“Conventional is boring,” she said with a smile for the charmer. “Trust me.” She’d been conventional, classy, and polite her whole life. Where had it gotten her?
Hiding from her fiancé with no plan for her future and no one to turn to for help except a man who hated her.
“Amen to that,” Tracker said. He held his coffee mug out toward her.
With a laugh, Olivia lifted hers and clinked it to his. “Cheers.”
Scott might not want her there, but Brooke seemed to like her as did Tracker. Though she hadn’t found what she’d been searching for when she came to the MC, maybe it hadn’t been a complete mistake. Being around this close-knit group gave her insight into what she’d like for herself in the future. And this was exactly it—friends, chosen family, meals together, laughter, and support—maybe with a bit more conventional group than a club of outlaw bikers.
Though these guys were nothing like she’d initially thought they’d be. All but Scott seemed to accept her without judgment.
She and Tracker chatted and joked for most of breakfast. After a few moments, Pulse and Lock joined in, then Jinx, who was the biggest man she’d ever laid eyes on, yet seemed to be as sweet as a teddy bear.
Tracker slid his arm across the back of her chair and left it there as he told a story about a frat boy who’d bawled like a baby during his first tattoo. Olivia found herself laughing more than she had in ages.
At one point, she met Brooke’s gaze. The older woman winked, and Brooke smiled in return.
Damn, she was glad Scott had woken her up. She could’ve done without the heart-stopping pounding on her door, but it seemed to have ended well.
Thoughts of his name had her peering down the table to where he sat. As though sensing her attention, he glanced up and caught her gaze. Of course, her stomach did that stupid fluttery thing again. Maybe when she landed somewhere a little more permanent, she should see a doctor.
His eyes shifted to Tracker’s arm behind her chair, and immediately, his smile flipped upside down, and the scowl returned.
So much for their truce.
CHAPTER NINE
DEVOS WAS THE kind of man who needed to fall flat on his face and suffer a dozen or so kicks to begin to dent his ego. He was young, fit, cocky, and brash.
Annoying as fuck.
But he wasn’t as rich as he wanted to be, hence the borrowing of fifty thousand dollars from the Handlers in the final push to get his tech company off the ground. He’d owe something like eighty thousand in a week with the added interest, but the company had mega promise and should be extremely lucrative in no time.
“Mr. Devos,” Scott said as he ignored the receptionist and burst right into the man’s spiffy office. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
The arrogant twenty-something with his slicked-back hair, pricy suit, and manicured nails jolted. He sat at his desk, phone to his ear, mouth open as though catching flies.
“Hello? Craig? You still there?” Scott heard a woman’s voice coming through the phone.
“I’ll call you back,” Devos said before hanging up the phone despite the woman’s protests.
The near trembling receptionist appeared at the open doorway. “I’m sorry, Mr. Devos, he barged right in.”
“It’s okay, Sandra,” the man said, waving her away. “Shut the door, please.”
She nodded and scurried out as fast as possible.
“Spec.” Clearing his throat, he straightened in his chair and smoothed the lapel of his fancy suit. “Did you have an appointment?”
Scott nearly snorted. “Is that little flex supposed to intimidate me?” Make him feel lesser because he was in jeans and a cut instead of an overpriced Armani suit?
“Excuse me?”
He strode forward, then planted his hands on the desk, hovering over the man. “I’m hearing rumors I don’t like, Devos.”
“I… uh, I’m not sure what you mean.”
Scott cocked his head as he studied the man. Then he chuckled and dropped into one of the empty chairs opposite Devos’ desk. “Ohh, nice,” he said as he wiggled into the soft leather. “How much of my club’s money bought these bougie chairs?”
Finally, the man paled. About time he realized this wasn’t a friendly visit. “I’m not, uh, I’m not sure how much the chairs cost. I don’t think it’s real leather.”
“No? Huh, feels nice,” Scott said as he ran a hand along the leather. It was real, all right. “Smells like a fucking dried-out cow to me. You lying to me, Devos?”
“N-no.”
“Hmm.” Scott leaned back and kicked his legs up, propping his boots on Devos’ desk. A neatly stacked pile of paper crumpled under his heel. “These are real leather. You like ’em?”
“What?” Devos’ eyebrows drew down. “They’re… nice.”
“Thanks.” Messing with this guy’s head was the most fun he’d had in ages. If Curly hadn’t said he wanted an update within the hour, Scott could’ve played this game all afternoon. But as it was, the prez didn’t find as much joy in the potential delay of his cash.