Making of Them (Beating the Biker 3)

“Noted,” Saks remarked with a shiver. Though Connecticut could be cold, this time of year was pleasantly warm. With the chill and overcast sky, London wasn’t as pleasant as he thought it would be.

A black town car drove up to them, and a bulky man came out of the driver’s side and opened the door. “Welcome back, Ms. Serafini,” he said.

“Thank you, Robert. This is my fiancé, Anthony Parks.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” he said. Robert’s reserved manner threw a chill on Saks, and he didn’t offer his hand. The chauffeur opened the back door, and they climbed in while Robert wrangled their bags into the trunk.

“The apartment, Miss?” Robert asked as he settled behind the wheel.

“Yes, Robert. Can you tell me, have you driven Mr. Pearson anywhere the past few days?”

“No, Miss. I took a few days off, and some other fellows drove him. Had a bit of the flu.”

“Sorry to hear. I’m afraid Mr. Pearson is such a stickler for details, but my assistant didn't update his schedule. Can you ask the office to send me copies of his calls for rides? He uses the diary to check the bill.”

“Ah, right,” Robert replied. “I’ll see what I can do, Miss.”

“Thank you so much, Robert.”

It was a bit of a shock seeing Chrissy in her element and realizing just how well she’d been handling a high-profile job requiring chauffeurs and limos. Saks had known she was a highly-capable woman, but the car ride somehow really put it into perspective.

Eventually they pulled up to a four-story modern glass and metal building that seemed to be in the middle of the city. High-rises captured the charm of the old world that rose up around them, while the sidewalks were busy with those passing under the spread of umbrellas. Without fanfare their driver opened the back door, offered a hand to Chrissy, and then went to grab their bags.

“I can take mine,” Saks offered.

“Not necessary, Mr. Parks. It’s all part of the service.”

Saks was left to follow along as Chrissy took the lead and went inside. The modernity of the building continued on, with gleaming floors and sleek surfaces. It was expensive, he could tell that much, and his brow wrinkled at the sight of Chrissy gathering a key from the desk with nothing more than a smile. Had he been back home, he would’ve needed to show a driver’s license in anyplace as fancy as this.

In a hurry he followed Chrissy into a nearby elevator, and couldn’t help the feeling of eyes boring into the back of him. “Is there a problem?” Saks asked when he realized Robert had been staring.

“That’s an unusual jacket you have there.”

Saks shrugged. “It’s my club jacket. I belong to a motorcycle back home.”

“Like the Hell’s Angels?”

“No,” Saks snorted, “not like them.”

“Sorry, sir. I was just curious. I’d never seen anything like it, except in newspapers.”

“Saks’ club is a social one, Robert,” Chrissy explained. “They spend time together and organize road trips and other events.”

“Pardon?”

Saks pointed to his name patch.

“That’s my club name,” he said with a grin. Robert stared at him with confusion.

Chrissy laughed. “When I met him, he said they called him Saks because he dresses so well.”

Saks laughed. “I did.”

Robert’s brow furrowed. “So, you don’t, you know—”

“Break the law?” Saks nearly burst out laughing. “Not if we can help it. Though I do have a fearsome reputation for going a few miles above the speed limit.”

“I think it’s more than a few,” Chrissy joked.