Billionaire Biker (Billionaires - #23)

by Claire Adams

  BILLIONAIRE BIKER

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Claire Adams

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  Chapter One

  Drew

  I stepped through the darkened office floor. The cubicles were empty, and only a few dim lights kept complete darkness at bay. It didn’t matter to me. I could get to my office blindfolded at this point. Every day for the last year, I’d stepped into this building around this time and headed straight for that office. About the only thing I felt more comfortable with was my bike.

  A few moments of walking took me to my office door, which I opened with a sigh before stepping inside and flipping on the lights.

  A deep breath followed. The office smelled the same as I remembered. Not that it shouldn’t. I wasn’t even sure what I was expecting. I’d only been gone a couple of days, but it felt like months, maybe even years.

  I dropped my battered leather bag in the corner of my office, my eyes lingering on the desk for a few seconds. Guilt gnawed away at my stomach.

  It wasn’t fair. It was just a damn weekend. That’s all. I hadn’t taken a break for myself in a year, so why should a few days away feel like I was spitting on my father’s grave?

  I let out a dark chuckle. Being a workaholic wasn’t following in his footsteps, either. For all his hard work, my dad knew when to relax and take time off. At least he had before Mom passed away. After that, it seemed like the company was the only thing that kept him going. So maybe I was following in his footsteps after all.

  Shaking my head trying to clear out the dark thoughts, I looked up at the framed picture of my father on the wall. My office used to be his back when he ran the company he started, Stroker Motorcycles.

  “It’s Monday, and I’m back, Dad,” I said. “I’m going to keep this place going, keeping growing it until no one rides a Harley anymore, only a Stroker. I hope I’m doing you proud.”

  Over the course of forty years, he’d taken his company from nothing, just a shop in Denver, to a major nationwide player in the industry. Not bad for one man’s dream, especially one that everyone told him was insane.

  When a heart attack brought that dream to an end, it had become my time to step up. So I had and continued to for the entire year. But I’d needed a weekend—time to clear my head and try to remember who the hell I was supposed to be.

  This was hard at times. After all, I was used to the open road, not board meetings, even if I had spent years earning an MBA.

  It didn’t matter. I was back, and I needed to get into the right headspace; I had a company to run. Stroker Motorcycles was Dad’s legacy, and I was damn well going to make sure that his dream would continue—at least until I was also dead.

  I dropped the blinds on my windows and pulled off my leather jacket, hanging it up. Then I removed my boots, chaps, and pants and stuffed them into my bag. I moved over to a small wardrobe I had in the corner and pulled out a button-up shirt and some slacks. I eyed the suit jacket but decided against it.

  As I dressed, I chuckled to myself, thinking about how Dad used to run things. He came to work in jeans and liked things more laid back. He had always wanted to keep the same feeling that he had when he’d opened his first shop and said a suit would make him forget where he’d come from.

  It was kind of funny that I didn’t stick to more casual clothes, considering I had spent most of the last few years more concerned about riding my bike than worrying about crap like looking nice for work. I’d had a lot of time to think about why that might be, but I never could be sure.

  Since I’d never be my dad and I’d put in the effort to earn the business degree, I figured I’d just try to run things my own way with a little more professionalism. No ties though. I drew the line at that. I didn’t like being choked all day.

  I finished buttoning up my shirt and then rolled up my sleeves, which revealed my tattoos. Some people in the traditional business set might find them unprofessional, but I did run a motorcycle company, after all, so showing off my ink never really bothered me. Like I said, a touch more professionalism, not a total makeover.

  Some of the board members didn’t like my ink, but given that I’d helped improve net profits in the last year, they were apparently willing to tolerate me. It was a good trade-off.

  It wasn’t that my dad was a bad businessman, but he’d started the business as a dream, and when I came in, I didn’t have any sentiment, nostalgia, or historical processes holding me back. I simplified the supply chain and expanded our target market. The company was growing more than ever, and I could see us overtaking some of our competitors in the not too distant future, depending on the moves I made.

  I was proud of that success, especially since I’ve managed it all without tromping over what this company had stood for under my dad. I think he would have been be proud of me, too.

  A clinking noise sounded from the other room. I frowned slightly. It was still damn early, and although there were probably some workers down on the assembly floor below me, I wasn’t expecting anyone on the administrative floor so soon.

  I prided myself on showing up before everybody else. Not only did it set a good example, but if I was the first one in and the last to leave, it cut down on a lot of potential complaints. Leading from the front and all that.

  I opened the door and found the darkness gone, and the fluorescent lights illuminating the floor.

  A dark-haired woman in a pantsuit stood across the room near a coffee maker. My sister Daniella. She also happened to be the director of operations.

  She’d always confused me, because she was one of the main reasons I’d ended up running this company. She’d encouraged the board to appoint me. Sure, our family had a controlling interest, but she could have easily taken the position herself. One could argue she was even more qualified to run it than I was.

  Daniella had never seemed resentful. She’d told me once that she thought the company could only truly prosper if we were both involved and that she worked better in a support role. I was grateful, and I’m always the first person to admit I couldn’t have achieved what I’d had this last year without my sister’s help.

  She waved to me, and I waved back, yawning. I’d been on the road longer than I’d planned the night before, which left me tired.

  Daniella hurried across the office floor, two coffee mugs in hand. I waited until she got to my office and accepted the warm cup along with a hug. Caffeine would help kickstart my tired brain.

  I sipped some of the hot brew on my way to my desk. Black and bitter. My favorite. Daniella followed behind for a few feet before dropping into the chair I had in front of my desk.

  “How was your trip?” she asked, sipping at her drink.

  I shrugged. “Not much of a trip really; I didn’t even leave Colorado. I just wanted to ride.”

  Daniella eyed me for a long while but didn’t say anything. A faint look of disapproval crossed her face.

  “What?” I asked. The last thing I needed was stress right after coming back from my vacation.

  “The company’s not in dire straits,” she said. “You can take
time off more than once a year, you know. We won’t go bankrupt if you, say, took a week off instead of two days.”

  We’d had this conversation before, so I guess I should have been expecting it.

  I shrugged and set my cup on my desk. “I couldn’t have grown the company as much as I have if I hadn’t been putting my ass in this chair and doing the work. Besides, I had plenty of time off the last few years.”

  Daniella clucked her tongue and shook her head. My stomach knotted. Whenever she did that, she reminded me way too much of my mom. Dad had checked out early, but it was long after my mom, who had died fifteen years ago when I was only twenty.

  Dad had never gotten over it, and I wasn’t sure I had either. Maybe that’s why I’d been obsessed with the road instead of settling down.

  “Just saying, Drew,” my sister said. “It’s not like the board is going to freak out if we only have seven percent growth next year instead of eight. You don’t have to destroy yourself to honor Dad. You’re doing a damn good job, and you know, work hard, play hard and all that.”

  I grunted. “Whatever.” I picked up my coffee and gulped down half the liquid. “I did what you wanted. I took a weekend off, and now I’m back, and I’m guessing I’ve got crap to do. So, I played hard enough, and now I’m ready to work even harder.”

  Daniella arched a brow. She fished out her phone and tapped the screen a few times. “Lots of things to do. We still need to schedule the next board meeting, discuss the parts sourcing on the new bikes, and start thinking about contract review.”

  “Contract review already?”

  “Yes. That way we don’t have trouble when the union negotiations come up.”

  I logged into my computer. I was hoping for a bit of a slower jump back in, but this is what it meant to run a big company, and I was the one giving the big speeches about how important hard work was. There was no use bitching now. I’d had my fun, and now it was time to do my job.

  “Oh, and there’s the new advertising campaign,” she said.

  “Huh? What advertising campaign?”

  Daniella eyed me with suspicion. “We discussed this before your trip.”

  “Guess it slipped my mind.”

  “After I talked to you about it for twenty minutes?”

  I shrugged. “Sorry.”

  Daniella sighed and ran a hand through her short dark hair. “Anyway, we need to hire some new models for the advertising campaign. We’re going to do the shoot here. That way we have an authentic Stroker Motorcycles vibe to the campaign. The PR department thinks this will great for the launch of newer models. I do, too. You did as well, at least you said so on Friday.”

  I furrowed my brow. This all sounded vaguely familiar, but I’d barely been paying attention on Friday afternoon. I’d already checked out, and my mind was thinking about the open road.

  That was the problem when you worked for the weekend. You ended up losing sight of what was important at your job, and now I was paying the price.

  “Is that something I should be involved in?” I said, curiosity lining my voice. “Picking out models?” Of all the things my sister had listed off, checking out a few hot babes didn’t seem so bad. It had to be at least a little fun, right?

  Daniella nodded. “Yes, I think you should be involved. All the PR people involved are women. We obviously need a man’s opinion, and this is, in the end, your company, and you’re an actual biker.”

  “Are we even going to have time for all that today?” I could handle a Monday that involved mostly looking at sexy women. It’s not like I had to handle all the long and boring parts.

  Daniella waved a hand. “Don’t worry. The model review won’t take place for a bit, next Monday or so.”

  “Oh,” I didn’t bother to hide the disappointment in my voice.

  My sister smirked but didn’t say anything.

  “So what’s on tap right away then?” I asked. “The parts sourcing?”

  “So you do remember.”

  “I remember important things, yeah.”

  “Well yes, probably best to talk about the parts sourcing. It’s a good thing QA caught that spark plug issue. We could have really gotten slammed if we had shipped out a bunch of bikes with that problem.”

  I grunted. That was the problem with running a company like this. There was only so much I could control, between dealing with suppliers, unions, and distributors. “Okay, let’s talk about the spark plugs.”

  Yeah, the parts sourcing wasn’t as fun as looking at models, but in the end, no matter how many sexy babes you took pictures of on your bikes, the machines themselves had to be quality.

  I almost chuckled. Already, my weekend on the road seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Chapter Two

  Catherine

  I winced as I watched my mother play with my son Jack on the carpet. It wasn’t her. I loved how great she was with him. It was his choice of toys. My little boy was pushing two little toy motorcycles across the floor.

  “Vroom, vroom,” he said with the enthusiasm only a five-year-old could manage.

  My hands twitched. I wanted to take those things and throw them in the garbage. But he would never understand why Mommy was taking his toys away. It would seem pointlessly cruel from his perspective. I wished Jack didn’t love them so much.

  Was it fair? I didn’t know. All I knew was that my husband had loved motorcycles too, and it cost him his life—and left me alone with his son. The last thing I wanted was Jack falling in love with bikes, too.

  Even three years later, the loss of my husband ate away at my heart.

  I sucked in a breath and tried to push the dark thoughts out of my head. I couldn’t deal with them, not then, not when I had to get ready for a modeling audition. The last thing a client wanted was a model moping around and feeling sorry for herself.

  Come on, Cat. I needed to get my head screwed on right. Positive thoughts. That’s what I needed. Lots of positive thoughts. Good thoughts would lead to good smiles, and that’d help me look beautiful. Attitude and beauty were the weapons of a model, and I needed to bring them both for this gig.

  The irony of it all made me want to laugh. Not just a modeling gig, but a modeling gig at a motorcycle company. It was like the universe wanted to mock my pain, like it was challenging me. I’d show the universe who was in charge.

  My agent had lined the job up, and the pay was good. No, not just good, great, but the whole thing still rankled me. Why couldn’t my agent find me a job for a nice clothing line or flowers or something? Why did it have to be motorcycles?

  Sighing, I again tried to push the worries out of my head. I needed to finish applying my makeup and checking my hair. Just because my agent had lined up the job didn’t mean I’d get it, and even though the makeup artists and hair stylists could make anyone look great, I still needed to get past the audition, and that meant I had to show what I could bring without beauty specialists hiding my flaws.

  I put down my mirror and brush. “How do I look?”

  “You look pretty, Mommy,” Jack said.

  I beamed a smile at him. “Thank you, sweetie.”

  He smiled back at me, then went back to playing with his motorcycles.

  Mom looked up with a smile, then sighed.

  “What?” I asked. “Something wrong? Did I miss a spot or mess up my make-up?”

  Mom shook her head. “Calm down. You look fine, Cat, beautiful. It’s just that you don’t have to do this kind of work, where you constantly have to go and impress new people who want different things from you. I could easily get you a stable job at the hospital. You have a degree.”

  I almost groaned. I was tired of having this discussion. No matter how many times I explained the situation to Mom, she seemed to forget the next day. It was like she thought with enough effort, she could badger me into doing what she wanted.

  “Have you seen the pay for this gig?” I asked. “I can earn more than a month’s pay for what I’d earn working at the hospital,
and most of my other gigs lately have still been very good. It’s a great way to build up savings.”

  Mom shook her head. “But it’s so unstable and unreliable. You can’t depend on something like that.”

  I nodded at my son. At this point, his attention was completely focused on having his motorcycles jump one another. “I need to get Jack set up. I want only the best for him. The insurance settlement from—” I glanced down at my son. There was no reason to speak too openly about his father’s death. He barely remembered him at this point, and I didn’t want to upset him. “The insurance was helpful. It paid off the house and made sure we’re not in too much trouble, but Jack deserves the best in life. I want to send him to private school, and that’s going to cost money that I don’t think I can make working an office job at the hospital.”

  Mom looked to the side for a second, a pensive look on her face. “I understand that. I do. But modeling work is all freelance. You have no benefits. You don’t even have real health insurance right now. What if you get sick? Hmm? What then? All your savings will be gone.”

  I held up a hand. “I get that, Mom. I do. I think about it all the time. Look, once I have a big enough nest egg, I’ll stop modeling and go to the hospital and get a job. I promise.”

  Her face lit up. “Really?”

  The truth was, I really did understand where Mom was coming from. When my husband was still alive, it made sense that I could take modeling gigs and not worry about long-term stability. He was always there providing a stable income. He was my rock. That didn’t change the reality that the only way I had to make a lot of money quickly was modeling.

  “Yes,” I said. “Once I’ve saved enough, I won’t have to worry about Jack’s schooling, and you’ll be happy. How does that sound?”

  Mom pursed her lips. “I’d prefer you got a more stable job sooner, but I guess that’ll have to do. At least you’re thinking about the future, and that’s the most important thing.”