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Dave walked over, putting his arm around Belinda’s shoulder. “With all the equipment and band members, it gets pretty chaotic, and I need time to think before I record. You understand, right?”
I understand you’re a gigantic asshole!
Dahlia ignored Dave and prepared to make a desperate plea to Belinda. She wasn’t above begging. “Please, I really need to borrow the car. I’ll gas up after and bring it straight to the studio. Otherwise, I have no ride.”
“You can take the bus. You love doing that!”
Dahlia winced and blinked, unsure she’d heard her correctly. Love the bus? No one loved the bus. People used it for convenience and financial reasons. But no one woke up in the morning gleefully skipping to the bus stop to use public transportation.
No, you moron, I don’t love it.
“Don’t do this to me,” Dahlia muttered. “Can I please use your car?”
Belinda stepped forward, grasping her arms. For a brief second, Dahlia allowed herself to see Belinda in a kind and understanding light. It was short-lived.
“No. But good luck with the interview. I hope you get it.”
Fucking bitch!
Dahlia had patiently waited over six months just to get an interview at the Bowery, and now it seemed the universe was punishing her. Rescheduling wasn’t an option. She could ask Sloane to pick her up, but that seemed extremely unprofessional, considering her friend would be conducting the interview. Besides, it was completely out of her way. Her friend had done enough for her, and Dahlia wouldn’t inconvenience Sloane any more than she already had.
Sloane had pretty much told her she had the job, and the interview was a small technicality, but Sloane didn’t have the final say. The owners of the Bowery would make the final decision. Even with Sloane’s encouragement, Dahlia wasn’t convinced she’d nail the position, knowing one of her bosses hadn’t taken a liking to her.
Trey.
It probably wasn’t the smartest idea working for a man she fantasized about on a nightly basis. Her obsession started months ago when he walked into the Ghosttown East clubhouse. Being around bikers, she was accustomed to rougher men with an element of danger. They were her type, or so she’d thought. Then Trey walked in. Dark blond, short hair, brown eyes, and chiseled features. Tall, dressed in a suit that shouldn’t have shown any of his build, yet it did. He was the sexiest and most beautiful man she’d ever seen. But her attraction went beyond his physical attributes. There was something in the way he carried himself—an arrogant confidence that should have been an immediate turnoff. Dahlia had dealt with plenty of men, and arrogance was never a shining trait in her eyes—except with Trey. He was so incredibly sure of himself. It was a trait Dahlia didn’t share, but she admired.
Their first interaction had been brief and lasted all of five seconds, ending with his obvious distaste. He hadn’t said anything other than turning down a drink she’d offered, but his gaze traveled her body, making it clear he was not impressed. Usually, Dahlia didn’t put much thought or care into how others saw her or what they thought. But Trey was different, and for reasons she couldn’t explain, it had stung a bit stronger coming from him.
Her second and third run-ins with Trey hadn’t been any better.
Dahlia’s shoulders sagged, and she fell against the wall, pressing her head back and closing her eyes. Her nerves and anxiety were getting the best of her.
Her interview was in two hours. She needed to find a mode of transportation. A car service wasn’t an option. She didn’t have any extra funds except her savings, which she needed to cover the rent and utilities for the month.
The bus was her only option. It would have been fine had the forecast not called for torrential downpours all day. She pushed off the wall and peeked out the window. It was cloudy and dark but not raining. If it could just hold off for the next few hours, she’d be fine.
Dahlia closed her eyes, pressed her palms together, and drew in a deep breath. “Please, no rain.”
She wasn’t above begging, pleading, and manifesting.
I need this job.
****
The SUV pulled up in front of the secluded warehouse. Daylight hours weren’t the standard for what was going down inside the building, but this was a unique situation. Trey didn’t bother waiting for one of his men to open the door. He grabbed the handle, got out, and stalked toward the front of the building. Three of his men were standing at the entrance, and another four were walking two steps behind him.
Trey lifted his chin. “Everyone inside?”
“Except the driver,” Jared said.
Motherfucker, I’m going to find you.
Trey had been against this deal since his counterpart, Rogue, had made it. He’d sensed this crew didn’t have enough experience or knowledge, and certainly not the connections needed, for this type of transfer. But it was Rogue’s deal and not Trey’s place to step in. However, he was the one who’d be cleaning up the mess left behind.
This was nothing new. Everyone had their roles within the Underground. This was one of Trey’s.
Trey opened the door and walked inside. This was one of many warehouses they owned and operated in the Underground. They used strategic rotation between all the buildings. It was imperative not to have much action at any given one in a short span. They’d used this location two weeks ago and hadn’t planned on making use of it for another few months. It was too much of a risk, but these men and this job forced his hand.
