2. Rick
2
RICK
Running a legitimate business while being part of a motorcycle club is all about balance. This morning, that balance means wearing my one decent suit while my Harley roars through Wolf Pike’s quiet streets.
The sun’s barely up, but I’ve got contractors waiting at the gallery and an interview that might finally solve our staff turnover problem.
My phone buzzes in my pocket—probably Chase complaining about having to open today. Or Zane with another excuse for being late. Being the oldest of three brothers means always being the responsible one, even at forty-two.
Wolf Pike wakes up around me as I take Main Street’s gentle curve. Old man Wilson is already sweeping his barbershop’s front walk, the same as he has for thirty years. The morning crowd spills onto the sidewalk in front of Sarah’s Diner, the smell of bacon making my stomach growl.
Cross Brothers’ Ink Gallery occupies prime real estate downtown, sandwiched between The Den and Wolf Pack Grill. All three businesses are ours, though most folks in town don’t realize how deep that ownership runs.
The gallery’s our high-end tattoo shop, which draws clients from three states. The other two establishments handle different kinds of business—bar and restaurant.
I park my bike out front, noticing Chase’s motorcycle already in its spot. Maybe my middle brother is finally growing up. The thought dies when I walk in and find him sprawled on the waiting room couch, apparently sleeping off whatever adventures kept him out late.
“Really?” I kick his boot. “We’ve got contractors coming in twenty minutes.”
Chase cracks one eye open. “And they’ll see exactly what they expect from a tattoo shop—the artist recovering from a wild night while his uptight brother handles business.”
He’s not wrong, which just irritates me more. “Where’s Zane?” I left at dawn for my usual circuit around town, missing whatever business Zane’s up to.
“Still fighting with the lawn mower last I saw him. Said something about showing up the new neighbor.” Chase sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You know how he gets with a challenge.”
Great. Just what we need—Zane starting drama with another neighbor. Last time, it was the retired schoolteacher who complained about his bike’s noise. Before that, the college kid who kept parking in our spot.
“The interview’s at nine-thirty,” I remind him, heading for my office. “Try to look professional by then.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President.” Chase’s mock salute follows me down the hall. “Though why we need another office manager is beyond me. The last three couldn’t handle us.”
“Because you and Zane can’t keep your cocks in your pants.” I pause at my office door. “Two months, Chase. The last one lasted two months before you both had her signing that ridiculous consent form of yours.”
“She knew what she was getting into.” His grin turns wolfish. “And if I remember right, you didn’t exactly object when she suggested all three of us take her to dinner—and the hotel uptown afterward.” He winks.
He’s right. We’ve always shared everything—our home, our business, and sometimes, when the chemistry is right, our women. But that’s exactly why I dragged myself out of bed at dawn today. The gallery needs someone professional. Someone focused on the job instead of the possibility of landing all three Cross brothers and vice versa.
“Not this time.” I fix him with a hard stare. “Whoever we hire today is off-limits. I mean it.”
“Spoilsport.” But he nods, knowing I’m right.
My office tells the story of our success—certificates on the walls, ledgers neat on the desk, everything perfectly legitimate. The safe behind the hunting photo holds other records, the ones that keep Wolf Pike’s less savory elements in check.
The contractors arrive exactly on time, bringing plans for the gallery’s expansion. We’re taking over the space next door, above The Den, adding more private rooms for the high-end clients Chase’s reputation keeps bringing in.
It’s a good problem to have, even if the timing’s tricky with Death’s Head MC sniffing around our territory lately.
“These support beams need checking.” The head contractor points at the blueprints. “Might need extra reinforcement for the second floor.”
I’m about to respond when motorcycles roar past outside—not our guys. The rumble has that distinctive Death’s Head growl Chase always complains about. Message received. They’re watching our expansion plans.
“Whatever it needs,” I tell him, keeping my voice steady. “We’re not cutting corners.”
The meeting runs long, eating into the time I’d planned to review resumes before the interview. Chase wanders in as the contractors leave, looking marginally more awake.
“Teller called,” he says, dropping into the chair across from my desk. “Said to remind you about tonight’s meeting. Sounds serious.”
Of course it does. Everything’s serious lately—territory disputes and protection arrangements. The Black Wolves MC might have started as a brotherhood, but under Teller’s leadership, it’s become something bigger. Something that needs legitimate faces like ours.
“You seen today’s candidate’s resume?” Chase picks up the file I was reaching for. “Evie Ashbourne. Single mom. Accounting experience. Boring.”
“Boring might be exactly what we need.” I take the file back. “Someone who’ll actually focus on work instead of getting tangled up in?—”
The gallery’s front door chimes. Through my office window, I see Zane finally arriving, a leather jacket thrown over bare shoulders. He’s grinning like he just won something.
“You’re late,” I call out as he passes my door.
“Had an interesting morning.” He pokes his head in, still wearing that troublemaker’s smile. “Met the new neighbor.”
Chase perks up. “The one in the blue house? With the kids?”
“The very same.” Zane’s grin widens. “Let’s just say mornings just got more entertaining.”
Before I can remind him about not getting involved with neighbors, the door chimes again. This time, the sound stops all three of us cold.
Our new applicant strides through the door in a black dress that hugs her curves. Her portfolio’s tucked under one arm, and she carries herself like someone who’s faced down worse than a tattoo shop interview.
“Well,” my youngest brother drawls, “if it isn’t my new neighbor.”
Her spine straightens. “Mr. Cross. I didn’t realize you worked here.”
“Just Zane. And I do more than work here.” His grin turns predatory. “I own the place. Well, part of it.”
I watch her process this information. Most women either giggle at my brother’s charm or run from it. Evie Ashbourne does neither.
“How unfortunate.” Her voice stays perfectly level. “I was hoping for a professional environment.”
Chase chokes on his coffee. I hide my own smile. It’s been a while since someone put Zane in his place so efficiently.
“Ms. Ashbourne?” I step forward, extending my hand. “I’m Rick Cross. We spoke on the phone.”
Her handshake is firm and confident. Up close, I notice things my brother probably missed while flirting—the watchful intelligence in her eyes, the way she positions herself to keep all exits in view.
“Please, come in.” I gesture toward my office. “Don’t mind my brothers. They’ll behave. Or else.”
“Party pooper,” Zane mutters, but he moves aside to let her pass.
My office feels different with her in it. Smaller, maybe. There’s something there, something I can’t pin down. She sits across from me, her focus sharp as she straightens her portfolio with care.
“Your resume is impressive.” I open her file. “Though there’s a gap in your employment history.”
“My husband cleaned out our accounts and disappeared with the woman he was cheating on me with.” She delivers this information without hesitation. “I spent that time getting back on my feet.”
The story is sad, no doubt about it. And the way she tells it, I can’t help but believe her—and feel sorry for her.
“And now you’re ready to return to work?”
“More than ready.” She meets my gaze steadily. “My daughters need stability. I need purpose. Your gallery needs someone who can handle both books and people.”
Behind her, through my office window, I see both my brothers lingering. Chase pretends to sort mail, while Zane doesn’t even bother hiding his interest.
“The job can be demanding,” I warn her. “Long hours. Complex situations. Three bosses who don’t always agree.”
“I’ve handled worse. And I’m very good at navigating complex personalities.”
“One last question.” I lean back, studying her. “Why a tattoo gallery? Your qualifications could land you something more…conventional.”
Her eyes brighten with a subtle amusement. “Maybe I’m done with the predictable, Mr. Cross.”
“Rick,” I correct her. “If you’re going to work here, it’s just Rick.”
A smile plays on her lips. “If I’m going to work here?”
I glance at my brothers again. Chase gives me a subtle nod. Even Zane, for all his flirting, looks impressed.
“Can you start Monday?”
Relief softens her features for just a moment before she quickly reins it in. “Monday would be perfect.”
I stand to shake her hand again. This time, I notice the edge of a tattoo peeking from her collar. Interesting choice of placement for someone who claims to be conventional.
“Welcome to Cross Brothers’ Ink Gallery, Ms. Ashbourne.”
“Evie,” she corrects me, echoing my earlier tone. “If I’m going to work here.”
She leaves with the same confidence she entered with. All three of us watch her go.
“Well,” Chase breaks the silence. “That was interesting.”
Zane’s still staring at the door. “Told you mornings got more entertaining.”
“Both of you, focus.” I snap my fingers. “She’s staff now. Off-limits.”
But even as I say it, there’s a sense of inevitability settling over me, like the gallery itself is holding its breath, waiting for what comes next.
My brothers return to work, but I catch them stealing glances at Evie through the front windows as she walks to her car. I understand the impulse. There’s something about her that draws attention.
Something that makes me wonder if hiring her will turn out to be brilliant or disastrous.
Only time will tell.