Remy (Golden Glades Henchmen MC 4)

So, yeah, that was the plan.

“Hellooooo. Earth to Lark,” Myles, the guy I’d been working with since we were both sixteen, said, snapping around my face as I, admittedly, zoned out pretty hard.

Jerking back to the present moment, I found myself not pulling off some major K9 robbery, but standing behind the counter of The Main Squeeze.

It was the flagship store to a chain of healthy smoothie places they’d open back before the smoothie craze really even took off.

It was still the most successful of all the stores. And since my parents had decided to go into semi-retirement, I was the one in charge of the day-to-day operations.

Myles was my assistant manager who handled everything when I wasn’t around. He was tall and on the lean side with the ultimate surfer-dude look from his shaggy blond hair and blue eyes to his damn puka shell necklace.

Outside of work, you could pretty much never find him with a shirt on, and he had the most epic collection of board shorts I had ever seen.

At work, though, he was in the same outfit I was. For better or worse. Better for him since it fit his coloring. Worse for me because it absolutely did not.

We were both wearing white pants. Yes, white. Because my parents were evil. Who put employees in white, period? Let alone ones who dealt with a lot of juices that could easily splash everywhere?

But that is part of the fun, honey!

That was what my mom insisted.

And, I mean, I loved her to death. But she had never needed to work a customer service job in her life, so she really just didn’t get it.

My dad was much more practical. Unfortunately for us, though, he was more of a beta in their relationship, always letting my mom take the reins and whip everyone into shape.

The tops were mildly less horrific.

And I mean mildly.

See, they were this awful yellow color with little strawberries printed all over them.

I mean, I was fine with the pattern. I actually had a bathing suit with a strawberry pattern.

It was the yellow I took offense to.

I mean, I’d inherited my red hair and pale skin from my mother who’d made the clothing decision. You would think she would be kinder for her little ginger kid.

Alas, no.

We weren’t going to discuss the white visors. Mainly because both Myles and I refused to wear them.

“Were you thinking about the hot biker guy again?” he asked.

See, Myles wasn’t just my coworker. He was one of my best friends. Alright, fine, my only real adult friend.

Before both of us had taken on a more senior position, we had worked every single shift together for like six or seven years. With that much time together, it was almost impossible not to become really close.

You could have deep friendships with someone you only saw once and a while. But there was something special about that connection you had with someone you saw or spoke to every day. The people who hear all the weird, random ramblings, the minute details of your everyday life.

Myles was the only person I trusted with the knowledge not only of the hot biker. But also the whole spring the dogs out of the building plan.

No, he didn’t want to get involved, claiming he liked the beach too much to not be able to see it for ten or so years. But he did make me promise to text him right before going in and when I was in my car, so he knew I was safe.

He would also be the guy who brought over a “Welcome Home” basket for the dogs. Like he’d done for Alma. Which is what I’d named my new pregnant girl.

He actually didn’t have any pets of his own since he worked a lot—more than I did even—and then he liked to enjoy time at the beach or gym or clubs. He was almost never home. It was kind of a waste for him to have an apartment at all.

I’d once tried to get him to move in with me for that very reason, but he’d declined because he felt it would be weird to bring girls or guys home to my place.