Making Her His (Beating the Biker 1)

Richard’s eyes widened as his eyes traveled the length of her body, checking out the suit and the shoes. It was obviously too formal a suit to merit a casual lunch. “Sure, Chrissy. Give me a second.” He turned to the young man at the door. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hamilton.”

Yeah. Mr. Hamilton. Way to suck up, college boy. Chrissy realized her thoughts were unkind, but she didn’t put up with people trying to take her place.

“Come in, Chrissy,” Richard said. “I have something to ask you.”

Chrissy followed Richard into his office, slightly confused. What could he have to ask her now that he was going to fire her?

He sat at his desk and took the folder she handed him. Richard looked over the paperwork and nodded. “Just what I wanted. Good.” He drew his pen from his jacket pocket and signed the order.

“You didn’t need to come in to do this,” he said as he passed the purchase order to her.

“I was in the city, and I hate to leave things undone.”

“I appreciate your dedication to the job.”

Now she was even more confused. Why was he praising her when he was getting ready to fire her?

“I wanted to talk to you on Friday, but our plans have changed and I have to move up the timetable.” He motioned for her to sit, and her stomach dropped and the room spun a bit. This was it. She was about to lose her job. This moment came too fast. Suddenly she was glad she had lunch scheduled with Charles.

Richard looked over her very professional attire and frowned. “I hope we haven’t failed to show you our appreciation for the work you’ve done. I know I don’t always agree with you, but your work is effective. Drummond and I have discussed ways to expand your role in the company.”

Chrissy swallowed hard. Drummond Walker was the president of the company and the man who had hired her.

“In what way, Richard?” she asked. She damned herself for the slight quaver of her voice.

“That’s what we want to discuss with you at Drummond’s house in Fairfield on Saturday. Come by say, at two, and bring your swimsuit if you like to swim. He has this sauna in which he insists discussing business.”

“I’ll be there,” she said. Her head was spinning. Drummond wanted to talk directly with her about work? This wasn’t bad. This was incredibly good.

Not until she sat in a cab on her way to Florio’s did it hit her what else she had to do on that day. She groaned. How could she possibly hike it to Fairfield and take this meeting, which was sure to last several hours, steam bath included, then race back home in time to get ready for the disaster waiting for her at the Red Bull?

She had another horrible thought. What if Saks showed up at the party? What was she to say? “Hi, Saks. Meet the guy my family wants me to marry”?

She was so fucked.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THAT DAY AND THE NEXT two, Saks didn’t get a text from Chrissy. At first it soured his mood, and he spent lunches and nights after work at the Red Bull while his cousins gave him disapproving glares as he downed too many beers. They sent him home in an Uber the night before, forcing his bike to spend the night in their parking lot. Again.

She’d told him to let the hunt begin. How was he supposed to do that? And he wasn’t going to chase after her like a desperate man—even if he felt like one.

Thursday at lunch, he took a taxi to get his bike at the Red Bull. Emily wasn’t in the shop and Luke was alone, manning the fort. Saks intended to down a beer and a plate of wings, then ride back to work.

He sat at the bar, though, and stared at his beer. The wings just didn’t taste good, and the beer felt flat in his mouth. He pushed the plate away. Was he seriously this depressed over a woman? Or the fact that his family was trying to control his life?

“Anything wrong?” Sheldon asked, drying a glass and setting it on the shelf.

Yes. My whole freaking life. “No.” He sighed.

“I’ve never known you to push away a plate of my wings.”

Saks shrugged his shoulders. “There’s always a first.”

“Does this have anything to do with a certain blonde?”

“No,” Saks growled. He pushed the beer back at Sheldon. “Get me something that doesn’t taste like warm tea.”