The Backpack Bride (Give a Bookish Girl a Biker #1)

Chapter One

Roxy

S ocial media is only good for two things.

The first is connecting with friends and family. Don’t really have any of either to speak of myself, but I can see the appeal.

The second, and most personally appealing, is secretly scrolling through countless hours of masked biker guys’ feeds.

I bite my lip on a smile as I scroll through my social media crush’s most recent videos. His latest was of him cruising in a plain white tee in broad daylight, asking his followers what we’d rather do—be a backpack or a driver. Of course I respond in the comments with “If we’re talking backpacks, I’d only be yours” and add a heart-eyes emoji because I’m a low-key fangirl of this mystery man.

I shouldn’t be. I’m really too old for this kind of thing. But sometimes, when the loneliness and regret become too much, I pretend that he’s the kind of guy I’d go all in for. Then I say a prayer that probably doesn’t reach any higher than my ceiling and ask God to save me a good-hearted biker boy. You know, for the day I finally get my act together and get past the mess my life currently is.

I suppress a sigh and continue to scroll.

Not only am I convinced that my biker crush has a handsome face under that helmet, but his entire demeanor speaks to his heart of gold. The man never seems to get annoyed when one of his four hundred thousand plus fans recognize him by his teal bike in public. In fact, he’s even been known to give a few a ride. And he donates to organizations who aid struggling families in and around the Denver area. He’s just so...wholesome. He’s never posting shirtless thirst traps on his socials, never engaging with female fans in his DMs, much to the dismay of all the women in his comment section, and his random inspirational posts speak to me in ways I wasn’t expecting when I stumbled upon a hot biker guy’s account.

I might’ve come for the muscled forearms and peekaboo tattoos, but I stay for the inspo and encouragement.

The next video I pull up is of him riding the streets at night in a black jacket and dark jeans. He’s weaving in and out of traffic with the shadowed cityscape behind him, streetlights flickering overhead. Somber music plays throughout the video, and the caption simply reads When you need a night ride to clear your head.

I haven’t ridden a motorcycle in years, but I remember the feeling of freedom that comes with being on the back of one. The wind rushing through your hair, the spike of adrenaline when the driver twists that throttle and you’re propelled forward, needing to hang on tight while a wide smile blooms across your face.

Sometimes I miss those days. Days when I was still young and free, unburdened by all the stupid choices I’ve made between then and now. When I didn’t have responsibilities weighing down on me, threatening to make me buckle under the pressure.

The creak of the bathroom door opening has me glancing up from my phone. I’d better get back to work. I need this job too much to be taking doomscroll breaks just to clear my head of unwanted memories.

Sometimes Axel’s heart-wrenching sobs ring in my ears as if Eddy just died. As if it hasn’t been months of trial and error without him, with me doing my best to keep Axel and myself afloat like my brother would’ve wanted.

I blink back a sudden mist of tears, slip my phone back into my purse, and sneak out of the stall. I wash my hands at the sink, despite the fact that all I did was sit on the toilet lid and scroll social media. Swiping under my lashes, I give myself a quick check in the mirror. My dark, unruly waves are barely contained in the clip at the back of my head, but my makeup has managed to stay put. I count that as a small victory before straightening my slate gray pencil skirt and exiting the bathroom.

The firm’s signature bustle swarms the halls as I trek back to the copier room. No doubt the pages I was supposed to pick up ten minutes ago are ready to go. I force myself not to roll my eyes when Shane, in all his smug, rich boy intern glory, starts toward me.

“Hey, temp. Looking good today,” he croons in the sort of voice I’m sure he thinks is irresistible.

I don’t respond as I slip past him. Not even when I feel him turn around and stare at my backside.

I need this job, I repeat. Over and over until all thoughts of smacking Shane in the face flee my mind. I take a right into the copier room and almost collide with a harried-looking Aja.

“Oh, sorry,” I mutter, gripping her by the upper arms.

She clutches a stack of papers to her chest, wide eyes blinking as she huffs. “That’s the fourth time I’ve run into someone today.”

“Busy morning?” I cock an eyebrow as I move out of her way and head for the copy machine.

“You have no idea. Mr. Price is in one of his moods today.”

I nod like I understand, but I really don’t. I’ve only been working at this firm for just shy of a month, barely long enough to grasp the office’s vibe and settle into somewhat of a routine. But Aja is the CEO’s personal assistant, so I have no doubt she deals with a high level of stress on the regular.

“Something to do with Price Junior, I think,” she stage whispers.

An image of our billionaire boss’s gorgeous son forms in my mind’s eye. I’ve only seen him in passing and during our team meetings, but he’s especially dreamy if you’re into the lean-muscled, bookish type. Not only is he attractive to the point of distraction, but I’ve never heard anyone say one bad thing about the man. Apparently, he’s the “hot glue that holds this place together,” or so a few executives have said.

“Why?” I ask. “What happened with him?”

Aja pushes her black-framed glasses up a little higher onto her pert nose. “It’s not just him,” she says in a low voice before leaning back to peek into the hallway. Once she deems the coast is clear, she faces me again. “We stand to risk losing our biggest client right now, and rumor has it, Price Junior is supposed to be taking over any day now as CEO. Too much up in the air for my liking.”

Losing our biggest client and a potential new CEO? Dread slithers down my spine. A new company leader means people could be let go. And I’m just a temp. If Price Junior—as Aja refers to him—decides to make cuts, I could be the first one to go.

“Hm,” I hum. “That does sound a little worrisome.” I carefully slide the papers I need out of the receiving basket.

Aja’s lips curve into a frown. “I don’t know what all’s going on, but I’m hoping Mr. Price will shed some light on it during the meeting.”

I give her a slow nod, silently hoping the same thing.

“I gotta go,” Aja says, blowing her black bangs out of her face. “Mr. Price needs these reports stat. See you in the conference room in five.” She makes a face, then slips out of the room faster than I can say bye.

Stacking the papers into a neat pile on top of the copier, I swallow down the lump that forms in my throat. If I lost my job right now…I shake the morbid thought loose. I can’t let my brain go there. There is no other option than to believe everything will work out with this position. Maybe with enough prayer, I’ll even be promoted to a permanent one.

Failure means losing the chance to adopt Axel, losing what little traction I’ve gained with the judge who isn’t convinced I’m suited to raise a rebellious teenager with a myriad of issues.

Nope. Failure’s not an option.

Hustling down the hallway and into the conference room with the copies Cindy asked for, I head toward the coffee bar set up along the wall. My job for these meetings is simple: Make the coffee. Refill the coffee. Take notes for Cindy. Remain invisible.

I’m basically an assistant’s assistant, a barnacle on the boat of employees in this firm. The only other people within reaching distance of my low-ranking position would be the interns. But even they get to work closely with the bigwigs. And most of them, like Shane, are college kids privileged enough to ride on their daddies’ coattails until they land a junior position at one of these multi-million-dollar companies.

Basically, they’re light-years past where I was at their age. It’s honestly a miracle I even got hired, based on my limited work experience thus far. Guess I have the kind-eyed Hilda at the temp agency to thank for beefing up my flimsy resume.

The company itself is huge, with floors full of departments and employees. But I am one of the “lucky ones,” as Aja likes to refer to us. One of the few people tasked with working closely with the upper-level executives directly under Mr. Price’s direction.

I still haven’t decided if I agree with Aja’s opinion or not, but I at least have enough common sense to know that it wouldn’t bode well for me if I screwed up this opportunity.

Once the coffee is percolating, I set the paper cups in a neat stack, along with the stirrers and sugar packets. Suits and pencil skirts begin to file into the conference room, bringing their subdued chatter with them. Thankfully, most of my co-workers are polite and professional. I offer a friendly nod and smile to those who acknowledge my presence, quietly slipping into the chair next to where Cindy has sat at the last two meetings.

A few people grab coffee as they toss some laughs and quips back and forth. More assistants like me trickle in before Cindy takes her place at my side. I give her an encouraging smile. I know she’s hopeful about today’s results. She and Jenna, the intern assigned to her, worked tirelessly on their campaign idea. Mr. Price will only choose one from the five submitted, though, so it’s anyone’s guess whose will win out in the end.

Shane and the other two interns file in next. I glance at the open seat beside me, praying he doesn’t take it. My fears are confirmed when he drops into said spot with a wicked sort of smile. “Is this seat taken?”

“Actually—”

He ignores me and rolls the chair closer. I bite my lip against my inner turmoil. Since my first day at the office, he’s made it his mission to pester me. But I don’t have time to mess with frat boys who have nothing better to do than squander a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

“Better stop making that face, temp,” he whispers too low for anyone else to hear. “Or I might get the wrong idea.”

With an annoyed huff, I release my bottom lip and angle my body toward Cindy. If I can’t escape him, I can at least pretend he’s not there.

Once everyone else is seated around the long table, Mr. Price enters the room, bringing an unmistakable air of authority with him. His thick, silver hair is combed to one side, perfectly styled with not a single piece out of place. Apart from the slightly sallow pallor to his skin, he looks good for his age. And I’d bet someone fifty bucks that his navy pinstripe three-piece suit was custom made to fit his intimidating 6’3” frame.

Taking his place at the head of the table, he presses his fingertips against its surface. “Good morning, everyone.” His faint smile deepens the laugh lines around his mouth and crinkles the skin framing his sky-blue eyes. “I’d like to start off by saying how impressed I was with last week’s presentations.”

Eager smiles line the faces of those who submitted presentations.

“After much deliberation, I feel it best if we go with—”

The door to the conference room swings open, and the younger, more attractive version of Mr. Price strolls into the room, that same authoritative aura unfurling around him like an invisible wave. “Sorry I’m late.”

As if on cue, everyone’s heads swivel toward the elder Mr. Price, whose lips form a tight line. “Glad you could make it for our weekly rundown.” Mr. Price tips his head to the side, as if indicating where he’d like his younger clone to sit.

Sauntering further into the room, Christian Price sticks his hands in his pockets and smiles at the rest of us. “Hello, everyone.”

Everyone around me murmurs a greeting, but as usual, I can’t quite form a coherent hello. Christian Price is every bit as dreamy as the office gossips describe him. And more. His dark brown hair is long on top but shaved on the sides, giving us the perfect view of his striking cobalt eyes. Their impossibly bright hue seems amplified by the glasses he wears, an accessory I’ve never really found attractive before. He’s similar to his dad in height, maybe a smidge taller, but leaner and more muscled. Somehow more imposing. He leisurely takes the empty seat by the elder Mr. Price.

“Now that my son is here, why don’t we get into it,” Mr. Price says, facing the rest of us.

Christian’s expression remains open and relaxed, as he links his fingers together on the table. His gaze quickly sweeps around the table and I find myself looking down at my hands to avoid meeting those piercing eyes of his.

“As I was saying,” Mr. Price continues, “after thoroughly reviewing all the presentations, I think it’s best if we go with Mr. Talbert’s idea.”

A low murmur of congratulations rustles through the group as Shane and his boss, Edmund Talbert, preen with delight. Shane taps his pencil against the tabletop as he leans into my personal space. “Aw, what a shame. Tell your boss I said better luck next time.” He winks, licking his bottom lip in that predatory way he always does.

Ignoring his ribbing, I give Cindy’s arm a sympathetic squeeze. She’s one of the older marketing associates in the office, and I know she worries that maybe she’s aged out of her position. It can’t be easy to compete with a younger demographic who all seem to have technology on their side.

She says nothing, only offers me a thin-lipped smile when Mr. Price asks for updates from everyone on their current assignments. Once each associate gives their weekly report, Mr. Price clears his throat.

“I’m afraid I have some troubling news we must discuss.” Christian leans back in his chair, eyeing his father with what seems like apprehension. It feels like the entire room takes a collective inhale as we wait for Mr. Price to continue. “I was just informed by Bon Loup Beauty’s CEO that we will no longer be the only marketing firm working with them.” Murmurs and even a small gasp sound from those at the table while Mr. Price holds up his hand. “We will now be vying for their fall campaign with another leader in the industry. If we want to continue to hold their business...” Mr. Price pauses. “We must earn it.”

Cindy sends me a look that speaks to her own unease.

“I wouldn't exactly call this news troubling,” Christian says, leaning forward and catching his father’s eye. “It’s just another opportunity for our men and women to show off their excellent marketing skills.” Beaming at those of us seated around him, Christian tosses encouraging smiles out like candy.

“Yes, well,” Mr. Price continues. “I need not remind everyone that Bon Loup is our most lucrative client at the moment. If we’re going to wow their executives, we’ll need all hands on deck.”

“I have every confidence in our team,” Christian adds, once again sending that sparkly gaze down the table. It connects with mine for barely a second, just long enough for a spark of attraction to sing through my core. I look away and suppress a shiver.

It wouldn’t do me well to form a crush on the soon-to-be new CEO. Not while my life’s one giant racoon-infested dumpster and there’s a massive client on the line. Not now and not ever.