thought they were the perfect accompaniment to my dinner invitation.

  I guess I expected she would call to let me know one way or the other if she was going to show up tonight, but since I spend most Friday nights here anyway, I figure it can’t hurt to hold out some hope.

  But, then again, maybe it can. My hand begins to shake and I set down the wine glass so my anxiety isn’t quite so obvious. If she shows up, she can’t see me this way. A strong, confident woman like her would do a stiletto-heeled one eighty if she found me here shaking like a leaf.

  What the fuck do I do if she doesn’t show up? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this girl. How will I ever get her out of my mind if I haven’t at least tried?

  Staying busy at work hasn’t done the trick, nor has beating myself up at the gym. Gabe keeps telling me I’m working myself too hard, but he’s smart enough not to press it with me. I may not be my father, but I can still kick his ass and he knows it.

  Across the main room of the restaurant, Michael, my regular waiter, catches my eye. He approaches the table with a half-hearted smile.

  “Is there anything else I can get you, Mr. Hawke?”

  “No, Michael, not right now.” He refills my wine glass and gives me a small bow before retreating to the kitchen.