In less than an hour, they were back at that spot, he had Agnes loaded and strapped down, and then they were back at the garage with not much more conversation between them besides him explaining what he’d do with Agnes once they got back.
Though, she did have to force herself to stare out of the windshield instead of at him, for some reason, as he spoke.
Why was he so damn cute?
Worse, every time he shot her one of his smirks, butterflies fought to escape her stomach.
What was she? Sixteen all over again?
No, damn it, she was thirty-six. You’re way past the point of high school crushes, Fallon.
Now she sat in the office on the other side of the secretary’s desk. It turned out, the young blonde wasn’t actually the garage secretary per se but the manager of another business. She only used the office because her boyfriend or husband, or whatever he was, was one of the mechanics in the shop. She also helped out Dutch’s business, too.
While Whip put Agnes on a lift and gave her a good examination, Reilly, who was a very sweet but funny smart ass, told her all about Shelter from the Storm with a whole bunch of pride in her voice and eyes. It was nice to see a woman under thirty who was starting off in business with dreams and expectations to build it into a success.
They went down the rabbit hole of discussing marketing and advertising with Fallon giving her tips and suggestions. She couldn’t help but get caught up in the woman’s excitement.
This was how Fallon was, too, when she first started out. However, it was not how it ended. She hoped Reilly’s dreams for building the business came to fruition and she had people around her to support her and not knock her down.
Unlike a lot of others, Fallon loved to see women succeed.
She tried to help other women in her organization on her rise up the ladder, but every time she did, she ended up regretting it. Mostly, because she got tired of pulling knives out of her own back.
But the emergency housing business idea was genius. It turned out Reilly had a business degree and was happy to finally put it to good use.
When her very handsome boyfriend popped into the office, Reilly introduced Rev as her “old man.”
Fallon didn’t quite get it. Once he left the office again, she mentioned, “He seems very young to be calling him your old man.”
Reilly’s laughter filled the space around them as she fell back in her chair. “Ol’ man. Without the D.”
Fallon’s brow pulled low. “I don’t understand.” This area of northern Pennsylvania must have its own language.
Reilly waved a hand toward the open office door. “All those guys out there?”
Fallon shot a glance in that direction. “Yes?”
“They all belong to an MC.”
Maybe she needed one of those translation dictionaries to be in this part of Pennsylvania. She was far from dumb but was starting to feel a bit like it. “What’s an MC?”
“Motorcycle club.”
“Okay?”
“Do you know what a motorcycle club is?”
What was she missing? “A club where people get together to ride motorcycles?”
Reilly snorted. “Yes, that’s one part of it.”
The twenty-something-year-old went on to tell her about the Blood Fury MC and how the men out in the shop belonged to the Fury brotherhood and how their ol’ ladies, including Reilly, belonged to the sisterhood.
“So, it’s a riding club, like I said.” With motorcycles and members. Probably even dues.
“It’s so much more than that.” Reilly said.
“How so?”
“We’re all family. Not necessarily by blood but by bond.”
Interesting how she put that. Fallon actually liked that idea. The saying blood is thicker than water wasn’t always true. “How big is this club?”
Fallon smiled from the warmth of Reilly’s laughter. “I swear getting bigger by the month. My sister just had a baby back in November. We seem to be multiplying rapidly.”
“Oh, congratulations on becoming an aunt. She’s part of the club, too?”
Reilly nodded. “Her ol’ man is the club treasurer.”
“Club treasurer? The MC has an executive board of directors?” Should she know all of this? When she put her nose to the grindstone fresh out of college, did she also bury herself under a rock? She might be missing out on a lot more than she ever realized by putting herself in her career bubble.
Or was her ignorance about MCs to be expected since she never knew anyone who owned a motorcycle? At least that she was aware of.
She had surrounded herself with professional people who pulled into the parking garage in Jaguars, Mercedes, Audis, BMWs, and other over-priced luxury vehicles. If they owned bikes, they most likely only rode them on the weekends.
“Similar to that,” Reilly answered.
“So, they have meetings, by-laws, take minutes and all of that?” Why was she so fascinated by this? Maybe it was because she never thought a club of bikers would actually have a structure similar to a professional organization.