Chapter 5 Morgan
Morgan
Morgan smoothed her hands down the front of her black dress for the seventh time in as many minutes, studying her reflection with a critical eye. Too dressy? Not dressy enough? Impossible to say when she didn’t know where they were going.
A laugh bubbled up in her throat. She was getting ready for dinner with a man whose face she’d never seen, whose real name she didn’t know, and whose voice she’d only heard modulated through a helmet.
This was either the beginning of a romantic adventure or a cautionary tale Tessa would tell at her funeral.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she told her reflection, reaching for her lipstick. “It’s a thank-you dinner, not a date.”
Her phone chimed with a text, and her stomach flipped with anticipation.
Corner of Hadley and 8th. 7:30.
No restaurant name. Just an intersection.
Before she could respond, another text arrived.
Weird request. Would you be comfortable maintaining anonymity? It’s... complicated.
Morgan stared at the message, a smile slowly spreading across her face. As much as she wanted to know who her masked hero was, the idea was appealing.
He wanted to keep the mystery going. She found herself oddly charmed by the idea—and maybe a little relieved.
After all, she’d just ended things with Jason.
This wasn’t the time to start something new.
Perhaps an anonymous dinner was exactly what she needed—all the intrigue without the complications of a real connection.
I’m actually ok with that. I like not knowing. Makes this less... whatever this is. I’m in.
His response was immediate: Perfect.
She bit her lip, then added: How exactly does one eat with a helmet on?
The three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared. I have a plan. Trust me?
Those two words sent a shiver down her spine. Trust him? She barely knew him. Yet some instinct told her she could.
I trust you. See you at 7:30.
Her dad had managed a sales team while he was alive, and one of the things he had drilled into her was ‘trust but verify’ and meeting a strange man on the corner of a street without letting anyone know where she was headed was potential suicide.
She shot off a text to Tessa: I’m meeting Motorcycle Man for dinner tonight at the corner of Hadley and 8th.
Tessa’s response was quick: If you need me to fake an emergency, just let me know. And if I don’t hear back from you by midnight, I’ll send the cavalry.
Satisfied, Morgan set her phone down and returned to her makeup, applying a deep red lipstick with more care than usual. If they were going to play this game of mutual anonymity, she might as well embrace the intrigue, but she wasn’t an idiot.
As she left her apartment, the new locks clicked satisfyingly behind her. The security bar Kane had installed added an extra layer of protection that made her shoulders relax. One less thing to worry about.
Morgan drove to the intersection, arriving at the corner of Hadley and 8th a few minutes early.
She parked her car in a small lot nearby and scanned the area, looking for a man in black leather and a helmet.
Instead, she spotted a sleek black motorcycle parked alone, outside what appeared to be a closed boutique.
On the seat was a single white rose, and as she got closer, she noticed a note attached.
Follow the alley beside the boutique. - B
Morgan’s eyes darted around the empty evening street as she brought the bloom up to deeply inhale it’s aroma, half-expecting to find herself on a hidden camera show.
The thoughtful and unexpected gift made her smile. She tucked the note into her purse and headed down the alley, carefully twisting the rose stem between her fingers, careful to avoid the thorns.
Fairy lights strung overhead illuminated a path to a small courtyard hidden between buildings.
In the center stood a small square table, beautifully set with a gold tablecloth and candles.
A privacy screen had been erected around the space, transforming what should have been an ordinary alley into something magical.
And there he was—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark jeans and a fitted black button-down rather than his riding gear from the evening before, but still wearing the black helmet that concealed his identity.
He turned at the sound of her footsteps, and even without seeing his face, she could feel his eyes on her, even behind the dark visor.
“I was starting to think this might be an elaborate scheme to steal my kidney,” she said, stepping into the enchanting space.
A deep chuckle came from behind the visor. “Too much paperwork. Besides, your muffins won Kane over. He’d be upset if anything happened to his new favorite baker.”
“High praise. He seemed to know what he was doing with those locks.”
“Kane’s the best.” He gestured to the table. “I hope this setup works for you. I thought a private space would be better for our... unique situation.”
Morgan took in the twinkling lights, the elegant place settings, the bottle of wine waiting to be opened on the table. “Did you arrange all this yourself?”
“I know people who know people.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Who happen to owe me favors.”
“Must be nice,” she said, taking her seat and allowing him to push her chair in. “I seem to accumulate IOUs rather than favors.”
He sat across from her, the helmet still firmly in place. “About the eating situation..."
“I’ve been wondering about that,” Morgan admitted with a smile. “I’m picturing some elaborate straw system fed through the helmet.”
He laughed, the sound warm even through the modulator. “Not quite. You could look down when I need to take a bite. You’ll have to let me know when you’re not looking.”
“So I’ll be closing my eyes a lot?”
“Only if you want to. Or we could use this.” He reached beside the table and produced a decorative folding screen, about a foot and a half tall—perfect to place between them on the table. “Old-fashioned, but effective.”
“You’ve really thought this through,” Morgan said, impressed despite herself.
“I like to be prepared.” He set the screen on the table off to the side. “And I’ve arranged for the food to arrive in courses.”
As if on cue, a waiter appeared from a hidden panel, carrying two plates. He set them down without comment, opened and poured the wine, and disappeared again.
“So,” Morgan said once they were alone. “How does a mysterious biker afford private courtyard dinners and personal locksmiths?”
He shifted in his seat. “Let’s just say I’ve done well for myself.”
“Clearly.” She picked up her fork, studying the perfectly plated appetizer. “Drug dealer? Professional assassin? Tech billionaire?”
The laugh that came through the helmet was surprisingly genuine. “Not quite as exciting, I’m afraid.”
“So boring corporate job by day, badass biker by night? Like a motorcycle-riding Batman?”
“Something like that.” He adjusted the small screen between them. “I’m going to take a bite.”
Morgan smiled as the sounds of him adjusting his helmet reached her ears from the other side of the screen. She was tempted to stand up and peek—just a glimpse of her mystery man—but found herself honoring their agreement. The game was too intriguing to spoil so quickly.
“I’m good,” he said a moment later, as he slid the screen aside, the helmet firmly back in place.
She raised her eyes to find him watching her—or at least, the blank visor was pointed in her direction.
“Your turn,” he said. “What does Morgan do when she’s not getting locks changed and having dinner with strangers?”
“Marketing and design at Vertex Creative,” she answered, taking a sip of wine. “I create pretty visuals to make people want things they don’t need.”
“You don’t sound thrilled about it.”
“The work is fine. The management is... less so.” She speared a piece of perfectly cooked scallop. “My boss makes the devil look like a reasonable employer.”
“That bad?”
Morgan thought about the endless revisions she’d completed until 3 AM last night, only to have her boss reject them all this morning, like she knew he would, and demand yet another approach that kept her working through her Saturday afternoon.
“Worse. But job hunting is its own special circle of hell, so here we are.”
“What would you do if you could do anything?”
The question stumped her for a moment—simple but profound.
“I... don’t know. I haven’t thought about it in a while.
” She paused, realizing that was a lie. “Actually, I’d love to work on cause marketing.
Using design to promote organizations that are actually making the world better, not just selling more stuff. ”
He nodded, the helmet moving slightly. “Why don’t you?”
“Bills. Rent. The usual culprits.” She shrugged with a halfhearted smile. “Most nonprofits don’t exactly offer competitive salaries.”
“But they’re more fulfilling?”
“I interned at a conservation foundation in college. The pay was terrible, but I felt like what I was creating mattered.” She smiled at the memory.
“I designed a campaign that helped them exceed their fundraising goal by 40%. My boss at Vertex would have hated it—too simple, not enough ‘wow factor’—but it worked because it was honest.”
“Honesty,” he said, the word hanging between them with unexpected weight. “Not always appreciated in marketing. Or in life.”
Morgan tilted her head, studying the inscrutable helmet. “Says the man hiding his face.”
“Touché.” He shifted the screen. “Another bite?”
She averted her eyes even as he slid the screen to block her view, listening to the sounds of his movement.
There was something oddly intimate about this arrangement—not seeing his face made her more attuned to everything else.
The timbre of his voice beneath the electronic filter.
The confident way he handled his cutlery.
The faint scent of sandalwood and leather that surrounded him.
“Clear,” he said as he pulled aside the screen again.