Page 1 of Misadventures of a Biker

Chapter One

Devin

I didn’t regret the actions of my past. Not one. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but wonder how different my life could have been if I hadn’t spent the past ninety-seven months in federal prison.

Being incarcerated hadn’t changed my appearance. On the surface, I was the same person. And when I walked beyond the razor wire–topped fence that separated the institution from the free world, I was sure my life would begin where it left off.

I was mistaken. Now labeled a criminal, finding a place that would employ me was proving to be difficult, if not impossible. With a pool of law-abiding citizens to choose from, it seemed I provided potential employers with no good reason to select me. Each company gave a different version of the same apology.

We’re sorry, Mr. Wallace. We’ve decided to go another route.

I had until Monday to find a job. If I failed to do so, my parole officer would send US Marshals to hunt me down and drag me back to prison. Considering it was Friday, I was willing to accept the first position someone offered.

Standing in front of potential place of employment number twenty-seven, I checked my reflection in the tinted-glass door. My long-sleeved shirt hid most of my tattoos. The ones on my hands, knuckles, and the base of my neck were impossible to conceal. Hoping whoever conducted the interview was open-minded, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Floor-to-ceiling windows were in every direction. Long planks of gray hardwood flooring gave the space a feeling of endlessness.

Twenty feet away, a curved reception desk acted as the foyer’s centerpiece. The massive section of seamless blond wood was fitted with a white Carrara marble countertop. Gray veins trailed through the stone in every direction.

Two identical waiting areas flanked the enormous desk. Decorated with brightly colored contemporary furnishings, they appeared like everything else.

Clinical.

Beyond the atrium, a V-shaped wall was centered behind the reception area. Following the theme of the waiting areas, each leg of the wall shared identical attributes—a corridor with two large pieces of abstract art on either side.

There wasn’t a soul within sight. Muffled voices came from each of the two corridors. I sauntered to the receptionist’s desk and peered over the massive slab of stone. An ergonomic mesh office chair, a telephone, and a computer monitor were all that cluttered the twenty-foot-wide space.

I cleared my throat.

The sound of distant voices continued.

I rapped my knuckles against the wooden edge of the desk. A hollow thud echoed throughout the lobby.

Five minutes passed. I was fractionally more versed on the intricacies of modern art but no closer to landing a job. Left with no alternative but to take a stroll down one of the hallways and hope for the best, I chose the corridor on the left.

I paused beside the first open door. I waited while a woman spoke on the phone. As soon as she hung up, I stepped into the doorway. An attractive thirty-something brunette was seated at her desk, carefully tapping the tips of her fingers against the screen of her phone. The white sleeveless dress she wore accentuated her well-toned arms. She set her phone aside and looked up. Upon seeing me, she gasped.

“Oh my God.” She covered her mouth with her hands. “You scared the crap out of me.”

I shrugged apologetically. “Sorry.”

She lowered her hands. “Are you with Neeson?”

“Pardon me?”

“Neeson-Frye,” she said, flashing a set of snow-white teeth. “The decorator?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m not. Are you Teddi?”

“Teddi?” She stood. “I’m sorry, she’s out.” She gave me a quick once-over. “Is there something I can help you with?”

She had olive skin and the figure of an athlete. Her wavy hair was parted in the middle and swept away from her face. Caramel tendrils blended well with what I expected was her natural color, a chocolaty brown. Her full lips were parted, and the corners of her mouth were turned up slightly. There was only one way to describe her.

Breathtakingly attractive.

“A friend sent me,” I replied, meeting her gaze. “He saw Teddi at the bank yesterday. She told him she needed to hire a receptionist.”

Her face washed with confusion. “You’re applying for the receptionist position?”