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“You’re right. We have that in common, along with a love for good coffee.”
“Maybe your club brothers will call you Barista when you get patched in,” I joke.
Evan almost spits out his mouthful. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to get stuck with a crappy club name for the rest of my life. I want something cool, like Fang or Eagle Eye.”
Grinning, I say, “Those sound like amazing club names but don’t you have to earn your handle?”
He looks thoughtful for a moment, “Maybe, but I can always drop hints.”
“Smart.”
Evan glances across the street at the other prospect who’s tapping his foot impatiently, “I gotta skedaddle.”
We say our goodbyes and I head back inside the office.
Chapter 20
Serena
Marge hadn’t asked for anything, but I knew she was partial to the chai latte the coffee shop made so I had gotten her one. Putting the cup on her desk, she looks up and swallows nervously, “Thank you, Miss Sommers.”
“Everything okay?” I ask.
Blushing slightly, she glances away. “Um… No. I mean yes… I just wanted to have a word with you before Smoke gets back from his meeting if you’re available?”
It wasn’t like Marge to be evasive, and I wondered what was on her mind. “What did you want to talk about? I hope you’re not unhappy having two attorneys here. I love it here and will be devastated when my ninety days are up.”
“I really like you, Miss Sommers. I think you’re the perfect addition to our office and would be the perfect wife for my son.”
I almost choke on my coffee at the last bit. In the few weeks I’ve worked here, she’s never once tried to fix me up with her son—let alone, said anything about actually having a son. Smiling broadly, I say, “Thanks, Marge. You’ve made me feel welcome. I didn’t think that I’d fit in here, but you’ve been really good to me. However, I’m sure your son is probably really nice, but I’m partial to Smoke.”
She lowers her voice as if sharing a secret, “I always worried about what kind of woman my son would end up with. I’m glad it’s you.”
I squint my eyes, trying to figure out what she is saying. “It almost sounds like you’re saying that Smoke is your son. I guess after working with him for so long you’ve gotten quite close.”
She stares at me for a brief second and then starts to get up from her seat and leave.
Suddenly it dawns on me. “Oh my God, you are saying that he’s your son.” I gesture wildly with my hands. “Sit back down and tell me everything.”
She eases back down into her seat. “What do you know about Smoke’s mother?”
Easy question, “He said she died in an automobile accident when he was a young child. He was raised by his father. Smoke says that a lot of men who grew up without mothers gravitate to places that offer a strong brotherhood, especially if they grew up as only children. The MC becomes the family they never had.”
Marge’s hands tighten on the arms of her chair. “Only, I didn’t die. My husband divorced me and ran me out of town. I tried to contact my son multiple times, but his father was a wealthy, well connected man. Every time I tried to petition the court, he buried me in lawyers. I never stood a chance. After his father passed away, I came back to Las Salinas to beg Smoke’s forgiveness for not being able to be part of his life growing up and ask for a relationship with him.”
I am absolutely dumbfounded by the words coming out of her mouth. “Why did he want a divorce so badly?”
“I don’t know. All I know is what I saw with my own eyes. One time we were at a club, and he said he needed to go to the restroom. He was gone for so long I went to look for him. He was never in the best of health, and I worried that he might end up having a heart attack when we least expected it. In the hallway between the ladies and the men’s restroom, he was standing there allowing some redhead to press her body seductively against his with her hand around his—” She made a gesture indicating exactly where the woman’s hand was touching.
“What? He just stood there in the hallway getting a handy?” Her husband was clearly a player, but I can’t imagine him doing that, knowing his wife was only a few steps away.
Marge nods, her expression horrified. She continues, “I started asking around and found out my husband was a wild man about town. When I confronted him, he tried to convince me that I didn’t see what I saw and told his family I was making up lies about him running around with tramps.”
I know how polite and demure Marge is. I imagine there was a sharp contrast between how she presented herself back then, and the kinds of women her husband hung out with.
The older woman leaned over, looking into my eyes. “Women throwing themselves at men isn’t all that unusual in the wider world, but I didn’t sign up for that kind of life.”
“Well, of course not. Who would want to take a chance on getting an STD from their own husband?”
