Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Asher
I stood near the long table while Moore, our Prez, flipped through paperwork for the charity ride. Blaze leaned back in his chair, boots hooked around the legs, while Cookie hovered near the coffee pot, pretending not to listen. Maze was quiet in the corner. Bow watched everything.
“Asher,” Moore said, tapping the table. “The charity ride matters. We need it clean. Friendly. No bullshit.”
I nodded once. “I know.”
“No fights. No intimidation.”
“Also know that.”
Moore’s gaze sharpened. “Chrome Warriors have been sniffing around lately. Talk that they don’t like the idea of the charity ride.”
“Screw the Chrome Warriors,” Bow scoffed. “They are a bunch of idiots.”
“Amen to that,” Cookie agreed. “They’re just pissed everyone thinks they are a bunch of tools.”
My jaw set. “They won’t be a problem.”
“How do you know that?” Moore asked.
“They won’t be a problem,” I repeated, my voice flat. I was the VP of the club, and wouldn’t let anything bad happen at the ride.
Moore exhaled. “You’re confident.”
“I’m prepared.” I had to be.
Silence followed. Not uncomfortable. Just understood.
Moore slid the ride flyer across the table. “Got the flyers today. Cookie and Bow are going to get them handed out.”
I picked it up and scanned it once. “Flowers are still happening.”
Blaze barked a laugh. “You serious about that?”
“Yes.”
Cookie raised a brow. “On our bikes?”
“Yes.”
Bow leaned forward. “You really think that is badass?”
“It fits with the theme, and maybe it will soften us a bit to the public.” They could say what they wanted, but I knew it was a good idea.
Moore nodded. “I like it. You got everything lined up with the florist?”
“We’re good,” I lied. At least we would be once I got the sexy florist to agree to it.
*
Flowers were everywhere. Buckets lined up with labels. Hands moving fast, precise. Controlled chaos.
Juliet stood behind the counter, hair pulled back, apron smudged with green. She looked up when the bell chimed and didn’t hide her irritation when she saw me.
“I told you I’m booked, sir,” she said.
Straight to the point. I respected that. “Asher Jake, and I heard you,” I replied, stepping closer. “Didn’t mean I accepted it.”
Her mouth tightened. “That’s not how scheduling works.”
I leaned a forearm on the counter, not crowding her, just wanting to be closer to her. “I don’t want scheduling. I want you.”
The words landed harder than I intended. Not because they were wrong but because they were precise.
Her shoulders squared instantly. Defensive. Not greedy. Not flattered. “That’s inappropriate,” she said.
“No,” I corrected calmly. “It’s specific.”
She crossed her arms. “There is another florist on the other side of town. I am sure they could fit you in.”
“I know.”
“They’re capable and can help you.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why—”
“I’ll pay you triple,” I said, cutting in without raising my voice. “And I don’t want your employees or the florist across town. I want you.”
The shop went quiet enough that I could hear the hum of the cooler in the back.
Juliet’s eyes flashed not with interest, but with something sharper. “I don’t sell myself,” she said.
I nodded once. “Good.”
That stopped her cold.
“I’m not buying flowers,” I continued. “I’m buying trust.”
She stared at me like she was trying to decide if that was worse.
“I need your eye,” I said. “Your hands. Your accountability. If something goes wrong, I want it to be because we misjudged, not because it was passed off to someone who didn’t care as much.”
Her jaw worked. “You don’t know how much my employees care.”
“I can tell how much you do.”
That was the truth of it. This place mattered to her. That mattered to me.
“You’re asking me to only work with you and step into your world,” she said quietly.
“I am.”
“And you’re throwing money at it.”
“I’d like to think of it more as respecting your time.”
She shook her head. “Men like you always think—”
“Don’t,” I said, not sharp but firm. “Don’t tell me what kind of man I am.”
Her breath caught. I saw it and didn’t push.
I straightened, taking a step back, giving her the space she clearly needed. I grabbed a pen off the counter and scribbled my number on it. “Think about it. If the answer’s no, it’s no.” I paused, then added the part she needed to hear. “No pressure.”
She didn’t respond. Just watched me like she was seeing me clearly for the first time.
I turned and walked out, the bell chiming behind me.
I didn’t look back.
Because I already knew.