“Illegal business. I’ll call the cops and have that shut down right away,” I throw back, crossing my arms.
“I don’t do anythin’ illegal, lady. Not sure what you’re talkin’ about. I’m just bringin’ my guys in to run my club and business, just like anyone else.”
I throw my hands up. “You can’t do that.”
He grins and, when he does, he looks like the devil himself. “I can, and I will.”
“I’ll not stand for this,” I threaten. “I’ll make some calls and ...”
“And what?”
“Argh!” I shake my head and turn, storming toward my café. “This isn’t over!”
“I’ll be seein’ you, sweet cheeks.”
I swear to god, I’m going to punch him in the mouth.
In his perfectly attractive, masculine mouth.
It’s on.
2
“MOVE, RAMONA,” I HISS, shoving her to the side so I can peer out the window.
“Let me see, woman,” she shoves me back, taking her spot once more.
“It’s my café and they’re my neighbors, let me see.”
We have a war of tackling back and forth, and then finally she moves aside so I can peer out the window that overlooks the parking lot and the garage. It’s move-in day, and there have been trucks and bikes and all sorts of people getting around for the last few hours. The biker, the one I don’t even know the name of, has been pointing and directing those trucks as they slowly unpack and move in.
There are men everywhere. Bikers in the same leather jackets getting around. This can’t be happening. I made a call to the police, who informed me that it can happen and if they’re not doing anything wrong, they’re entitled to own whatever business they please. I have zero grounds to do anything but spy, and spy I will.
If the police won’t help me, I’ll chase them out myself.
“They’re super-hot,” Ramona says, squashing herself up against me and pressing her face to mine so she can see out, too.
“Don’t let their looks fool you, Ramona. Keep it in your pants.”
“Oh my word, look at that one. He looks like Thor.”
She’s right. There is one biker that’s big, and muscly, and has long, dark-blond hair and beard and seriously, he is rocking the Thor look. I wish they were all hideous, that would make this so much easier.
“That’s the one who I met on the sidewalk,” I whisper, as if they can hear me. I shove my finger toward the President, or whatever the hell he calls himself.
“Oh, man, he’s yummy. Seriously, you should have gotten his number.”
“He’s a douchebag, and I would only get his number to ensure I could chase them the hell out of my lot.”
“It’s not your lot, girl.” Ramona laughs. “You don’t own that half.”
“I know, but seriously, a garage. The noise that’s going to come out of there, it’ll ruin the reputation of my café.”
“We won’t let that happen.”
“What are we going to do about it?” I exhale, stepping back.
“We will show them who’s boss around here.”
I snort. “Have you seen how many of them there are?”
She raises her brows. “Have they met us?”
I grin. “No, indeed they haven’t.”
“Well, we’ll make sure they wish they hadn’t. We’ll drive them so crazy they’ll be forced to leave.”
“I love how your mind works.”
She grins and claps her hands together, then looks back out the window. “Oh, my god.”
“What?”
“They’re coming over.”
“What?” I squeak, rushing back to the window to see a group of big, burly men walking toward the café.
“What are we going to do?” she asks, eyes wide.
“I don’t know, oh my god.”
The café is open and bustling, I can’t exactly kick them out without looking like a bad business owner.
This is bad.
I turn and rush out of my office and toward the main counter just as the door opens and a group of incredible looking bikers walk in. The President’s eyes go to mine and he grins, a slow, shit eating grin that makes me want to go right over there and punch him in his perfect, rugged face. Damn him.
I force a smile, even though everything inside of me wants to throw one hell of a fit.
“Well, didn’t think you’d let me in so easily,” he rasps in that sexy voice when he reaches the counter.
I try not to make eye contact with any of them. It’s very hard.
Why are they so intimidating?
“Can I help you?” I ask, in my best voice. There are customers looking. Customers who love me and my place; they can’t see me behaving anything but perfectly.
“Just came by to introduce ourselves.”
Ramona sidles up beside me, and her voice is husky when she shoves her hand out toward him and says, “Ramona. Pleased to meet you. I see you’re our new neighbors.”
“You live here, too?” Biker asks, taking her hand and shaking it.
“Oh, no, I’m Evelina’s best friend.”
“Evelina,” he purrs. “Way too nice, doesn’t fit. I’m goin’ to call you Sparkler.”
My mouth drops open. “Why on earth would you call me that? Is there something wrong with you?”
He grins and leans closer. “Because you’re like a sparkler goin’ off, spittin’ shit everywhere and burnin’ everything you touch. Seems a good fit, no?”
“Well, if that’s the case, it’s only fair I know your name so I can come up with an equally offensive nickname.”
He pushes his hand toward me, extending it. “Riggs.”
“Riggs?” I say, blinking. “And what’s your last name, Riggs?”
“Riggs.”
“Your name is Riggs Riggs?”
One of the bikers behind him chuckles.
“Cash. Cash Riggs.”
I snort. “Your parents named you Cash Riggs? My god. I don’t need an awful nickname, your name is bad enough.”
“Evelina!”
The scoff comes from an old lady who comes in every day for my famous chocolate slice and coffee. Her name is Doris and she’s the sweetest lady. I look to her sheepishly. “Sorry, Doris.”
“He’s a strapping young man. Perhaps try a different approach and you might get a date, dear.”
I gape at her, and then whisper-hiss, “Doris!”
“You haven’t been on a date in some time.”
“There was Oscar ...” I point out. “Why does everyone forget Oscar?”
“Oscar was a limp lizard. He wasn’t a man, dear. He—” she nods toward Cash “—is a man.”
My cheeks burn as I give her a scornful expression to which she gives me a big smile. I turn back to Cash. “Can I get you something, you’re holding up the line.”
He turns behind him where there is one person waiting who is busy chatting to someone sitting at a table.
“Doesn’t seem like it.”