“Same,” I tell her.
Good ole’ Connie gets to work and has our cups ready on the counter in no time.
“Thank you,” I tell her before I grab mine and go sit down at one of the two person tables, taking a sip while Cannon pays the bill, since he offered.
“I’m so sorry about what happened to the dealership and Fluid,” I overhear the barista tell him softly. “If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.” She reaches out and gives his hand a squeeze before taking the twenty-dollar bill from him.
“Thanks, sweetheart, and keep the change,” Cannon says before he turns away from her to come sit down. He lowers himself into the chair across from me, his long legs sprawling wide in front of him. One of his knees bumps up against my crossed legs but he doesn’t move it, so I’m the one who is forced to readjust. Then, he just stares at me over his cup as he takes a sip. It’s as if he doesn’t know or doesn’t care that he still has the full attention of the barista behind him.
I hate to admit it to myself, but he’s also holding my full attention as well.
Chapter Four
Cannon
Madison clutches her coffee in a death grip like it’s the elixir of life and she thinks someone may come along and steal it from her. Her dark chocolate eyes watch me warily before she finally takes a sip. That one sip is all it takes for her shoulders to relax a few degrees, some of the uptight tension leaving her body as if by magic. She’s wound tight, that’s for sure, from her dark hair that’s pulled back into a snug, low bun, to the plain white suit pressed to perfection under her white dress coat. Her eyes are constantly narrowed, like she’s always on edge, not able or willing to trust anyone. That’s not exactly a helpful image for a public figure hoping to win over the hearts and minds of voters.
Maybe she doesn’t have a chance in hell of beating Bailey. That doesn’t matter to me. I know now, seeing her up close and personal, trying to break through her stone-cold walls, that I could never hurt her, not even if Conrad’s life depended on it. I’m glad he doesn’t expect me to.
“Do you have admirers everywhere you go?” she asks into the silence, lowering her eyes to her cup like she doesn’t like me watching her.
It takes me a moment to realize she’s referring to the barista, Connie. I glance over my shoulder and find her staring at us.
“A few,” I answer honestly when I face her again. There’s no reason to lie. My social life is no secret in this town. I’ve lived here forever with my family. Since high school I’ve been known for my love ‘em and leave ‘em ways. But the women I spend nights with understand that well before they end up in my bed, and I’ve yet to meet one that is angry or hostile. Nope, usually they try and figure out how to get me to take them home with me again, but that’s not how it works. That’s not how I work.
If you don’t keep anyone around long enough to get to know more than their name and favorite sexual position, then you can’t miss them when they’re gone.
“So, Cannon Erikson of the Savage Kings MC, what did you want to talk about?” Madison asks, telling me one thing about her – she hates awkward silences and has a need to fill them. Outside, I was the one talking too much, and she was ready to bolt. Which means, less is more with her. If I can keep drawing this out, her curiosity will eventually get the best of her. Good to know. I need to focus on that and not what she would look like with her midnight hair down around her naked shoulders and perky tits.
“I wanted to warn you.” There, I’ll dangle a little bait and patiently wait for her to take it.
“Warn me?” She sits up a little straighter, that tension back in her neck and shoulders. “Warn me about what?”
“You may be in danger.”
She blinks at me a few times and then laughs stiffly as if she’s trying to brush the words off. “Danger, huh? Of what? What is that supposed to mean? That I should be scared of you?”
I shake my head and ask, “What do you know about the man you just declared that you’re running against for mayor?” I ask.
She shrugs and says, “He’s the former chief of police, conservative, well liked in the community. Why? I know it’s a tough fight.”
“What you don’t know is that he’s ruthless.”
“Ruthless?” She has a habit of repeating the words I say, and I think I like it. “Why do you say that?”
“Bailey asked me to find dirt on you, anything that he could use against you in the election,” I admit to her quietly so that not even Connie will overhear us.
“Sorry to break it to you, but you won’t find a shred of dirt on me. I have no baggage, no skeletons in my closet,” Madison says defensively.
“I know. So does the former chief. Which means it’s only a matter of time before he resorts to plan B.”
“And what’s plan B?”
“To threaten you so you quit, rough you up a little, and terrorize you until you cry uncle and drop out of the race.”
“So that’s what this is about? You’re doing his dirty work?”
“Fuck no,” I answer. “I’m not doing shit for that fat bastard. I’m here to warn you. There’s no limit to what he may do to you.”
“I won’t drop out, no matter what,” she replies, face full of stubbornness, jaw tight and lips pursed.
“Fine. That’s your decision, but you better watch your back,” I tell her honestly.
Her chair squeals as she slides it back on the hard floor and gets to her feet, hands clutching her coffee. “I can take care of myself, so stay the hell away from me,” she warns before she hurries out of the shop.
“What’s her problem?” Connie mutters.
I jump up, thinking fast and say, “Can I have a pen and a napkin?” I ask her in a rush.
“Sure,” she quickly agrees, handing them over the top of the counter. I scribble down my number and then run out the door. Thanks to my long stride running and the fact that she’s walking carefully in her heels, it doesn’t take me long to catch up to Madison in the parking lot before she gets into a blue BMW coupe that beeps as she unlocks it.
“Wait,” I tell her, and she spins around in surprise, dropping her keys on the pavement when she couldn’t juggle them and her coffee.
I bend down and pick them up and offer them to her with the napkin. “Here’s my number, just in case.”
“In case of what? I’m in danger?” she asks sarcastically while looking down at the scribbled numbers.
“That or any other reason,” I reply, slipping my hands into my pockets. “My offer for lunch or dinner still stands. Although, if I’m honest, I actually prefer a nice breakfast after an energetic night…”
“I’m sure you do,” she mutters, balling the napkin up and tossing it back at me. It hits me in the chest before I snatch it out of the air – the physical proof of her rejection.
“You’re turning me down?” I know rationally that is what she’s doing, and yet I don’t think I can actually believe it or even process it.