Home > Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(5)

Motorcycle Man (Dream Man #4)(5)
Author: Kristen Ashley

“I don’t think I made a good first impression on my new boss,” I answered. Eloise was staring after Tack but at my words she looked at me, eyes still wide, so I pulled my “I can do this” mask over my face, smiled at her and cried, “Oh well, never mind! He’ll come around. Now, let’s get crackin’.”

And I turned to the office door.

Chapter Two

Bring It On

It was day three at Ride. Eloise was gone, I was on my own and I had no idea what I was doing.

It would seem it was important to know a little bit about cars and bikes in order to be the office manager of a garage that made custom ones. Eloise did the best she could in the two days she had to show me around but she had a job in Vegas to get to. She was a blackjack dealer as well as a garage office manager. Her man had already left to start his new job there and she had to get her ass out there (her words) because her man was getting impatient. Seemed there weren’t many women who were equipped to run the office of a garage, or at least not ones that would meet Chaos MC (short for Motorcycle Club, one of the few things Eloise taught me that sunk in) standards and therefore her hiring efforts took longer than she expected.

She did not share what Chaos MC standards were but apparently they didn’t include knowing that first thing about cars and bikes.

The good thing about these two days was that after Tack roared off on his bike after our incident, I only saw him twice. The first, he was roaring in when I was leaving the first day. The second, he was standing, hands planted on h*ps outside the backdoor of the auto supply store talking to two other rough and ready motorcycle dudes. His back was to me and the conversation looked unhappy. I had a list in my purse and was on my way to get lunch for Eloise, the mechanics and me so I didn’t pay much attention. When I returned, Tack and the two rough and ready dudes were nowhere to be seen and didn’t return before I left.

Now I was back, my third day, my first without Eloise and Tack was there. I knew this because, as I drove up at ten to eight, one of the big bay doors was open and he was bent over the engine of a bright, cherry red car. His head turned to watch me drive in but that was all I saw because after I caught the initial glimpse I studiously avoided looking at him as I parked. I equally studiously put him out of my mind as I grabbed the box of donuts I brought for the mechanics, got out of my car, unlocked the office, turned on the lights and computer then started coffee.

Forty-five minutes later, some of the boys were in. I could hear them and a few had been in for coffee and a donut. I was sitting behind the desk, sipping coffee, staring at an order for parts I was clicking into the computer, no part I knew what the hell it was and the notes I was using that were scribbled on a scrap of paper looked like Sanskrit, when the door that led into the garages opened.

My eyes slid to it as my mouth started to form a smile for who I thought would be one of the mechanics when Tack walked in.

My smile froze. Then my eyes went back to the computer screen.

I tried to pretend he wasn’t there but I failed at pretending. I knew exactly when his body stopped at the other side of my desk even though I was studiously avoiding looking at it.

“Thought I told you ‘bout those clothes, Red,” he growled.

I didn’t pry my eyes away from the computer screen, took a sip from my coffee and kept clicking the mouse.

“You don’t have an Employee Handbook,” I informed the computer screen.

“Say again?” he demanded.

My eyes slid to the side and up.

Damn, he was gorgeous. Another white t-shirt, skintight across the wall of his chest, broad shoulders and lean abs, this tee stained with grease. His hands were also stained with grease even though he was carrying a grease-stained cloth. He’d obviously wiped them and, from the look of it, so had every other mechanic, all of them about ten thousand times.

I made a note to self to look into laundering the guys’ grease rags as I repeated, “You don’t have an Employee Handbook.”

“So?” Tack asked, his hands going to his faded jeans-clad hips, the cloth dangling from one.

“So, you don’t have an official dress code. Therefore, I can wear whatever I want. And I take this job seriously so I’m wearing serious clothes.”

And I was. Another pencil skirt, this one bone-colored. A cute little pale pink blouse with barely-there sleeves and darts up my midriff. And spike-heeled, pale pink slingbacks that I thought were awesome. So awesome, I bought the blouse, another skirt and a pair of slacks to go with them, I loved those shoes so much.

“Babe, this is a garage. You don’t wear uppity, high-class shit at a garage. You wear jeans at a garage.”

I straightened away from the computer and swiveled my chair to him, my head tipping back as I did so.

“Would you like me to draft an Employee Handbook that includes a dress code?” I asked.

“Yeah, Red, you do that,” Tack replied.

“Certainly,” I nodded. “Do you have a deadline?”

“End of business today.”

I blinked. Then I said, “That’s impossible. With everything else I need to do, that’ll take a week. Maybe two.”

“You got until the end of business. And I need those parts ordered and I wanna go over the order before you send it.”

Oh boy. Now I was beginning to panic. I was working on the order and I didn’t want to mess it up. Since I had a very loose hold on all that I was doing, I was certain I’d mess it up.

“It’ll be ready in an hour,” I told him, probably stupidly as it was highly doubtful I could learn Sanskrit in an hour and I knew for certain I couldn’t learn anything about cars and bikes in an hour.

“You don’t got an hour. I’m leavin’ in thirty minutes. You got thirty minutes,” he replied.


“Fine,” I bit off.

He scowled at me then he turned away but stopped dead.

“Shit,” he muttered and twisted his torso to look back at me. “You bring in those donuts?”

“Yes,” I answered.


“Why not?”

“Why not is not an answer to why, Red,” Tack returned, his whole body moving now to face me again.

“The guys like donuts,” I told him.


“So, I bought donuts for my co-workers. If you’re a nice person, it’s something you do. And I’m a nice person.”

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