Knight in Basic Black Shirt
Maisie
Violence. It was never the answer – not even when dealing with an entitled asshat like Chadwick Kensington the Third. I mean, sure it would feel terrific to whack the snot out of him with my clipboard, but I was better than that.
Hopefully.
I plastered on what I hoped was a smile. "There is no one else. I am the boss." Sure, like that was something to brag about.
All morning, I'd been running my ass off, pulling double-duty and still falling behind. And who was in charge of this circus? Oh, right. That would be me – hungover, understaffed, and pondering murder by clipboard.
But since I'd spelled everything out, maybe the guy would finally see reason.
Right on cue, Chadwick Kensington said with a laugh, "Come on, that's adorable. But I'm no idiot."
Oh, boy. I didn't have the energy to unpack all of the ways that statement was both ironic and insulting. What I needed now was a muzzle, because I was half a second away from saying something I would surely regret.
Lucky for me, the guy kept on talking. "You're too young to be the boss."
The guy knew nothing . Already, I'd spent a dozen summers working at the shop. The only thing I didn't lack was experience. "I'm twenty-six," I said. "How old are you?"
He drew back. "That's none of your business."
Okay, on this, he had a point. After all, he was the customer. And he deserved some credit. At least he hadn't said I was too girly.
But then he ruined it all by saying, "I'm not messing around. I want to see the guy in charge."
My fingers twitched on the clipboard, and I looked down, trying to get a grip. Maybe a little whack wouldn't hurt. Much.
I took a deep breath, preparing to say something – I wasn't even sure what – when I heard someone call out, "Sorry I'm late."
I froze. That voice – it was cool, masculine, and way too familiar.
I looked up and sure enough, spotted Mister Wall Street striding toward us. I glanced around. He couldn't have been speaking to me – even if he was clearly making a beeline in my direction.
And then it hit me.
Of course.
He'd been calling out to my customer. This shouldn't be a surprise. They were cut from the same cloth. They probably belonged to the same country club – assuming that was still a thing.
But when Mister Wall Street reached us, he kept his eyes trained on me. "It was my alarm."
I gave a confused shake of my head. "Excuse me?"
"Yeah. It didn't go off. Power blipped at the house."
I stared up at the guy. Alarm? House? The way it sounded, he'd overslept, but why was he telling me?
Before I could think to reply, he'd already turned to "Chad" and said, "Chadwick Kensington, right?"
"The third," Chad corrected.
"Right," Wall Street said. "The third." He paused. "I'm afraid I've got bad news." He flicked his head toward the customized bike. "That one's taken."
I did a double-take. Wait, what?
Chad stiffened. "What do you mean it's taken?"
Wall Street shrugged with apparent regret. "It's on-hold for a VIP."
Chad's face contorted. "Hey, I'm a VIP. Who the hell are you?"
Good question.
That's when Mister Wall Street returned his attention to me. Our eyes locked as he said, "Her associate."
My breath caught. Holy crap. Was this guy actually coming to my rescue? If so, he was the first person who'd had my back in weeks – at least when it came to the bikes.
He gave me the faintest nod – like we were in this together – and for reasons I couldn't explain, I felt steadier on my feet.
And now I couldn't look away. As our gazes held, I tried not to notice that his eyes were the most compelling ones I'd ever seen, like he knew things and wasn't afraid to share them. Before I knew what was happening, I'd already given him a slight nod back.
Chad's voice broke the spell by turning his wrath on my rescuer. "Hey! I'm the customer here. Why are you looking at her?"
Wall Street turned to him with a grin. "Because she's the one in charge." He said it so casually, like it was obvious, like he believed in me more than I did.
I couldn't help but stare. What the heck was going on? And why did Mister Wall Street look so good when he smiled?
Today, he was wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt in basic black. But there was nothing basic about him , and I was still trying to make sense of it when Chad sputtered, "And what's this about my bike?"
His bike?
Wall Street leaned closer to Chad and dropped his voice. "Sorry, it's double-booked. My mistake, not hers."
I almost choked in surprise.
Chad's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
Wall Street replied, "You were offered an eclectic bike, correct?"
"Yes. And I was told it would be premium." Chad started ticking off on his fingers. "Motorized. Exclusive. The best you've got." His hand dropped. "You're feeling me, right?"
"Sure, but it's a no-go on the motor." Again, Wall Street leaned in as if confessing a crime. "Unless you want to end up in the slammer."
Chad blinked. "The slammer?"
"Yeah, jail." Wall Street said it with a straight face, like it happened all the time. "Small towns, am I right?"
Chad's gaze grew wary. "I guess so."
"But thing is," Wall Street continued, "that bike – Shark Attack – it's part of our Eclectic Elite collection. It's a great choice, but it's actually been reserved."
Chad eyed the bike with renewed interest. "Yeah. By me ."
"Yes and no," Wall Street said. "The thing is, someone beat you to it. But I forgot to put it in the book."
Chad looked up. "What are you saying? That I can't have it?"
Wall Street shook his head. "I'm afraid not."
Afraid – it was a funny word coming from my rescuer. Somehow, I had the distinct impression that this guy wasn't afraid of anything.
And now Chad was blustering. "But I'm here. They're not. If anyone should get the bike, it's me." With a jerk of his chin, he announced, "And I wanna call it Shark Bike."
I said nothing. He could call it Nancy for all I cared.
I just wanted it resolved one way or another, preferably without losing money or face. His rental had been pre-paid, and I dreaded the thought of giving him a refund, because, well…I didn't have the funds on hand.
How embarrassing would that be?
My rescuer made a face of regret as he told Chad, "I wish I could help. And I would , trust me. But this reservation came in weeks ago." Again, he lowered his voice. "And believe me when I say, this guy isn't someone you'd cross."
Chad gave a furtive glance over his shoulder. "Who is it?"
"I'm not at liberty to say – NDA and all."
A non-disclosure agreement? Seriously?
Chad puffed up like a blowfish. "That's ridiculous. I'm a verified influencer." He pointed to the same sharky bike that he'd rejected just moments ago. "And that's the bike I want."
"I hear you," Wall Street said. "But if we give it to you and the VIP shows up? He'll make trouble. You know how these rich guys are."
I almost snorted. Wall Street was a rich guy. Probably he was talking from experience.
Chad was starting to sweat. "Well…can't you offer him something else?"
"Sorry, that's above my pay grade." Wall Street flicked his head in my direction. "Like I said, she's the one in charge."
The handoff was so smooth, I almost smiled – even as Chad turned pleading eyes on me. "Listen, you want good publicity, right?"
I hardly knew what to say. "Sure, but – "
"I can make it happen. But listen up." He extended an arm and pointed straight at the bike in question. "I. Want. That. Bike."