AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My client, who goes by the name Atlas—that’s it, one name, like Cher or Beyoncé—asked to go over my plans at a local diner, where he and his motorcycle pack have breakfast every morning. No problem. I’m more than accommodating to the needs of my prospective clients. Plus, meeting over breakfast seems like a relaxing way to learn more about this new customer’s needs.
Pulling into the parking lot, I have to maneuver around a dozen motorcycles. Not unusual, since this diner is known for serving bikers. I’ve passed this place a million times, and there’s always a motorcycle gang gathered here. I park and climb out of my car, reaching to grab my belongings.
A low whistle and a couple catcalls reach my ear as I’m bent over. I stand to my full height, which is helped by the four extra inches I’m sporting, and I straighten my back before glaring at the two MC members behind me.
They snigger but otherwise don’t say anything to my face. I turn and head to the diner.
“That one’s a hellcat,” one of the men says.
I roll my eyes. Maybe taking this project was a mistake. I will not tolerate being sexually objectified, and I have had my fair share of it over the past year. Even though I’ve grown a thick layer of skin, there’s only so much I will take. This biker I’m meeting and the group he’s affiliated with may be beyond my comfort zone. I hope this isn’t my last straw.
Minimizing the natural sway of my hips to avoid further harassment, I make my way into the crowded diner. Bikers and scantily-clad women pack the restaurant. As I take in the wardrobe choices of the women hanging on the huge men, I realize my sheer blouse will be less appealing than I originally thought.
I pivot to see if I can pinpoint my client. He told me in our last email to ‘look for the biggest guy in the room, with the leather cut reading Atlas and President.’ His description does nothing to help, because all these men are huge, and I feel a little awkward staring at their chests to read their vests.
It probably doesn’t help that my client has no idea who he’s looking for either. The fact we’ve only communicated through email has given nothing away about my identity.
Most of my clients are shocked when they discover I’m a woman. I purposely shorten my name from ‘Josephine’ to ‘Jo’ in order to land bigger fish.
In my industry, men are the dominating force, especially when it comes to clean lines and modern architecture. Women are always associated with the softer touches of design. It’s annoying as hell.
Midcentury modern has always been my springboard, and it pisses me off I have to trick people. But until I make my mark in this industry, I fear I have no other choice.
I turn in a half circle and freeze when my eyes make contact with the person I’d vowed—only an hour ago—never to see again.
Maceo, looking sexy as sin, dressed in ripped jeans and a skin-tight faded black tee, sits in a big circular corner booth by himself. His inked arms drape over the back like he fucking owns the place. He looks so casual in scuffed combat boots, and his MC leather cut readsPresidentfollowed by…Atlas. To add insult to injury, he’s looking right at me with a devilish grin and smoldering eyes.
Fuck. My. Life.
This could not be any worse if it were written for a drama TV series.
This Goliath of a man is too damn good-looking for his own good. His huge rippling muscles are barely hidden underneath his T-shirt. His tan skin highlights his long black eyelashes and dark brown eyes—those eyes, nearly black, have the power to reel me in and make me disappear. His shiny raven-black hair is shaved close to the scalp on the sides, but longer and flipped back on top, making me want to run my hands through it—again.
Early morning dark scruff is the only facial hair on his strong, chiseled jawline. His corded neck makes me want to press my lips there and feel his pulse. Legs as thick as my waist, and strong as hell, are stretched out in front of him.
Hot damn!I’m pretty sure I’m staring with my mouth hanging open for the second time today.
The way his eyes scan my body convinces me he’s remembering our previous tryst, and his tongue snakes out along his full bottom lip, showing me a hint of his barbell piercing.
With the tightest smile I can muster, I walk toward him ‘till I’m standing at the head of his table.
“Atlas,” I say as casually as I can, but I can still hear the growl in my voice.
His grin spreads to cocky. “Jo,” he purrs. “Or would you prefer Josephine?”
My eyes narrow. I both like and dislike him using my full name. It sounds lovely coming from his lips, but it’stoointimate. “Jo is fine, thank you.”
“I like Josephine better. I’m sure you won’t mind, seeing as the customer is always right, yeah, Josephine?” he says wickedly, raising one full, dark brow as if to challenge me.
My fist clenches around my computer case, but I maintain a casual face. At least I hope so. “Of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
Maceo stands from the booth ‘till he’s hovering over me, and fuck me if he doesn’t smell like our earlier lovemaking.
The asshole never washed me off.My nostrils flare, and I swear he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Sorry if I smellmusky. I ran out of time this morning, too preoccupied. Please have a seat.”
Rat bastard!I pucker my lips and raise my eyes to the ceiling to gather my composure before I slide into the booth. He follows beside me and plants himself against me, his leg grazing mine. I scoot over to break the connection, but his body fills in the vacant space.
