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Chase turns his face toward me, his eyes softening as a smug smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “Yes.”
Un-fucking-believable.The last thing I wanted to do was come across as petty to my ex. But rolling up in a threshold-carry on Chase’s bike isn’t exactly a subtle way to show I’ve moved on. Chase is trying to turn this into a pissing competition when there is no contest.
“We will talk about this later,” I grit through my teeth.
The pompous ass’s smile turns wicked, showing his perfect teeth like a wolf snarling. “We’ll be doing more than talking later, Numbers.” He bites the air between us, declaring dominance.
Scoffing, I scramble away from Chase’s embrace, trying to find my footing in my stilettos as I slide off his bike. He helps me stand upright, his smug smile still planted firmly on his obnoxiously proud face. I turn my attention to my nemesis, only to realize the stupid helmet is still on my head. I tug, but it doesn’t come off. My fingers fumble with the straps, but I can’t figure out the clasp.
Giving up on the helmet, I attempt to come across as smooth by cocking my hip and placing my hands on my waist like I’m wearing the latest hat fashion. “Hello, Trent.”
It’s been over a year since I last saw my ex, yet he looks exactly the same as he always had. Expensive fitted suit with buffed shoes compliment his Ken doll haircut and a heavy apricot spray tan. Sure, he’s handsome in a polished way, but I’ve outgrown clean-cut men. I’ve acquired a taste for man buns, facial piercings, and hipster attire.
Gobsmacked, Trent stares at me like his mind can’t comprehend what he’s seeing. “Simone.” He staggers forward, his arms outstretched like he wants to pull me in for a hug. I stiffen as he approaches.
Movement behind me has Trent halting in place, his eyes growing wider as he takes in my giant biker climbing off his motorcycle. Chase presses close at my back, his warmth seeping through my blazer. His tatted arm snakes through mine to wrap around my waist. His hand sprawls across my stomach to pull me against him in an obvious display of ownership.
Trent doesn’t miss the movement. His eyes drop to where Chase’s hand rests above my navel, and his face puckers with disapproval.
Well, he can fuck right off. Trent doesn’t get to have an opinion on who I’m with.
My head swivels back and forth between the two men as a standoff begins, dread building in my core.
Chase stares cooly at my ex, nodding a stiff hello. “Trent Grills.”
My ex’s hazel eyes grow cartoonishly wide. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”
“Name’s Chase. I’m head of intelligence for Mercy Ravens Security. Thank you for agreeing to greet us outside while we unload.” Chase thumbs his MC brothers, who come stand beside us. “Buzzed-hair guy is Butch. He’s second-in-command for IT in this case. Shaved-head guy is Punk. He’s our head of security.”
Confusion clouds Trent’s face as he looks at me, like he’s struggling to figure out what I’m doing with the investigative team. “Simone?”
I open my mouth, but Chase beats me to the punch. “My woman is our lead auditor.”
“Chase,” I hiss through clenched teeth in a low voice, whipping my head to him. “We agreed we’d tell him about us when it was appropriate.”
“And I’m making the moment appropriate,” Chase hush-whispers back. He turns his attention back to Trent. “I’m sure P.L. Moore Financial’s higher ups will appreciate having a gifted accountant working this investigation, especially one who used to work at the firm and knows the ins and outs. Simone’s expertise will be extremely beneficial to the case.”
Trent shakes his head like he’s trying to wake himself out of a stupor. “Wait. What? Your woman? Simone is assistingyour crew?”
“She isn’t assisting,” Punk interjects. “She works with us, as in she’s MC.”
Trent’s mouth drops open like a fish out of water. He swings his head back to me, pointing at Chase. “You joined a biker gang? You’re withhim?”
I roll my eyes at his condescending tone. Fuck being professional for one minute—I need to put my ex in his place. “Trent, you and the firm are well-aware Mercy Ravens Security is run by a club, not a gang. Before you bombard me with questions, check yourself at the door. What and who I’m involved with is none of your concern. If you must know, Chase and I are dat—”
“She’s my old lady,” Chase interrupts.
“Dating,” I correct in a sharp pitch before clearing my throat and continuing. “I’m here to audit your firm. Do you think you can handle my involvement, or should we ask upper management to assign someone else as liaison?”
“I can handle working with you,” Trent says all too quickly, in an apologetic tone. A small smile replaces his furrowed brow. “I’m surprised to see you, is all. Pleasantly surprised. It’ll be like old times.”
Chase’s grip on me tightens. A territorial growl rumbles low in his chest.
“Let’s continue talking inside,” I suggest, ignoring Chase’s growing tension. “I would like to get rolling on this investigation.”
“Certainly. If you would grab your things and follow me.”
Chase motions with his head for the guys to unload our gear. Ignoring Trent, Chase turns me to face him. He quickly unclips my helmet and removes it. My hair stands on end with an electrical charge. Chase runs a hand over my wild hair to lay it flat. His hand comes to rest on the back of my neck, pulling me in for a chaste kiss on my lips.
