Vanessa #2
“I’m not much of a cook,” he says as though he’s apologizing.
“I appreciate you trying,” I tell him with a small smile.
I pick up the toast, and though it’s burned on one side, the other is still edible.
“The toast is good,” I say around my mouthful.
“One half at least.”
I set the piece down and we both chuckle quietly.
“You know,” I start. “I’m actually pretty handy in the kitchen. How about I do the cooking in exchange for room and board?”
“Vanessa, no one expects you to do anything while you’re here. Not cook, not clean, not get on your knees like a bunny.”
The sudden turn in his mood throws me for a bit of a loop. We were just laughing about his terrible culinary skills, and now he’s frustrated and maybe even a bit angry that I would offer to pitch in. But it also gives me an idea, and I hate myself for it.
“Listen, Braxton. I know I made some assumptions about what my staying here would mean last night, and believe me, you made it clear that there were no expectations. But I don’t feel right not helping in some way.
I’m not saying it’s going to be five-course meals every day, but I think I can at least make you guys breakfast in the morning.
And I’m perfectly capable of doing some cleaning.
It’s not like I’m offering to wash and fold everyone’s underwear or anything. ”
“You absolutely will not be doing that,” he says, and I smile.
“No, I won’t. But I can at least do some dusting and vacuuming. Maybe run a mop through here every once in a while.” I look at the floor and though it isn’t filthy, it could use a good mopping.
“That’s what prospects are for,” he replies.
My head tilts to the side. “Think of this as a little break for them. It’s only for while I’m here.” I look at my plate, then back to Braxton. “I’m going to be cooking for myself anyways. What’s a few more people?”
Braxton chews on the thought for a few silent moments, so I continue.
“Look, you said it yourself—I’m not good at taking help from people.
I need to feel like I’m contributing, Braxton.
It…it doesn’t sit well with me to just be hanging out here.
It’s a few bruises, nothing that would prevent me from feeling like I’m earning my keep. ”
I can’t push this too hard. Honestly, a break from everything sounds amazing, but I don’t have that luxury. The idea that I’m going to seduce a brother and get them to spill their secrets like Russ suggested makes my stomach roil. But snooping under the guise of cleaning doesn’t seem as bad.
Oh, who am I kidding? It’s all bad.
“I get it. I wish you would take our kindness as just that, but I understand where you’re coming from,” he says. “Okay. Light cleaning”—he directs a pointed stare at me—“and breakfast in the morning. The prospects can make their own damn sandwiches for lunch.”
“What about dinners?”
“Someone usually gets takeout or barbecues. But if you want to make something, I won’t complain.”
I hold out my hand to shake his. “We have a deal.”
When he puts his hand in mine and squeezes gently, I have to stop my eyelids from fluttering closed. It’s so warm and strong and brings back memories of the pleasure that these hands and fingers are capable of eliciting. Okay, this is getting ridiculous, Vanessa.
Braxton releases his hold and stands from his seat. “I have to get to work. Ozzy should be here soon, and just a warning, the girls are probably going to stop by at some point today to check on you. And probably to try to get the dirt from you about us knowing each other.”
“Do you want me to make something up?”
He jerks his head back. “Why?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s a little awkward for you now that I work at Midnight Rose or something?”
“Vanessa, there is nothing either of us should feel awkward about. I don’t care that you’re a dancer, and neither will the other girls. As for our night together, I don’t have any regrets or feel the need to lie about it. Ozzy knows we have history, brief as it was.”
“So tell them all the sordid details?” I ask, tilting the corner of my mouth up.
“I don’t care one way or the other. Just as long as you make me sound good,” he says, returning my smirk.
“Oh, so it’s all about you then, huh?”
Braxton arches a brow as he stares down at me. “Sweetheart, I think we can both attest to the fact that I made damn sure it was all about you that night.”
Then he winks—fucking winks—at me before heading toward the door.
I’m stunned stupid at his remark. Well, maybe not completely stunned considering there’s a distinct tingle in certain parts of my body.
A few minutes pass before his bike starts and the loud roar of his engine disappears onto the highway as he rides away, jolting me out of my wayward thoughts.
“Braxton said you wanted to help out,” Danny says, walking into the clubhouse.
Clearing my throat, I nod. “I do.”
“Okay, I’ll show you where we keep the cleaning supplies. Just so we’re clear, he also told me to make sure you don’t overdo it.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course he did,” I mumble.
“I’m letting you know because it will be my ass on the line if he decides I let you do too much.”
Leaning back in my chair, I give the man a sugary smile and lift my hand, holding up three fingers. “I will take it easy, Scout’s honor.”
Danny raises a brow. “Were you ever a Girl Scout?”
A bark of laughter escapes me. Not even close. I lower my hand and stand. “No. But I’ll make sure you don’t get in trouble.” I pick up my plate and walk toward the kitchen. “Have you had breakfast?”
“No,” he answers hesitantly.
“Don’t worry. Braxton agreed to let me be in charge of breakfast. You won’t get yelled at for me making you some eggs.”
“Okay then. I appreciate that. But I’m cleaning up the dishes.”
Never in my life have I had to argue with a man about who does what chores.
“Fine,” I say with a laugh. “Whatever you say.”
Two hours later, after I’ve run a dusting cloth over all of the light fixtures in the main area of the clubhouse and the blinds, I sit down on the couch with a glass of water. I look through some magazines lying on the large coffee table.
“Motorcycle, motorcycle, motorcycle,” I whisper, shuffling through them.
I pick one up and start thumbing through it.
My eyes snag on a beautiful purple-and-black custom Harley.
I’m not necessarily one for salivating over bikes, but even I can respect the effort it takes to make something look like this.
Then my gaze lands on the credits below the picture.
“br Auto Repair and Customs. Lead mechanic: Braxton Reynolds,” I read out loud.
“Don’t tell Braxton you found that.”
The deep voice makes me jump, and I close the magazine as Ozzy walks behind the bar and refills his coffee mug.
“Why?” I ask.
“He hates the attention. When that magazine came out, Barrett bought about a hundred copies and plastered that page all over the clubhouse and the shop. He even wallpapered the bathroom with them,” Ozzy says, chuckling before sipping his coffee. “You into bikes?”
“Not really,” I reply with a shrug. “But he does beautiful work. Something like that must take a shit ton of patience and talent.”
“Braxton’s got both.”
The front door of the clubhouse opens, and in walk Mia and Cece, followed by three other women I’ve yet to meet.
One of the women, who is dressed in a smart pantsuit and carrying a paper bag, walks up to Ozzy.
“Hey, pretty girl,” the man greets her. He sets his mug on the counter and wraps an arm around her, bending down to give her a kiss. “You’re a surprise.”
“A good one, I hope,” she says.
Ozzy smiles. “Always. I keep telling you to set up an office here instead of in town.”
The woman leans back and looks Ozzy in the eye. “You and I both know that neither of us would get work done if I did that.”
Ozzy chuckles and presses a kiss to her lips. “Fair.” He glances at me and then back to the woman in his arms. “Come meet Vanessa.”
When Ozzy releases her, they both walk over to me along with the other girls. Ozzy’s woman is the first to introduce herself. “Hi, Vanessa. I’m Freya, Ozzy’s fiancée.”
I stand and hold out my hand to shake hers. “Nice to meet you. So, you’re like, the queen of this place, I assume?”
Freya laughs. “That would make Ozzy a king, and no one needs to give him a bigger ego.”
“Hey,” Ozzy protests with a smile. “I think I’d like to be called King Ozzy.”
“In your dreams,” Freya teases. “I’m also a lawyer. If you ever decide you need one, I’d be more than happy to talk to you about it.”
The offer instantly makes me feel like shit.
It reminds me, once again, of the false pretenses I came to the clubhouse cloaked in.
Freya was obviously apprised of my situation and thinks I need help putting away my nonexistent ex.
I’m not an abused girlfriend, but I’m supposed to play the part. I am playing the part.
“Thank you,” I respond and don’t elaborate further.
“This is my sister, Lucy,” Cece says, pointing to a woman with dark hair and an obviously pregnant belly. “And her best friend, Charlie.”
Charlie offers me a warm smile. “It’s good to meet you, Vanessa.”
“I hope you got a few swings in yourself,” Lucy says, eyeing my face.
“I tried.” Obviously, I didn’t, but I like to think if I were really in a situation where a man was beating me, I’d be able to give as good as I got.
Instead, the reality is…I took this beating from Russ so I could exploit his belief that the Black Roses have a protective streak, which, to my surprise, turned out to be true.
I was not planning on meeting all the other old ladies or being offered legal services to get justice for a mess that I’m one-hundred-percent lying about.
“Well, good thing you’re here. We can show you how to fuck him up if he ever comes after you again,” Lucy says, then waves at her belly. “I mean, obviously not me right now, but my sister is fucking fierce.”