Chapter 7 #2
He scrolls through his phone for a moment and then runs numbers through his calculator.
“You’re about eight percent below market rate for a refrigerated route that distance. You could make a case for a rate increase at renewal, based on fuel hikes over the last year and market increases. They’d have a hard time finding comparable service, much less a cheaper alternative.”
A feeling of dread churns in my stomach at the thought of a rate hike. “Vulture never raised the rate on them.”
“Vulture also never had a twelve-month performance clause hanging over his head,” he points out.
I take a sip of my coffee. “He built those contracts through relationships he’d cultivated over thirty years.
They don’t know me. I’ve barely talked to anyone at Titan Pantry and have had zero contact with the decision makers there.
Asking for a rate increase this early is risky for a woman in my position. ”
Mica sets his phone down. “Take it from your new accountant, asking for a fair rate increase during a contract renewal is just business as usual,” he says.
“They’ll respect you for asking for what your services are worth.
Titan Pantry has had the same vendor for twenty years at below-market rates.
They’re not going to walk over eight percent. ”
“You can’t know that. I mean, how can you be sure?”
“I can’t, but my business sense and the numbers suggest it. I honestly think you’re taking less of a chance than you think.”
I think over his words as our food arrives.
We end the conversation about whether or not to ask for a rate increase, and I pull out my laptop so we can go through the contract, page by page.
Come to find out, my new husband is worth his weight in gold when it comes to the financial side of running my businesses.
We even discuss the part-time driver situation and the repairs I need to make on the refrigerated truck.
He suggests that we finance the repairs, so it doesn’t hit our bottom line when we’re struggling to prove solvency.
He reaches for the check when it comes, but I get there first.
He gestures to the check in my hand. “Your money is yours,” he says. “As long as you’re my wife, I’m paying.”
“I just signed documents giving me account access this morning.”
“And I’m glad for you,” he says. “Give me the check.”
“I have it.”
“Nova.”
There’s something in how he says my name that makes continuing the argument feel like I’m challenging his manhood or something.
“That’s a very traditional position.”
“I went to college for six years and passed my CPA exam so I could support my wife and kids when the time came,” he says dryly.
Something about his words tugs at my emotions. It’s kind of nice that he wants to be a good provider. Some lucky woman is going to admire that quality in him. When I hand him the check, he pays without making a production of it.
We make it back to the clubhouse. There is fire burning in the fireplace and the smell of fresh cut wood burning is amazing. I might not truly belong here, but I’m starting to grow a certain fondness for his club.
Mica walks me through the main room and stops at the hallway that leads to the chapel. Glancing at his watch, he tells me, “I have an officer’s meeting. I shouldn’t be long.”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him. Mac is handling things at work this morning. He’ll lock up when everyone is on the road.
He holds my gaze for a half second before saying, “Does this mean you have a day off?”
“I’m afraid not. There’s no rest for the wicked. I need to process payroll for the drivers this morning. I’m tired of hanging out in our suite like a hermit, so I’ll just grab a table and work on my laptop.”
He surprises me by leaning over and giving me a chaste little kiss on the lips.
I freeze for just a second before realizing this is us acting like a newly married couple in front of his club brothers.
When he pulls back, I smile up at him and say playfully, “Don’t be too long. Your wife needs your attention today.”
His eyes search mine for another second before he jerks his chin to a nearby table. “Make yourself comfortable and don’t work too hard.”
I take a seat at one of the tables near the fireplace with my notebook and get started on the payroll.
Meanwhile, the brothers are milling about, playing cards and shooting pool.
Some of the club girls are doing their midday cleanup.
Others are sipping drinks at the bar or hanging all over the brothers.
One of them brings me a coffee and then stops by later to top it off, all without being asked.
I remember what Queenie said about me being a respected member of their family and this club pulling together.
I’ve been doing everything alone for three months, and it feels strange to have someone cater to me.
I’ve been at it maybe thirty minutes when I hear someone working near the far end of the bar. I glance up.
It’s a guy. He appears to be in his late twenties and is lean with dark hair.
He’s carrying two stacked crates of empty bottles towards the back storage room.
He’s wearing a cut, but it’s had all the patches ripped off of it.
I know that means he was once in a club but was thrown out or his club was dissolved.
Vulture always saw patchless cuts as a humiliation.
He glances over, catches me watching him, and gives a chagrined look. “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re not,” I state politely before going back to my work.
He sweeps for a minute before coming over to speak with me. “You’re Nova, right?”
“Yeah, why do you ask?”
“I heard about the wedding.” He leans the broom against the bar. “Congratulations. I really mean that.” He takes a few steps closer and wipes his hand on his pants before extending it to me. “My name’s Bran. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Nova.”
I shake his hand to be polite, unsure what to make of him. “Do you work here, patchless brother?”
He gives me an uncomfortable laugh. “Yeah, but it’s more like working off a punishment.
” His self-deprecating tone tells me there is something going on with him.
He’s quick to explain it too. “I made some shitty decisions, and this club was gracious enough to give me a way to make it right. So here I am.” He gestures vaguely around the room.
“Fair enough,” I say. “I hope you work off your punishment and get your patches back speedy-quick.”
He motions to the payroll file pulled up on my computer. The name of my company is clearly visible. “Trucking business?”
“Yeah,” I say, closing the lid. “I’m doing payroll. It’s kind of confidential.”
I mean that to indicate that he should move along so I can get back to it, but he just nods and keeps right on talking.
“Your grandfather was a good man. He built something real out there. Everybody in the region knows about Vulture’s Trucking. You see those trucks everywhere.” He pauses and leans forward. “So, are you running everything yourself now?”
“Clearly, I have drivers,” I say, motioning to my closed laptop. “And they’re gonna want to get paid on time, so I should probably get back to it.”
“Right, of course,” he responds, taking a small step back. “I just meant, it’s a lot to manage solo. My uncle ran a small freight operation. I know how much goes into keeping those trucks on the road.”
“Don’t you have a job to do?” A deep voice calls out. It’s Flint, he’s Mica’s cousin. I’m guessing that even though he’s family, he’s not high enough in rank to be at the meeting which is for officers only.
“On it.” Bran grabs his broom again and gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry to interrupt. Hope you get your drivers paid on time.”
Flint nods his head approvingly and gives me a chin jerk that I guess is as close to a greeting I’m getting. Then he and a couple of other club members head out the door.
I go back to doing payroll once I’m left alone.
But Bran’s question is stuck in my head.
Are you running everything yourself, now?
It’s a reasonable thing to say, the kind of thing any concerned adult might ask.
It makes me wonder just how much of my personal business is public knowledge.
Who am I kidding? My situation is probably just as interesting as any of the other gossip in our small hometown.
The chapel door opens twenty minutes later. Mica walks out with Jasper behind him. Mica is mid-sentence but stops talking the moment he catches sight of Bran behind the bar.
He stops talking to his brother but doesn’t stop walking until he reaches my table. Jasper peels off towards the kitchen as Mica sits down across from me.
“Were you talking to Bran? Flint texted me and said he saw you.”
My eyebrows fly up. “You mean the patchless wonder? Yeah, we exchanged pleasantries.”
“How long were you talking to him?” he demands tersely.
I’m annoyed by his tone. I hadn’t realized he was the jealous sort. I had enough of that with Devon. I huff out, “I don’t know, maybe five minutes. He introduced himself. What’s this about?”
Mica’s voice turns cold. “What the fuck did he want?”
“Probably trying to be friendly to a club officer’s old lady,” I say, thoroughly perplexed by his behavior. I add, “One of the club girls filled my coffee cup. Do you want a rundown on her too?”
“Tell me what he said to you.”
I shrug. “He asked about the trucking business.”
Mica is quiet for a second, then he lowers his voice. “Nova, don’t make me pull information out of you about that bastard. What specifically did he ask about your business?”
It takes me a minute to reel back in my memory of exactly what he said. “He asked if I was running everything myself.”
His expression is more serious than I can ever remember it being.
“What’s this all about?” I ask.
“Bran was embedded inside one of Viper’s patched-over clubs as an informant for the Sons. While he was in there, he fed information to us and to Viper simultaneously.” He pauses. “He betrayed us.”
Bran is busy restacking the empties near the storage room door, apparently unbothered by our conversation.
“He seemed genuinely nice, if a bit talkative,” I tell Mica, gentling my voice because I can see how upset he is.
“That’s the problem with him. He’s an expert at seeming like a really decent guy, but he’s not. He isn’t trustworthy at all though.” He holds my gaze. “Please don’t talk to him again.”
That’s when I notice something I’ve never seen before in Mica’s eyes, a tiny hint of fear. I find myself nodding before I even make the conscious decision to agree to his demand.
“Alright, if that’s what you think is best, I’ll roll with it,” I assure him.