Chapter 9
Nova
A few days later, I’m sitting at the bar going over the Titan Pantry contract on my laptop when Charity sits down two stools over.
My hackles are already up because I know club girls can be snarky with old ladies, especially when an outsider snags a super-hot club officer like Mica.
He’s easily the catch of the century around this clubhouse.
She looks over my property cut, then at my laptop and finally at my face.
“So, you’re the new old lady,” she says.
Her tone isn’t quite what you would call hostile. It’s just flat and emotionless. I can tell she’s got a problem with me, though.
“My name’s Nova,” I say, and go back to my work.
She snorts a laugh, bringing out one hand to make a starburst gesture. “Noovaaa. Like supernova.”
“I drive a ‘68 Nova. My gramps named me after his favorite muscle car.”
She shrugs carelessly with one bare shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. Nova’s a club girl name, not an old lady name. Were you a club girl?”
“No. My gramps was the Prez of Vulture’s Pride.”
“I know who you are.” She grins. “I was just havin’ a little fun with you.”
“I’m not bothered by you. Club girls have hard lives. They’ve gotta get their jollies where they can, I guess.”
She catches my insult and chooses to ignore it.
“It must be nice to marry in and suddenly be running things.”
My head jerks up to stare at her. “I’m not running anything here.”
“You’re running Mica,” she says pleasantly.
I hold her gaze and remember what Vulture told me about club girls. They’re scared of something. Figure out what and you’ll figure them out.
“I run a trucking company,” I say bluntly. “Same as I did before I walked in here. Nothing about that changed.”
She smiles in a way that doesn’t reach anything above her mouth. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
Mica appears from the hallway, crosses the room towards the bar, and takes one look at the two of us, then stops short.
“Charity,” he says, his tone laced with a warning.
She picks up her drink and slides off the stool. “I was just getting acquainted,” she says humbly before drifting towards the far end of the bar.
Mica looks at me. “Was she giving you problems?”
“Not particularly,” I say. “Club girls aren’t complicated. Mostly they’re just women looking for love and respect in all the wrong places.”
He frowns at me. “That’s one way of looking at it, I guess.” He sits down on the stool she vacated, and I go back to the contract on my laptop. Mica pours himself a coffee.
Charity’s words are still running around in my head.
It must be nice, marry in and suddenly you’re running things.
I think about the territory the Sons just acquired, the clubhouse that’s been providing safety for me, and how the women here all seem to know exactly where they stand.
This place that the Sons of Rage built, isn’t my world.
I’m a Vulture through and through, and I’m not sure I even want to fit in here.
But I am sure of one thing. I’m falling for Mica, and that complicates everything.
Bran is sweeping the bar area when Mica goes off to feed his dog, Sable. I ignore him and keep working on my laptop, because I remember what Mica told me about not trusting him. The last thing in the world I need is to strike up a conversation with a patchless turncoat.
But Bran inches closer, sweeping the bar floor. Then he starts stacking chairs in the bar. He doesn’t approach or try to speak to me. He just keeps getting closer as he works.
He carries a crate past my table and slows down slightly, shifting it from one hip to another.
“You always work through lunch?” he says conversationally.
“Usually,” I say, without looking up from my laptop.
“Looks like Mica had something more important to do. I wonder where he went.”
“He’s feeding his dog. He’ll be back any minute.”
He moves towards that storage room almost immediately with the crate in hand. A man who isn’t paying attention to something doesn’t ask questions about it. Why is he focused on Mica and why does he keep approaching me?
I write a note in the margin of my contract file that has nothing to do with the Titan Pantry renewal.
Bran always finds a way to approach me and asks where Mica is.
I close the laptop, put it in my bag, and go out looking for Mica. I stop long enough to pet Sable and then Mica perks up.
“Do you want to go to the grocery store? We can pick out something to grill together.”
Suddenly, I’m all smiles. “That sounds like fun. Maybe we could grill out at my place. You’ve never spent the night with me before. We always stay in your suite.”
“Well ma’am, if you want to take me home with you, who am I to object?”
He’s using his flirty voice and I love it. In fact, I’m starting to love everything to do with my shiny new husband.
We take my car instead of the bike because we need some place to put the groceries.
It’s a mundane, practical decision that makes the situation feel more domestic than two people in an arranged marriage of convenience have a right to feel.
It’s funny in a way and gives me a little glimpse into what staying married to him would be like.
Mica eyes my muscle car, like he always does, so I toss him the keys and get into the passenger side.
Once we’re on the road, I bring up my big decision from today. “About the Titan Pantry contract renewal. I’ve decided that you’re right. I’m thinking of starting the negotiation at ten percent rate hike and settling for eight.”
His eyes light up. “That’s a fuckin’ brilliant idea. Lead with the market data,” he advises. “It’s the third paragraph of the regional freight report I sent you. Those numbers will do the heavy lifting for you.”
“I read it,” I say. “It’s what sparked the idea of asking for ten and settling for eight.”
“You’re a smart lady,” he says, and pulls into the grocery store parking lot. I’m already unbuckling my seat belt when he says, “I’ll drop you off and park. I’ll find you.”
“It’s a grocery store,” I say, unclear on why he’s being so hypervigilant.
“This store has great steak, but it puts us two blocks from Devon Marsh’s apartment,” he explains.
“Got it,” I tell him. “I’ll be in produce.”
The relief on his face is totally worth going the extra mile to cooperate with him. His feelings matter to me now. In fact, they have for a while now.
I get out of the car and go inside, depressed that our whole life seems to revolve around that asshole.
The store is quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. There are a few older women with carts near the bakery counter and a stock boy pushing a pallet of canned food.
I grab a basket and start looking at fruit. I’ve been craving oranges and they have some nice ones.
I see someone in my peripheral vision and become aware that they’re moving closer. My first thought is that I’m hogging the oranges and some little old lady is going to hit me over the head with her purse if I don’t get out of her way.
When they says my name, I recognize the voice.
“Nova.”
Devon Marsh is leaning against a cooler of juice with his hands in his jacket pockets. His expression tells me he’s been waiting for this opportunity and he’s going to make the most of it.
“Hello Devon,” I respond, keeping my voice calm. I’m not going to give this asshole the satisfaction of seeing my fear.
“I heard you got married,” he says.
“Why are you acting like that’s something you just found out when you’ve been harassing me about it for weeks now?”
“Calm the fuck down, girl. I’m just shocked that you married a Rager. You know the townies call them feral fucks for a reason. That’s a big move for a girl who said she didn’t want anything to do with bad boys.”
“Mica’s a nice man,” I say.
“Really?” He takes one step closer to testing what he can get away with. “I thought they were a one percent club.”
“I’m going to need you to back up,” I state firmly.
He doesn’t back up. Instead, he takes another step closer. “I heard you were practically forced to get married in order to get your inheritance. Your gramps did you dirty with that one.” He tilts his head slightly. “You could have called me. I would have helped you figure something out.”
“There was nothing to figure out,” I say. “I married the man I wanted and avoided the one I didn’t.”
“Now you’re trying to hurt my feelings. You married a biker you barely know.” He gestures to my property cut. “Wearing his name on your back. I thought you had more self-respect than to wear a vest advertising yourself as some man’s property.”
“Devon.” I set the basket down on the shelf beside me and give him a blank stare. “How do you figure I know you any better? We dated two or three times. It ended because we weren’t compatible.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” he says quietly.
“That’s the problem, Devon. I’m not a great enough catch to justify you coming after me for months like this. I…”
He cuts in, “You don’t belong with those Ragers. Vulture’s Pride was your world, not Sons of Rage. You’re not one of them and you never will be. And wearing that cut doesn’t change it.”
“How do you know so much about my life?” I ask.
He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s a small town. People talk.”
“People talk about where I am on a Tuesday afternoon.”
“People talk about Mica’s Sons and Vulture’s granddaughter,” he says.
“After that fancy wedding with hundreds of guests, you’re the most interesting thing to happen around here in a while.
But the thing is, you were supposed to happen to me, not him.
” He takes another half step. “I’m not trying to cause trouble.
I’m trying to tell you that you have options.
You don’t have to stay in a bad situation because a will said you had to get married. I can help you.”
“You need to leave me alone, Devon,” I plead.
He reaches for me. “Nova, you’re not listening.”
I’m just about to have a panic attack when I hear Mica’s deep voice echo through the store.