The Mogul And The Muscle

Half an hour later, I hit send on what I hoped was a sufficiently mollifying email. Not ten seconds later, my phone vibrated again, buzzing against the surface of my desk. I was almost afraid to look, but thankfully it wasn’t an instant angry reply from Noelle.

Brandy: How many hours have you worked today?

Me: Why are you checking up on me?

Brandy: Because you need a day off.

Me: Since when is nagging me about my schedule on a Saturday in your job description?

Brandy: Stop replying with questions. There’s nothing pressing on your calendar and it’s been a while since that happened. Get out of your office and go do something.

Me: I have a lot of work to do.

Brandy: It can wait.

Me: Why am I arguing with you?

Brandy: Because you’re stubborn. You know you need to get out of the house. Just call him. It’s his job.

I sighed. Brandy knew me too well. It made her amazing at her job, but she also had a knack for calling me out.

I did want to get out of the house—out of Bluewater. I was unsettled and I knew exactly what that feeling meant. I’d been working too much. For nearly three years, my relationship with Aldrich had provided a natural defense against burnout. Dating him had forced me to have a life outside the office.

Of course, he hadn’t respected the fact that my job was just as important as his. But that was another issue. And one of the reasons we were no longer together.

Since our breakup, I’d focused the vast majority of my time and energy on work—even more than usual. Six months of that and I was starting to feel the effects. Add to that the usual aggravation of dealing with Noelle, plus the parking garage incident, and I was like a rubber band being pulled too tight.

But now I felt a bit like a kid who’d been grounded. I knew it was irrational. No one was keeping me from leaving my house. But it irritated me that I couldn’t just go somewhere on a whim. Get in my car and go shopping by myself for a few hours.

Although, when was the last time I’d actually done that? I had a personal shopper because I was always too busy. And she was fabulous. But damn it, I wanted to go try on some shoes in a store.

Me: Fine, you’re probably right. But don’t get cocky about it.

Brandy sent a gif of a rooster strutting down a sidewalk.

I pulled up Jude’s number and sent him a text.

Me: I’m leaving the enclave and could use a big guy who doesn’t talk much to follow me around. Know anyone?

Jude: I have a guy for that. He’s good.

Okay fine, he was funny.

Me: Meet me at my house in an hour?

Jude: Destination?

Me: Shoe shopping. I’ll drive.

Jude: No problem.

10

CAMERON

Weekend Jude managed to surprise me.

He arrived at my house precisely fifty-five minutes after our last text. On a vintage Indian motorcycle.

Damn him.

I loved motorcycles. I loved men on motorcycles. I had a not-so-secret obsession with a TV series about a motorcycle gang and their very sexy and compellingly complicated leader. I read deliciously unrealistic motorcycle club romances.

And I just happened to have a view out to the front of my house when Jude Ellis pulled up on a bike, wearing black leather.

My heart skipped several beats when he pushed down the kickstand with his booted foot. Why was that so hot? He pulled off his helmet and set it on the back, then took off his leather jacket.

That left him in a white t-shirt that barely contained his thick chest and tattooed arms, and a pair of dark jeans. So simple. But god, he made that look good.

“Sorry, Cam, I can’t let you go out with a boy on a motorcycle.”

I gasped at the deep, slightly accented voice behind me and put my hand on my chest. “Oh my god, you scared me.”

Bert, my gardener, stood just behind me, his smile deepening the wrinkles around his eyes. He wore his usual uniform of a loud Hawaiian shirt—this one yellow with pink flamingos—shorts, and an ancient pair of flip-flops. He had deep lines in his dark skin and his short hair was entirely gray. Crooked teeth gave him the most endearing smile.

“A bit early for a date,” he said.

“He’s not my date, he’s security. Emily bullied me into hiring him after that thing at work.”

“Good,” he said, his voice serious.