6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
L una
This was the third morning Roman showed up at eight sharp. My roommates had left this morning to go on vacation without me, and my mood was foul.
I swung the door open with an irritated growl. “I keep telling you, I have my own car. You don’t need to pick me up.” Not waiting for him to follow, I returned to the kitchen bar and started stuffing a few things into my backpack.
“And miss your sparkly charm and sunny personality on the drive over?” He glanced at my cat. “Hello, Carl. You little demon from hell.” Roman tried to pet him yesterday, but Carl swiped his hand and spit at him. I’d called Carl a “good little kitty.”
Strolling into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets, Roman wore yet another expensive suit and Italian leather shoes. He’d forgone the tie today, and looked like a sleek magazine advertisement for an expensive watch. The man annoyed me so much . I wore off-the-rack black, gray, and navy blue clothes. They were within my budget, easy to match, and helped me blend in.
“Did you take such a hands-on approach with other law students you’ve mentored?” I groused as I grabbed my generic black suit jacket.
“No. But you’ve already proven useful, and Klim wants you with me. He has good instincts.” He was mocking me.
“Great, I feel so special. I’m ready, let’s go.” I stopped short. “Wait, I need one more thing.” Digging through the kitchen drawer, I found a pack of Red Hots.
“You eat a lot of candy. It’s bad for your teeth.”
When he got into the car, I raised an eyebrow at him and bit into a Red Hot. Roman got a call on the way over, so I checked my emails while he talked to someone about zoning codes and multimillion-dollar returns. Yesterday, Roman had tucked me into the small, unused office next to his, and kept me there for half the day. He’d ordered lunch, then left me alone to study in the afternoon before driving me home. I had a feeling this would become our routine if I didn’t do something.
When we walked in together again today, the look on Bitchy Brenna’s face warmed my frosty heart. After she got over her initial annoyance, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to smile at Roman or glare at me.
“Good morning, Mr. Fowler,” she purred. “You have a few messages I emailed you.”
“Thanks.” He turned to me. “Find Gideon and have him show you the Garrison Development file. We’ll discuss it over lunch.” I could almost hear Brenna grinding her teeth.
I knocked on Roman’s door a couple of hours later. I didn’t ask him if he was busy. “Today is Wednesday and I’ve gotten my mentorship hours in for the week. It’s also my fall break.”
He didn’t look up. “No.”
“Are you saying it’s not my fall break, or no, you’re not going to be a decent person and let me go?”
“The second.” His lip curled, but he kept typing on his expensive, sleek laptop.
“How about if I come in tomorrow and get Friday off?” I tried.
“No.”
“Come on, man! Most attorneys don’t even work on Fridays.”
“How about you come in on Saturday too? I’ll be here, so I might as well have some company,” he countered, still not looking up.
I slumped against the door, annoyance sharpening my voice. “Fine, I’ll come on Friday. But only because Sylvie and Alexa are out of town.”
“Excellent.” He finally looked up. “I have an afternoon appointment at a motorcycle restoration shop. Do you want to come?”
“Yes.” My mind jumped ahead. “Can I ask a few questions?”
He shook his head. “You can ask if they have the time and you don’t annoy them. We’ll meet with the president at noon and grab lunch after that.”
I left his office and headed toward the break room to grab another cup of coffee. At least they had excellent free coffee here.
“Hello, Luna,” Gideon greeted me as I neared his desk. “I’m thrilled you came back.”
“You make it sound like I had a choice. He’s been picking me up every morning this week,” I whined.
Gideon chuckled and kept typing. “Has he now? That’s delightful.”
“No, Gideon, it’s really not. This is my fall break, and he’s making me come in and be with him all week. For the whole day. What mentor does that?”
Gideon’s phone rang. He patted my hand sympathetically and turned to answer it.
A man I’d seen a couple of times walked out of his office with an empty coffee cup in hand too. He was tall and muscular, had a nice, full beard and slicked-back hair, and wore a black pearl snap shirt with black motorcycle boots. I got the impression he didn’t go to court much.
He smirked when he saw me. “Hello, Luna the intern. I’m Ivan Knox, one of Roman’s partners.”
“Hello, Ivan. I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but after spending time with Roman, I’ll reserve judgment about the rest of you.”
Ivan chuckled. “That’s smart. Has it been that bad working under Roman?”
I raised an eyebrow. “ Under Roman? That’s a funny way of putting it.” I pointed to Ivan’s office. “What is it you do exactly? You’ve got more monitors and computer equipment than any attorney I’ve ever seen. How many single-board computers do you have, and what are you doing with all of them?”
“How do you know about SBE’s?”
Shrugging, I snuck another peek inside his office. “I have a friend who knows computers. Are you an attorney? What’s your specialty?”
“My specialty is finding things out about people they don’t want me to know.”
I blinked at him. “You’re an interesting foursome. Xander wears business attire, but it seems like an afterthought. He reminds me more of a skateboarder.”
Ivan smirked. “He snowboards and surfs.”
I nodded. “That fits. Drakos dresses so sharply, he gives me paper cuts. Where’d you all meet?”
Ivan’s eyes went cool. So he wasn’t going to tell me how they met. Waving my hand, I moved on. “I don’t understand your firm's structure. You seem more like brothers than partners. What is it you do again?”
Ivan studied me. “I gather and analyze data.”
I studied him back. “Hm. I wonder why a law firm would need someone who does that full-time.”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“No. I’m actually curious.”
His eyebrow went up. “We have other business interests, and I do background checks and vet companies and individuals.”
My eyes narrowed. “Did you ‘vet’ me?”
“Of course.”
I wasn’t surprised. “What other business interests do you have? Blackmail? Money laundering? Pest control? What?”
Someone chuckled behind me, and I startled. Turning around, I saw Drakos sitting on the corner of Gideon’s desk.
“Hello, Little Luna. It’s not even lunchtime, and you’ve already asked sixty-nine questions.” He wore a sleek designer navy blue suit, a crisp white dress shirt, and an azure–blue silk tie and matching pocket square.
“Is that a sexual innuendo or did you actually count?” I asked, then turned to Ivan. “See? A paper cut.”
Ivan chuckled. “Point taken.”
“You don’t have to drill us like we’re in a police interrogation. You could just enjoy our company.” Drakos’s grin was too wide to be sincere.
“What classes are you taking this semester?” Ivan asked, obviously changing the subject.
“Mediation, federal income tax, legal writing, and corporations.”
Ivan nodded. “That’s a challenging schedule. What’s your favorite class?”
“Mediation.”
Drakos laughed outright, and Ivan snorted and patted my arm.
“Get your hand off her, Knox. Mediation is overrated,” Roman stated as he walked out of his office. “Why mediate and compromise when you can dominate and win?”
I turned to Roman and wondered why he’d told Ivan to get his hand off me. The man confused me. “I’m not surprised that’s your stance. Not everyone enjoys litigation and confrontation, though.”
He shrugged. “Mediation is a good way to glean information, I’ll give you that. But you should never purposefully put yourself into a weaker position.”
The men at this law firm–if one could call it that–were enigmas, and these three had sharp edges. I wondered how their experiences in Arizona had altered them because I knew firsthand a person couldn’t go through something like that and not be changed in deep and significant ways.
That afternoon, Roman took me to Sin City Motorheads. From the outside, the business looked more like a motorcycle club that was maybe two shades away from being a motorcycle gang. It was located in a gritty industrial area in North Las Vegas, but the interior was a surprise. The showroom had a sleek, industrial edge to it with neon signage, a full bar on one side, and a few vintage motorcycles on display. There were also glossy, artistic photos of women straddling bikes wearing nothing but thongs.
As we walked in, I looked around with my mouth open. “Wow, this place is amazing.”
A younger man with long, stringy hair and an easy smile sat behind the raised chrome counter, and he stood when we walked in. “Hey Roman, I’ll tell Diego you’re here. He’s on a phone call.”
“Thanks, Brodie.”
“Who’s Diego?” I asked.
“Diego Rodriguez–the president and part-owner of the Area Fifty-Three motorcycle club and biker bar where they meet. He also owns a stake in this shop. He’s a likable, crass, mouthy asshole.”
I smiled brightly. “It sounds like you’re describing yourself–except the likable part.”
Roman shook his head as his phone rang. Looking down at the screen, he stepped outside to take the call, and I wandered over to the Harley Strap Tank model on display and walked around it with my hands behind my back.
“Do you like it?” Brodie asked. The bike looked like a cross between an old moped and a vintage motorcycle.
“I’ve read about this motorcycle. It’s one of the oldest and most rare models available. Isn’t it named after those straps holding the gas tank on?”
“You know about motorcycles?” a gruff voice behind me asked. I turned and saw a tall, striking man with sarcastic eyes and a strong jaw standing behind me wearing a black leather vest with patches on it. He wore motorcycle boots similar to Ivan’s, and his white smile stood out against his tan complexion.
I looked back at the vintage bike. “Not really, I’ve just read a few books about them. I ran across an interesting biography about some of the last vintage motorcycles and the history of Harley-Davidson in high school, though.”
He stuck a toothpick in his mouth. “Yeah? What’d you learn?”
“That Harley-Davidson is named after four men, three of whom were Davidsons, and the business started in Milwaukee, Wisconsin in…” I closed one eye and tried to remember. “1905? Maybe a little earlier. Anyway, their continued success seems to be a testament to America’s love affair with motorcycles and transportation.”
“Huh.” The man looked surprised.
I turned to him in earnest. “What’s the oldest motorcycle you’ve worked on, and where do you find the parts? Are you working on any right now?” I looked down at his vest and pointed. “Hey, I read an article about the motorcycle gangs around here last year after the latest shooting in Laughlin. I have a few questions. What do the patches mean on your vest?”
The man tilted his head and removed the toothpick. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Luna Cross.” I held out my hand. “Roman Fowler is my attorney mentor. Unfortunately, they didn’t allow me to pick my own.”
The man blinked, then grinned wide as he shook my hand. “He’s your mentor, huh? What’s he teaching you?”
I tilted my head, wondering if there was a double meaning in there somewhere. “Mostly how pigheaded and annoying he can be.”
The man laughed as Roman walked back inside. “Diego, I see you’ve met Luna.”
Diego eyed me again, then turned to Roman. “You have a claim on her? She’s not your usual type, and–”
Roman cut in, his voice flat. “She’s not available. I think it’s fine if she sits in on most of our meeting, but there are a few… issues we need to discuss privately. Will she be safe if she wanders around? I’m warning you, she asks a fuck-ton of questions.”
He grinned. “Yeah, I got that. Let’s discuss the legal business first, then I’ll go back and talk to the guys.” We went to Diego’s office, and he and Roman discussed a restoration contract and some indemnification issues. Then Diego walked us back to the garage area.
I touched Roman’s arm as we walked, and he glanced down at me. “What did he mean by a claim on me?”
His jaw clenched. “Later.”
Two fully tattooed men were working on a machine in the shop area, and three other vintage motorcycles lined the back wall in various stages of disrepair.
I slowly approached the motorcycle they were currently working on and stared. “Oh, my God. Is that a Knucklehead?” I whispered reverently.
Diego turned to Roman. “Are you sure she’s not available?”
“No,” Roman snarled.
The man on the floor looked up from my legs to my face and grinned. “Yeah, honey. How’d you know that?”
Diego stepped forward. “Luna, this is Rick.” Then he pointed to the man in greasy blue coveralls hanging from his waist and a black wife beater, who stood in front of a computer monitor. “And that’s Roy. This is Roman’s law student, so hands off. But can you talk with her and keep her company while Roman and I talk for a few minutes?”
Roy looked me up and down, then grinned. They both looked to be in their late thirties and had full tattoo sleeves.
An hour later, Roman and Diego returned to the shop area and stopped dead. I straddled the Knucklehead, and Rick and Roy stood on either side of me, pointing out the different features and quirks. I’d hiked my pencil skirt up to my thighs so I could climb on.
“What the fuck, Luna?” Roman growled. Diego folded his arms, rocked on his heels, and grinned.
I smiled happily at Roman. “Okay, I’m not gonna lie. I may not like you dragging me to your office every day, but I fucking love these field trips. This place is amazing!”
Rick and Roy grinned, and Rick patted my bare thigh. “I think he wants you to climb off, honey. You’re welcome back anytime, and we’ll answer the rest of your questions.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed, and he flicked his fingers to me in a “come here” gesture.
“But they were going to start it for me,” I protested.
His eyes narrowed dangerously, and I sighed. “Fine.” I’d taken off my shoes, so I swung my bare foot over the bike and slid off, adjusting my skirt back down.
Turning to Rick and Roy, I patted them both on the arms. “Thanks, guys. That was fun.”
Roy grinned a shit-eating grin. “Next time you want to straddle one of our bikes, we’ll take it outside and take you for a ride.”
“Luna. Now.” Roman barked.
I turned around and faced him. “What’s your problem, grumpy pants? They’ve been nothing but polite, and very patient.” I bent down, grabbing my shoes.
“Get your eyes off her ass. Right. Fucking. Now.” Roman growled low. I straightened and turned around to see who he was talking to.
Roy ignored Roman and grabbed a few wipes from a container. “You’ve got a grease mark across your cheek, sweetheart.”
Roman stalked over and grabbed the wipes out of Roy’s hand, then held my chin between his thumb and forefinger. He studied my happy smile, then cleaned off my face. “You’re a damn menace.”
“No, I’m just inquisitive.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Rick offered. “Isn’t an inquisitor one of the death squad from Star Wars ?”
Diego smirked. “Pretty sure that’s not what she meant.” He turned to Roman. “Bring her back anytime.”
Rick and Roy both nodded, and I smiled at them.
Roman grabbed my hand and started walking toward the door. “Fuck, no. I’ll be in touch.” He didn’t turn around as we walked out.
Roman clenched the steering wheel and locked his jaw as he pulled out of Diego’s parking lot.
I studied his face curiously. “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because when we walked out to the garage, you had your skirt hiked up to your goddamn waist with your crotch pressed to that bike, and those two men were eye-fucking you.”
I gasped and narrowed my eyes. “You did not just say that to me.”
“Yes, I believe I did.”
“You’re wrong. They were perfectly appropriate. It was a great afternoon, so don’t ruin it.” I folded my arms and looked out the window. “And they were not staring at my ass,” I mumbled.
“They were absolutely staring at your ass. You bent over right in front of them, and they didn’t have a fucking choice. It’s like throwing bacon in front of untrained dogs and telling them not to go after it. That doesn’t mean they’d touch you unless you signaled you were up for it, but they sure as fuck will look.”
My cheeks heated, and I changed the subject. “What did Diego mean about you having a claim on me?”
“They’re part of a motorcycle club, and Diego has a few members he thought might be interested in you.”
“Oh, that’s nice I guess. I don’t date, though. Law school is more than enough.” I stared out the window.
“That’s nice ? Do you know what it would be like to be owned by a member?”
I turned to him. “I’ve read books, but maybe I missed something, so why don’t you tell me?” He ground his teeth but didn’t speak, and I thought it was better not to push him.
“Where are we going now?”
“To lunch, back to the office, and then I’ll take you home.”
“I have food at home. You can just drop me off there.”
“No.”
I glared at him. “You need to learn some new words. Every time I ask for anything, you say no.”
He didn’t answer, and I sat silently sulking. A few moments later, he glanced over and his lips twitched. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” I asked suspiciously.
“Exactly. Blessed silence. Not a goddamned thing–no questions, no snarky remarks, no arguments.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re so funny. Seriously, why do you have to drive me around everywhere? Especially if you don’t even like me?”
“Because I want to. What are you hungry for?”
Shrugging, I looked out the window. “I usually eat a cheese stick and an apple for lunch. I’m not picky.”
“Okay. How about La Fontaine?”
“Too fancy.”
He glance at me. “Chubbs?”
“Too greasy.”
“Ruby’s Diner.”
“Sounds delicious, but it’ll take us an hour to even get a seat.”
“I thought you said you aren’t picky? By all means, you throw out a few ideas.”
“How about Luna’s kitchen at the lovely Palm Desert Oasis Mortuary, and we eat chicken curry and sautéed veggies?”
He glanced at me and shrugged. “Sounds good. Your apartment it is.”
“You told Sylvie you know her grandfather.”
“I do.”
“Can I invite him to lunch? Sylvie is out of town, and he’s probably lonely.”
Roman eyed me carefully. “You want to invite Ezra Spade to lunch with us because you think he’s lonely.”
“Yeah.”
He wiped his hand down his face and sighed. “Luna, how well do you know Ezra?”
From Roman’s tone, I knew what he was asking. “I know him, and the rest of the family, well.”
“How well?”
“They’re my foster family, and if you say anything bad about them. I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Roman’s eye seemed to twitch. “Alright. Let’s go eat lunch with Ezra Spade.”
A half-hour later, Ezra buzzed the doorbell and walked in. “I brought homemade lemon bars. It’s quiet at the mortuary without Sylvie and Alexa around, so thank you for the lunch invite.” Holding up the plate of goodies, he smiled then stopped short when he saw Roman. I’d just laid out the food on the small kitchen table.
Ezra’s eyes narrowed. “Hello, Roman. I didn’t know you knew our sweet Luna.”
“Nice to see you, Ezra. She’s doing her law school internship with me. I haven’t talked to you in a while. How’s business?”
Ezra’s eyes flickered, and I saw protectiveness and a warning in them. Then he smiled faintly. “We own a funeral home, so my business is guaranteed. You know what they say about death and taxes.”
“The mortuary is just one of your family businesses, and enough people cheat on their taxes, so I’m not sure how accurate the second part of that statement is,” Roman murmured.
Ezra inclined his head, and we sat down to eat.
“This is delicious, Luna.” Ezra smiled at me then turned to Roman, his smile sliding off. “How’s your law practice doing? Are you still buying up business interests?”
“Yes. And you? Have you had any of your business accounts trigger AML lately?”
Ezra’s hand tightened on his fork. “Nothing like you dealt with a couple of years ago, from what I hear.”
Sighing, I put my water glass down and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Are you two done slinging white-collar crime accusations at each other? You’re giving me heartburn.”
Roman leaned back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I rolled my eyes and ate a bite of chicken. “I’m taking federal tax law right now. And AML stands for anti-money laundering. Just stop.”
Ezra cleared his throat and straightened. “I apologize. Why didn’t you go with Sylvie and Alexa to Oceanside for your fall break?”
Glaring at Roman, I answered. “Because my mentor decided I needed to shadow him all week and had no problem ruining my vacation.” I shoved a piece of carrot in my mouth and continued to glare.
Ezra picked up his fork again and studied Roman carefully. “Let’s just hope that’s all he plans to ruin.”