Remy (Golden Glades Henchmen MC 4)

“Listen, you’re supposed to be a hot, not overly bright, biker dude. Not someone who brings all the wisdom and shit. Like the wise old man in some movie when the floundering main character sits down on a bench looking like he needs someone to give him a pep talk.”

“That is an… oddly specific example.”

“Well, think about it. Isn’t it always some old, random man on a bench who gives out life advice in movies?”

“I guess you have a point. But what I said stands. Trust yourself and your staff. You can be in touch with them as much as you want, so long as you don’t give them any details about where you are.”

“Okay. You’re right. They can totally handle it. I will make the arrangements, make the texts, and get it going. After I do those dishes.”

“I’m doing the dishes.”

“It’s not your job.”

“I’m doing the dishes, Lark,” he said, shaking his head at me like I was being ridiculous. “As soon as you tell me which one of these sponges is for the dogs,” he added, pointing at the separate ones on separate rests.

“The green one.”

“Was that so hard?” he asked, rolling his eyes at me. “Go make your arrangements. I will do this then start a trip outside with the dogs.”

With that, he set to work on the dishes.

I spent another couple of minutes talking with Myles and Lou before Lou headed out, allowing both Myles and I to grab some paper and work through a schedule for the shop.

Which was a more complicated process than you would think.

“No, Shelley has that night class on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Myles reminded me.

“Right. And James is being the lifeguard at his local pool on Wednesdays now,” I said, scribbling out his name where we had them.

A good forty minutes later, though, we had what we thought would work, then sent out the texts about our shared “flu” and the new schedule. We got a couple texts that made us need to do a little more fiddling until, blissfully, we had it handled.

“Are you going to be okay? Financially?” I added to Myles as I cleaned up the scrape on his foot from his bullet graze.

“You know me. Not a big spender. And your parents pay me well,” he added.

Myles made what I made. I’d been insistent on it when my parents had originally wanted to pay him significantly less because, well, I was family and he was not. Unluckily for them, being the manager, I knew exactly what the books said, so I knew they could more than afford to pay us the same generous salary without it hurting their profits.

So, yes, we both made good money.

And Myles’s activities usually involved fun in the sun which was, essentially, free.

He was probably more stable than I was, given that so much of my money went to vet bills and various home owning expenses.

“This is not for forever,” I assured him.

“Lark, are you really trying to make it sound like staying here in this multi-million-dollar home and not going to work is going to be a hardship?” he asked, smirking.

“Not a hardship, no. But we also can’t, you know, leave.”

“There’s a pool. That’s good enough for me for a while. And you’re here. So that’s a win/win too. And, for the record, when you want to bang hottie biker dude, I am happy to take the dogs outside for a little fetch session,” he said, giving me a knowing smirk.

“It’s not—“

“Like that,” he finished for me, rolling his eyes. “I feel like I am hearing that too often for it to be true. Bang the guy already. He put his life on the line for me tonight. Hell, I’d bang him for it if he were interested. But all he can think about is your pretty face, so go over there and make a move already.”

“Exactly how would I make a move?”

“Oh, you poor girl. It really has been that long, hasn’t it?” he asked. “Honey, he’s a guy. You’re a hot girl. Literally all you need to do is wear a low-cut top and take a deep breath, and that is all he would need.”