Tilly 4.
“Aged Barrel Bank, this is Matilda, how may I help you?” I answer absently, waiting for my computer to finish booting up.
“Tilly.” I freeze at the sound of that rich voice, like warm caramel.
“Wilson.” I wince, knowing that sounded as breathy and sensual to him as it did to me.
I hear the smile in his voice, “It’s good to hear your voice.” My voice? He must have no idea what his deep tenor does to a woman. And I’m not about to tell him.
“Did you have a chance to read through the material I sent you?”
“Down to business, then.” He grumps and it makes me grin obnoxiously. Thank God it’s not a video call. “I did, and more importantly, I presented it to my club. The Congressionals MC would like to be involved. It’s a worthy cause and we know firsthand how integral something like this is for the community.”
I squeal. I can’t help it. “That’s great! How many tickets do you need to buy? What items are you donating?”
“Whoa. Whoa. Need to sit down and discuss all the details with you in person. Come to the clubhouse tonight for drinks.”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I think about what he’s saying. Caramel voice or not, I don’t know him. Yet. “Could we meet at the kitchen and bar on Centennial?”
“Good girl.” He mutters, but I hear him clearly. Don’t ask me why his praise hits me like an electric shock to my tummy, but it does, and I don’t want to talk about it. “We’ll meet you there at 6:30.”
“We?” I repeat dumbly.
“Yeah, babe. You’ve got the attention of the entire Congressionals Motorcycle Club.”
“Well, poop.” I mumble, his hearty laughter as he hangs up tells me I wasn’t quiet enough. Meeting Wilson makes my tummy churn and my heart race…with professional excitement of course. Nothing else. But meeting the club? Or at least the officers…that excitement is turning to something else. Apprehension? Fear? No, not fear. Maybe both my brother and I lack self-preservation, but nothing inside me screams stranger-danger about Wilson. Changing our meeting location to somewhere public is just smart and ingrained from years of being a single woman. Neutral territory. And I don’t know that I’m ready to see what their clubhouse is like just yet. The prospect of seeing Wilson on his own is too great to pass up. But based on what I’ve read about clubs, I should have known he probably wouldn’t be coming alone.
Ok. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I can do this. This is business. It’s to benefit Independence and its residents. With that thought in mind, I get distracted by work, thankfully, not thinking about my evening plans until just after lunch.
I walk into the breakroom to put my half-eaten lunch in the fridge. A few of the tellers are sitting around, thankfully not Patrice, and I offer them a friendly smile. They’ve been nice since my arrival, but none have gone out of their way to welcome me into the fold. I get it, I’m their boss. And a newcomer. I have to earn my spot among them.
Vicki taps her fingers on the table, “How’s the fundraiser going, Tilly?” Standing up, I close the fridge and face the group with a genuine broad grin.
“Very good, so far. A few businesses have been…reluctant, but Kohlman Associates—”
“Oh.” Cambyl’s eyes widen in shock, then dart around the table.
I internally sigh, knowing I’m about to get the same reaction from them that I got from my brother and Patrice.
“Who did you talk to there? Kadisha?”
“No, Heather, I spoke to Wilson.” She gets a dreamy look in her eyes that has my hand twitching with the need to smack her. She’s thinking of Wilson, which means she probably knows what he looks like. Does she know how well he wears his birthday suit? “I’m meeting them this evening to go over the details. I think they’ll prove to be our biggest donor.” I don’t know any such thing but based on the number of people who have hung up on me, only and biggest may be synonymous.
“Biggest for sure!” Vicki wiggles her eyebrows and the other women giggle.
“Are you a friend of Wilson’s?” I inquire and mentally pat myself on the back for keeping my voice even.
Vicki waves me off, “Nah, no one is really friends with any of the Congressionals.”
“You should be careful, Tilly. I know you’re new here, so you probably don’t know. But the Congressionals, and Kohlman’s by association, are…they’re a little rough around the edges.” Heather warns.
“But they’re lawyers?”
“Yes. So, they are familiar with the law and ways to skirt around it.” She points out.
“They’re bad guys?” I didn’t get that impression, but what the hell do I know? It’s a phone call, two really, it’s not like we bared our souls to one another. I’ve never seen his face, gauged his reaction, looked him in the eye.
“They live by their own set of rules, but they fuck like gods, so no one really cares.”
“Wilson?” I croak, hating the idea of Vicki, or anyone else knowing how he…does things.
“No, Buchanan. Good God, the things that man can do…”
I plaster a smile on my face and start to walk out of the breakroom. “Thanks for the info, ladies, I’ll be sure to keep it in mind. But it’s a charity event, so I don’t need to know how well they…right, anyway, I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
I hear their giggles and whispering as I walk back to my office, softly closing the door. I need a minute.
A few hours later, I walk into the house I share with my brother. He’s sitting in the living room with a cold beer in his hand. “Hey, how was work?”
“Educational.” I state, dropping my purse by the front door and toeing off my kitten heels. “I’m gonna shower and change, I have a dinner meeting at 6:30.”
“But…but…” he stutters, “It’s Frittata Friday.” Seems like I’m not the only one who needs to get out more.
“I know, but I’m meeting a potential donor for drinks and dinner to discuss.” Tybs’ face brightens immediately, and I groan knowing what’s coming.
“I’ll come with you. Give me a few minutes to change.” He’s already showered and is wearing joggers and a t-shirt.
“I’m good, enjoy your evening.” I want to go on my own. Want to see for myself what the men of the Congressionals MC are like. What Wilson is like. I don’t need my big brother there.
Ugh. I’m being stupid. Again. He should come with me. I’m meeting a group of strange men by myself, even if it’s in public.
“No.”
I shrug, fighting a grin. “Don’t enjoy your evening, then. No skin off my nose.”
“Brat. No, I’m not staying home. I’m coming with you. I’m the director, I should be there. Plus, you shouldn’t be going on your own. And I’ll just follow you there anyway.”
I sag in defeat. “I know. Alright, I’ll be ready in a half hour.”