To Have and to Harley

by Regina Cole

  “…just here to get my paycheck. That’s all. I’m not interested in coming back after you fired me for no good reason.”

  “There was a good reason! But that doesn’t matter now. Tiffany quit. It’s over, and I can’t find another manager on what we paid yo… I mean, we can’t find another manager that’s as capable as you. You’ve got to come back.”

  “I told you, I’m not interested. Now give me my paycheck before I call the cops.”

  “We aren’t done here. I’m not giving you anything until you agree to hear me out.”

  And then Trey was around the counter. Forget waiting for the cops. This asshole wasn’t going to keep Bethany’s money hostage so he could try to manipulate her into taking back a job that she clearly wasn’t interested in. Screw that.

  Trey opened the office door, and two sets of eyes swung in his direction, both of them widening as they took him in.

  He drew in a breath to make sure he was as filled out as his six-foot-five frame could be. He knew the sight he presented, and even if he didn’t, the look on the balding manager’s face would have given him a clue. Dude looked ready to wet his pants.

  “Is there a problem here?” Trey let a good amount of pissed-off bleed into his tone, glowering down at the man for good effect.

  “N-no,” the guy stuttered. “I mean, no, sir, thank you. Just a small employee matter. Did you need help with anything?”

  Trey looked at Bethany. The exasperation in her expression was clearly not directed at him, but it was enough to encourage him to get this matter over with as quickly as possible.

  “You giving my girl grief?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Trey saw Bethany jerk at his choice of words. He didn’t give a good damn.

  “You two are together?” The man looked from Trey to Bethany and back again.

  Trey’s fist landed on the desk, causing the objects atop it to shake. “I asked a question. Are you giving my girl a hard time? I’d think real hard about what your answer is, if I were you.”

  “Trey…” Bethany shook her head, but she didn’t deny their supposed relationship. Good. She was as smart as she was beautiful.

  “Give her what she came for.” Trey leaned closer, watching as beads of sweat popped out along the man’s much-too-high hairline. “Do it now, while I’m still playing nice.”

  “My paycheck, Mr. Junes. Now.”

  Trey didn’t look back at her, but damn was he proud of the strength in Bethany’s voice. He’d been right when he called her strong girl. That was definitely a key aspect of her personality.

  Trey might have sped this process along, but he had no doubt she’d have handled Junes on her own just fine, eventually.

  Junes’s hand shook as he reached for the drawer in the center of the desk and withdrew a white envelope. He wet his lips nervously as he looked back and forth between the two of them.

  “One more time, Bethany. I’m begging. Come back—”

  Trey’s hand shot out to grab Junes by the collar, but slim, pale fingers circled his wrist, stopping him.

  He looked at her in stunned surprise. She shook her head slightly.

  “No, thank you.” She let go of Trey long enough to take her paycheck and then laced her fingers through his. “We’re done here.”

  Trey’s head buzzed as if he’d been struck by lightning as she led him from the office.

  Never had anyone stopped him that way. She’d shown no fear, no worry. Just a simple control of the situation that stunned him.

  “Thank you,” she said once they’d reached the outside. She looked up at the overcast sky, squinting a little. “He wasn’t giving up. You certainly intimidated him.”

  Trey didn’t say anything in response. He was too interested in the delicious feeling of her fingers laced through his. It was a comfortable feeling, a safe one. Her hand was so slight in his; it felt so much smaller. But it was strong.

  Eventually she’d realize she was still touching him and pull away. But for now, he just enjoyed it.

  Bethany drew in a deep breath, and then his hand was empty.

  “You had him,” Trey said, jamming his hand in his pocket as if he could keep that feeling closer to his skin by doing so.

  “I’m sorry I grabbed you like that. I just didn’t want you to do anything that might cause him to press charges.”

  Trey shook his head. “You were right. As much as I would have enjoyed pounding the smug out of that jackass, he’s not worth a night in lockup.”

  Bethany smiled, and there weren’t enough gray skies in the world to cloud his day right then. “Thanks for coming to my rescue. I kind of like having a white knight, even if his horse is a motorcycle.”

  Nothing she could have said would make his chest swell further.

  * * *

  Back at the coffee shop, Trey got another overpriced drink—hard as hell to order a plain, black coffee in that joint, but Bethany insisted she was buying—and sat down with Bethany and her latte in the corner.

  “Thanks again,” she said as she stirred another pack of sugar into her drink. “Sorry that whole thing made me late and you had to come looking for me.”

  “Not a problem,” Trey said smoothly, leaning back in the seat and keeping his eyes trained on her profile as she looked out on the now-rainy day. Her eyes looked stormy, like the clouds. He liked it. He liked her.

  He took a long draw on his coffee, burning his tongue in the process.

  “So, I’d love to know your progress.”

  He blinked. Oh yeah, the wedding crap.

  Fairly pleased with his progress, Trey reached into the black leather saddlebag he’d brought with him. “I got the venue reserved for the ceremony, and they have an indoor space if it rains. The reception will be held in the restaurant on-site, like we discussed. Here’s the confirmation number.”

  He passed over a sheet of paper that had Wolf’s messy contractor’s scrawl all over it.

  Bethany frowned at the page.

  “This says the rental is from 10:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m.”

  Trey looked up from the notebook that was precariously balanced on the edge of the bistro table. “Yeah? So?”

  “The wedding’s at seven. You think people will be done drinking and dancing and cleaned up and out of there by ten?”

  Damn it. She was right.

  “I’ll call them and change the times.”

  “You’ll have to get the contract updated too before Mama Yelverton can sign it.”

  As Bethany schooled him in the many ways he’d screwed up so far, his sense of accomplishment went up in smoke.

  He should have known that things were coming together too well. His mood got darker and darker as their conversation wore on. Finally, Bethany tucked her hair behind her ear and looked straight at him.

  “So, the invitations. Do you have anything there?”

  Oh yeah. Maybe he could rescue this fiasco after all. Reaching into his bag, his fingers closed on the edge of the large manila envelope he’d stuck in there.

  “There are twelve to choose from,” he said and handed her the envelope. He was pretty proud of himself there. Holding a contest might have been a junior high concept, but those hairy bastards worked a lot harder for the promise of a five-hundred-dollar bounty than they would have otherwise.

  “These…” Bethany’s eyes were wide as saucers. “These are… Wow.”

  “Handmade touches on these things make all the difference.” He’d read that on the internet.

  “Well, that’s true,” Bethany said, gingerly flipping through the stack, “but that’s not the problem here.”

  Trey frowned, his irritation flaring to life again. “What’s the problem now?”

  “These look like they were made by an elementary-school art class.” Shaking her head, Bethany tucked the construction
-paper invitations back into the envelope. “Trey, listen. I know you’re doing your best here, but maybe it’s time to throw in the towel. You’re just not cut out for this kind of thing.”

  His hand curled into a fist in his lap, and he didn’t meet her eyes.

  She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. But what choice did he have? It was too late to come up with another lie about his occupation. And telling the Yelvertons—and Bethany—that he headed up a motorcycle gang was out of the question.

  Bethany leaned closer to him, her blond hair falling in a curtain over one shoulder.

  “Why are you doing this? Who are you, really?”

  And just like that, the steel filled his spine again, and ice hid everything behind his eyes. Bethany was just another person. In Trey’s life, there were two kinds of people—the Shadows and everyone else. And Bethany? She wasn’t a Shadow.

  “My business is none of your damn business,” he said coldly. “I’m doing a job, and that’s all you have to be concerned about. I’ll fix the problem with the venue and get better invitations. But my personal life and my past are off-limits. We clear?”

  Bethany drew back as if he’d slapped her.

  “I… Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I—”

  “Save it,” he said, shoving the papers back into the bag. “If it’s not about the wedding, there’s nothing for me and you to discuss.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  The rest of the conversation was stilted, businesslike, and awkward. Bethany was polite, but much warier than he’d ever seen her. And with each passing minute, he was more and more pissed off with himself.

  He’d been the one that started all this. She had more than enough information to expose him to Mrs. Yelverton and Sarah, but she’d chosen not to for whatever reason. So why was he being such a dick? She was helping him cover up his ineptitude, for Christ’s sake. And he rewarded her for that by acting like a raging cock-nugget?

  “I guess that’s everything,” Bethany said, capping her pen.

  Trey sighed. His rage had cooled enough that he was beginning to see how right she was. Maybe…maybe he could try to climb out of this hole, just a little.

  “Do…” He cleared his throat. “Do you have any ideas for making the invitations better?”

  She bit her lip, narrowing her brows for a moment. “You sure you want feedback?”

  “Yeah. I want them to look good. And it’s clear that we’re not on the right track. So, if you wouldn’t mind…”

  Bethany nodded. “Okay. Can I see that envelope again?”

  He handed it over, and she reached inside.

  “This one is actually not too bad as a concept. But you need much better paper, and there are paper cutters that could do a much more precise job. So, if you go to a craft store—”

  “A what now?”

  Bethany laughed. “Why don’t we head over to Mitchell’s Crafts? It’s down the road, and I can show you the stuff I mean.”

  Trey looked at Beth. Hard.

  “You want me”—he drew out the word, gesturing down to his tattoos, leather jacket, and steel-toed boots—“to go to a craft store?”

  Chapter Ten

  What a weird day it had been. But, as odd as it had been to have to keep Trey from murdering—justifiably, but still—her ex-boss, it had to be six times more bizarre to walk a six-foot-five tattooed biker through his first craft store.

  “What the hell is this for?” He held a Styrofoam ring in his hands, his tattooed knuckle running down the curve of the green foam.

  “It’s for wreaths. You know, like flowers?”

  “It’s fricking seven dollars.”

  Bethany shrugged. “Craft stuff is expensive.” She wheeled the cart toward the wedding section, laughing to herself as she heard him muttering about Styrofoam cups being cheap and just as useful as a damn seven-dollar ring.

  He was quick though. Once she showed him the type of paper she meant, and they went through the different options for cutouts and embossing and all that, they’d finally come up with a plan.

  Since Bethany had a die-cutting machine at home—Mama Yelverton had gotten on a scrapbooking kick several years ago, and both Bethany and Sarah had received one for Christmas—she and Trey would work on the invitations there.

  As they checked out and Trey paid for their selections, Bethany thought about how it would feel to have a man in her apartment. Not just any man either.

  Trey Harding.

  With his cold expression, his lethal movements, and his completely endearing determination to see this wedding through.

  God, she was in trouble. At least she’d been bored enough to clean everything four times that week. No need to worry about stray laundry or a ring around the tub.

  “You sure you’ve got time this afternoon?”

  “Sure,” she said, giving him a smile as he put their purchases in the passenger seat of his old, black Ford pickup. His truck was as beat-up as his bike was nice. “I don’t have any plans until tomorrow when we’re supposed to finalize the guest list.”

  “Great.” He palmed his keys and stood there, waiting.

  God, he was so hot. Even when he’d been questioning why anyone would need a set of picture frames shaped like seashells, she’d had to keep her eyes glued on something to keep them from wandering over the muscular planes of his body again.

  What would it be like to be with a man like that? All of her previous boyfriends seemed so…colorless in comparison to him. Trey was big all over, tough, and larger than life. He’d be in control in the bedroom, she was certain. She’d never thought of herself as a sexual submissive, but damn if the idea of Trey ordering her to her knees didn’t make her stomach tighten with want.

  “So, what’s your address?”

  Blood rushed to her cheeks as she realized she’d been stripping him naked in her mind’s eye while he waited for directions.

  Jesus, she needed to focus.

  “Sorry. I… Sorry. Moorcliffe Apartments, over on Parker Road. Apartment 3-A.”

  “See you there,” he said with a nod. He stood and waited while she climbed into her Corolla, which was parked only a few spaces away from his truck.

  She waited for a moment, but he motioned her out first. Oh duh. He was going to follow her.

  The whole drive back home, she told herself to keep it professional. She wasn’t taking him home to unwrap like a big, old piece of man-candy. This was about Sarah and Mark’s wedding. Not about her starving, malnourished libido.

  She managed to last ten minutes before mentally undressing him again.

  * * *

  “You sure it’s up here?”

  “Yeah,” Bethany said, trying and failing to keep her eyes off his glutes. Good God, she’d seen less attractive asses on male models. “I put it in the top of the closet. It was one of those gifts that I thought about returning, but I was too busy to get around to it.”

  He was standing on the lowest step of the step stool and reaching all the way to the back of her spare room’s closet shelf. She would have needed to put a box atop the step stool to achieve the same reach.

  “Here,” he said, unearthing a box from the far back corner. “Got it.”

  “My hero,” Bethany said with a smile as he stepped to the floor. “Thanks.”

  “You’ve got to stop with this white knight, hero crap,” Trey said without venom as he set the die-cut machine on the table by the window. “I’m not that kind of guy.”

  “So far, you haven’t done anything to convince me otherwise.”

  She thought back to the moment he’d burst into her old office, looking like the world’s most badass avenging angel as he stared down her ex-boss. Yup, he wasn’t doing a good job of pretending not to care.

  As she busied herself unboxing the die-cut machine, she watched him ou
t of the corner of her eye. He wandered around the room, taking it all in.

  “Nice color,” he said, nodding at the pale-blue walls.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I like calming shades.”

  He stopped at her dresser and picked up a framed photo. She and Sarah smiled out from the frame, their graduation tassels hanging at jaunty angles as they mugged for the camera.

  “You must have been popular in high school.”

  Bethany barked out a laugh. “Not hardly. If not for Sarah, I’d have been a complete loner all through school.”

  Trey hiked a brow at her as he put the picture back atop the dresser. “No way that’s possible.”

  “It is. I was awkward, too thin, with a bad acne problem when I moved here. But Sarah somehow saw through my social anxiety, and we became best friends. Then, when my dad died, they took me in.”

  Bethany bent down to plug the machine into the wall, glad for the motion that hid her face from him. She didn’t know what it was about this man that made her want to spill her guts to him.

  “This is him?”

  She turned. Trey had answered his own question, picking up her dad’s last service portrait.

  “Yeah. That’s him.”

  “He looks like you.”

  “Yeah.” Bethany kept the answer short, trying to stifle the old pain.

  Clearing her throat, she leafed through the instruction booklet, and for a few moments the only sound in the room was the soft rustle of paper and the occasional honk from traffic outside.

  “I wondered…” he started, breaking the silence, then coughing. “I wondered what it would be like. Living with them…as a kid, I mean.”

  “The Yelvertons?” Bethany lowered the instruction booklet. “They were amazing. They treated me as if I were their own flesh and blood. Still do,” she said, smiling ruefully down at her toes. “You couldn’t find a more giving and loving family than them.”

  “You must love them a lot.”

  “I do.”

  Trey turned his back to her, and she studied him in silence for a long moment as he perused her bookshelves.