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“Um, I’m not really a club friend. I found myself in an unfortunate and potentially dangerous situation. I’m sorta bound to the club by the situation, not so much by choice,” she mumbled that last part.
Brooke tilted her head. “From what I heard, your ex turned out to be a son of a bitch who set you up, thinking the men in our club were the type to take a woman as a form of payment.”
The coffee soured in her stomach. Hearing it from another woman’s mouth made it feel even worse. “Yeah, that’s it in a nutshell.” It’s funny how she could simplify an extremely complicated situation down to a few words.
“Well,” Brooke slapped a palm on the table. “If I know anything, it’s that my man and his club brothers are protectors of the innocent. Your ex has no idea what he’s up against. And that makes you a friend of the club, and it makes me your new and best client!”
Brenna hadn’t thought her head could spin more, but Brooke proved her wrong. She was in so far over her head here, but she might as well try to stay above water. “Okay, well, thank you. This is an incredible opportunity for me.”
“I like you, Bren. Can I call you that?”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” Brooke could call her whatever the hell she wanted for an unlimited budget.
“Great. Tomorrow we’re having a barbecue at the clubhouse. I’ll make sure Lock knows to bring you along.”
“Oh, I—”
“Actually, are you free tomorrow afternoon? You can come by and meet the rest of the ladies, see the space you’ll be designing, and then stay for dinner.”
She did a quick mental review of her schedule. “I think that’ll—”
“Great! It’s settled. I’ll text Lock.” Brooke stood, rounded the table, then bent to give Brenna a tight hug. “I’m excited to be working with you.” Her wide smile verified her words.
“Uh, yes, me too.”
“See you tomorrow!”
With that, Hurricane Brooke was out the door and making her way to Four, who still sat on his bike. He straightened when he noticed his president’s girlfriend walking his way.
Brenna sat in her chair, head reeling as she tried to process the past fifteen minutes. It seemed as though she’d be living in a perpetual state of shock if the past twenty-four hours accurately represented life with the Hell’s Handlers Motorcycle Club.
The rest of her afternoon passed without any major catastrophes. Somehow, she managed to pull herself together and get her job done. By the time she returned to Lock’s in the early evening, she was beyond exhausted and annoyed that she couldn’t go to her own house and veg on her couch with a beer.
She waved goodbye to Four as she climbed the three steps to Lock’s front door and let herself in with the key he’d provided. As soon as she stepped inside the house, a heavy sense of awkwardness overtook her. How weird was it to be making herself at home in the place owned by a man she’d met yesterday? A man whose real name she didn’t even know.
Very weird.
What the hell was she supposed to do now? Could she kick off her shoes at the door? Should she offer to help make dinner? Did he expect her to retire to her room and not be seen until morning? She stood at the entryway, paralyzed with indecision.
“Brenna, is that you?” Lock called out from her left.
“Uh, yes,” she croaked.
“We’re in the den. I’ve got a beer on ice for you and dinner on the way. Drop your shit and join us.”
Oh. She blinked. Wow. That was super nice of him. Had Oliver ever gone out of his way to make her workday end on a relaxing note like this? Not that she was comparing Lock to Oliver. That’d be ridiculous. Lock was not her boyfriend and would never be her boyfriend.
Then why is he already doing more for you than your fiancé did?
“Thank you,” she said as she kicked off her heels and set her bag down. “That’s really ni—”
Brenna nearly swallowed her tongue as her gaze landed on Lock sitting shirtless on the floor with his son. The temperature shot through the roof as the urge to fan herself became almost impossible to resist. Didn’t he have the air conditioning running? Come on, it was summer in Florida, for crying out loud.
Lock was built without being bulky. Firm muscles with a smattering of tattoos greeted her hungry gaze. He had a barbell through one nipple and a smooth, defined chest. His body had character and captured her attention more than expected. The men she’d dated before, including Oliver, had all been so vanilla compared to him. Rougher, more edgy men had never attracted her in the past, but something about Lock had her knees wobbling and her throat drying up.
“You okay?” he asked as he stacked three foam blocks on the floor in front of Caleb.
“What? Yeah, I’m great,” she rasped as though she’d walked through the desert to get there.
