Code-Switching

by Zena Wynn

  CODE-SWITCHING

  by

  ZENA WYNN

  © 2020

  A Real Love Enterprises Publication

  ISBN 978-1-7333670-4-2

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Code-Switching

  Copyright © 2020 by Zena Wynn

  Cover art: Shirley Burnett

  Editor: Vivienne Williams

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Real Love Enterprises, PO Box 12003, Jacksonville, FL 32209.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  CODE-SWITCHING

  Code-Switching: (noun) The act of purposely modifying one's language or behavior in different ways depending on social context.

  The coolly elegant Catherine Brown is just the woman I need to take my career to the next level. She’s everything I could want in a corporate wife—attractive, well-bred and refined. Like me, Catherine has an Ivy League education, a strong work ethic, and a driving need to succeed. After working closely with her for the last five years, and three months of exclusive dating, I’m confident I’ve learned all I need to know. I asked Catherine to marry me and patiently gave her the time she requested to decide. Then, a family emergency causes Catherine to reveal a side of her nature I had no idea existed. She’s trying her best to keep me out of it, but I’m determined to stick to her like glue. You see, Catherine may be the perfect corporate wife, but Tikki is my perfect match.

  Foreword

  In my research of Motorcycle Clubs, I came across several wedding vows used by bikers. Unfortunately, I forgot to write down my sources. When I Googled biker wedding vows again to give the authors credit, I couldn’t locate all of them. If any line or lines of the vows I wrote sound familiar, this is the reason why.

  One source was https://ezinearticles.com

  Another was Biker Wedding Ceremony by Chaplain Fellowship Ministries.

  There were many, many more articles and Pinterest posts I read, and Youtube videos I watched to get the tone and flavor for the vows I created for my characters. No copyright infringement intended.

  Chapter One

  Zach

  We sat around the conference table on the 10th floor of Berkley-Adams, a Fortune 500 advertising agency. I gave half an ear to a presentation from our sales and marketing team on an ad campaign they’d devised for our approval. The Scarsdale account was a lucrative one that if won, would gain us prestige and hefty bonuses. As such, the campaign should have garnered my full attention.

  How can she sit there so calm and composed?

  Catherine Brown, the Vice President of Marketing, sat across the wide mahogany table from me. As always, she was perfectly coifed and dressed in a modest business pantsuit that still managed to be feminine on her slender but curvy frame. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon. Her makeup was expertly applied with a light hand to give her natural attractiveness a subtle boost. When she spoke, her voice was low-keyed and articulate, lacking any sort of accent.

  In contrast, despite my laid-back impression, I was about to crawl out of my skin with anticipation. Only manners and an ingrained sense of professionalism kept me from dragging her out of the conference room and demanding an answer to my proposal. It had been three days. How much longer was she going to make me wait?

  Catherine was everything I wanted in a corporate wife—elegant, well bred, refined, and she possessed an Ivy League education. Like me, she had a strong work ethic and a driving need to be successful. At the age of twenty-six, she’d proven it by becoming the second youngest person to be promoted to the position of vice president in Berkley-Adams’ history. I was the youngest, having been promoted at age twenty-five to my current position of vice president of sales three years ago.

  Our positions meant Catherine and I had worked closely together for the last two years. Together, we made a good team. Three months ago, we’d begun dating. She was a classy lady. The type you courted with roses and flowers. Employees and management loved her. Catherine was just the woman I needed to take my career to the next level.

  Last Friday night, I’d arrived on her doorstep with a dozen, long-stemmed, rainbow roses. We’d eaten dinner at a high-class restaurant with a month-long waitlist, unless you had the right connections. I did. Next, I presented her with tickets to a live Broadway show she’d mentioned in passing wanting to see. After the show, I’d taken her to a quiet spot near the Hudson River and had gone down on one knee, open ring box in hand. “Catherine, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Her gaze bounced back and forth between the ostentatious diamond engagement ring and me for long, silent minutes. After what felt like a lifetime of waiting, just when I began to think she wouldn’t respond, she said, “Do you mind if I take a few days to think about it? This caught me by surprise. I had no idea you were thinking in terms of marriage.”

  The part of me that wanted to seal the deal told me to push for an answer now. Instead, I said, “Sure. Take as much time as you need.”

  Now I sat wondering what had I done wrong? Everything had been executed perfectly—flowers, dinner and a show, and a nice romantic setting for the proposal. Hell, I’d even knelt down on one knee like they do in the movies. The night couldn’t have been more romantic.

  The soft buzz of a vibrating cellphone interrupted my thoughts. Catherine’s gaze flicked down and read the screen. She calmly swiped the decline button, sending the call to voicemail. A few seconds later, the phone buzzed again. This time I caught the faint narrowing of her eyes and the hint of annoyance in her expression when she declined it.

  The third time it rang from the same number, her mouth tightened and she lifted the phone from the table. “Excuse me. This must be important. Please continue,” she told Natalie, who’d been charged with making the presentation for her group.

  “Yes, Ms. Brown,” Natalie said.

  Catherine angled her chair so that her back was to the majority of the group, but I could still see her profile. In a low voice, she answered saying, “This had better be important. I’m in a meeting.”

  Her spine went rigid and her face drained of color. “What!” she exclaimed, her subdued voice violently controlled.

  Suddenly she shot to her feet. “What da fuck was he doing there?”

  Silence fell in the room as all eyes turned to her. Before my astonished gaze, her demeanor and posture changed. Her ladylike poise morphed into that of a cold, hard bitch ready to take names and kick asses. My dick immediately got hard.

  Catherine glanced up and realized she was the center of attention. She took a few steps toward the conference room door and broke into a string of angry, fluent Spanish, and punctuated it by jabbing the disconnect button. Before turning to face us, she took a deep, calming brea
th. “Excuse me. Family emergency. I have to leave.”

  Though she tried to use her professional voice, a hint of Latin flavor slipped in. Face set in angry lines, Catherine stormed from the room, leaving her notebook behind.

  Rising quickly, I said, “Meeting adjourned. We’ll reschedule at a later date.” I grabbed her notepad and mine before rushing out the door behind her.

  Despite my best attempts, I’d never been able to penetrate Catherine’s—never Cat or Cathy—guard. Now that it was lowered, I wasn’t letting her out of my sight. This was my opportunity to know her better.

  I walked past our shared administrative assistant who was staring wide-eyed at the still vibrating door and into Catherine’s office without knocking first. She snapped an ammunition clip into the handgun and checked the safety before placing it in her purse. Then she glanced at me sideways.

  The woman was just full of surprises today. “What’s going on?”

  “Family business. Nothing that concerns you.” Catherine snatched her purse off the desk and stalked toward me.

  I leaned against the closed door and crossed my arms over my chest, determined not to let her leave until I had my answers. “As your hopefully future husband, I beg to differ. What concerns you is my concern, too. Try again.”

  Her hands went to her hips as her head tilted to the side in a movement that screamed ‘angry Latina.’ “Get outta my way. I don’t have time for this.”

  There went that accent slipping again. I held in my grin. What I’d previously seen as bone-deep, cool, unwavering composure was cracking to reveal a hidden core of fire. “Then tell me what I want to know so we can leave.”

  “We?” she challenged.

  “Yes, we. As in, the two of us. If you think I’m letting you drive in your condition, you’re mistaken.” When she continued to silently glare, I calmly stated, “The quicker you talk, the faster we can leave.”

  “Mercer Hospital, and I don’t need a driver. I catch the subway to work, remember? No car.”

  “You mean you don’t want me to drive you, but I’m going to anyway,” I corrected. “What kind of fiancé would I be if I let you go off on your own, as upset as you are?”

  Her fingers clenched on her purse strap as her glare turned hotter. “Thanks, but no thanks. It’s unnecessary. I’ll take a cab or call an Uber.”

  She really didn’t want me going with her. It made me more determined than ever to join her. “My car is downstairs in the garage. By the time Uber gets here, I can have you there.”

  Impatiently, Catherine glanced at her watch. The muscle in her jaw clenched. “Fine.”

  I opened the door. “After you.”

  She swept out into our shared lobby, back straight, head high, bearing straight ahead.

  “Marisa, reschedule all meetings and transfer all calls to voicemail. Catherine has a family emergency,” I said as we walked by. I didn’t dare stop. I had a feeling if I did, Catherine wouldn’t hesitate to leave me behind.

  I entered the hallway just in time to see her step inside the elevator. Breaking into a jog, I slid between the doors as they were closing.

  Catherine’s phone buzzed again. “What?” she snapped.

  She listened to the agitated voice on the other end before saying, “I’m on my way. Unless you have something new to tell me, don’t call again. And Ma, you tell Deke if anything happens to Jamie, there won’t be a hole deep enough he can crawl into where I won’t find him.”

  The expression on her face and the ice in her tone said she wasn’t making idle threats. I must be a sick bastard because that shit turned me on like no one’s business.

  Chapter Two

  Zach

  “You won’t get past security with that gun,” I warned as I parked in the hospital’s parking garage.

  Catherine sighed, removed the gun from her clutch, and slid it under the passenger seat. “I’ll get it when we leave.”

  Hands still resting on the steering wheel, I cast her a sideways glance. “Want to tell me why you have a gun?”

  She gave me a look full of disdain as she exited the vehicle, not waiting for me to come around and open the door. “For protection. Why else?”

  How the hell had she managed to hide all of this passion and fire for the five years she’d worked for Berkley-Adams? Catherine had to be the best actress on the face of the planet. “Do you know how to use it, or is it just for show?”

  “I know how to use it. Would you like me to demonstrate?” Her tone was pure, Spanish Bronx.

  I grinned at her. “No.”

  I didn’t ask if she had a permit. It was damned difficult to obtain a concealed carry license in New York. It didn’t stop people from owning guns. I possessed several myself.

  As we left the parking garage and neared the emergency room’s entrance, I witnessed another metamorphosis. Catherine’s long angry strides smoothed out into a long-legged, graceful gait that still managed to cover ground quickly. Though her expression was as serene as a woman strolling through a park on a nice spring day, her eyes scanned from side to side, alert for any threat.

  Not surprisingly, given the way we were dressed, security waved us through with barely more than a glance. Catherine headed straight for the woman seated at the information desk. “Excuse me. I received a call that my little brother, Jamie Brown, was transported here with gunshot wounds. I’d like to see him. I have his insurance cards, and I’ll be the person responsible for his medical bills.”

  When she added the last, I did my best not to display my surprise.

  “Your name?” the clerk asked.

  “Catherine Brown.”

  “You’re his sister?” she asked, her gaze taking in Catherine’s business suit and me at her side.

  “Yes.” Only someone who knew Catherine well would hear the barely suppressed impatience in her response.

  The woman glanced behind us. “Are his parents here?”

  “My mother is on the way. However, I’m authorized to make all medical decisions for Jamie.” Catherine reached into her purse, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to the woman. Inside was a notarized durable power of attorney for medical care.

  The woman scanned the document before glancing at Catherine. “You mind if I make a copy of this?”

  “Not at all. I have his insurance card, if you need it as well. My brother doesn’t always remember to carry his with him,” Catherine offered sweetly.

  I was full of questions but remained quiet while Catherine handled her business. The clerk made copies of both and entered the insurance information into the system before handing both items back. My eyebrows rose when I realized the medical insurance card she’d given them was the same one I had from Berkley-Adams. Did Catherine carry her brother on her medical insurance?

  “If you have a seat, I’ll have someone check in the back and call when the doctor authorizes it,” she said.

  “Thank you very much. I appreciate your assistance,” Catherine said, without a hint of accent.

  The woman graced Catherine with a smile. Given the environment, she probably didn’t have too many pleasant encounters during the course of her day.

  Catherine turned, scanned the crowded emergency room waiting area, before heading to a few empty seats which allowed her to view both the entrance and the information desk. As soon as her butt hit the hard plastic, she had her phone in her hand, fingers flying over the keyboard as she sent multiple text messages. Her narrow-eyed gaze was focus and intent.

  I sat one seat over from her, trying to give her time and space, but curiosity got the better of me. “So, your brother was shot. What happened?”

  “Wrong place, wrong time,” she muttered.

  I didn’t know who she texted, but from what I could see, the responses were pouring in from multiple people on multiple threads. Some on top of each other. I didn’t know how she kept up with them all. The more she read, the stiffer her body became. She almost vibrated with fury.

  “Tikki!” A bl
eached blonde with a long, lean body encased in tight jeans, a low-cut blouse, and stilettos came rushing over to stop in front of Catherine. “How’s Jamie? What did they say?” the woman asked with a strong Spanish accent.

  Tikki, not Catherine? I thought. Something to address later.

  Catherine took her time answering. When she finally lifted her gaze from her phone, her expression was so cold I felt chilled. “You had one job, Ma. One, fucking, job and you couldn’t do that right.”

  Catherine’s mother blanched and brought her hand up to cover her heart. “Tikki, how was I supposed to know—?”

  “Save it. I’ll handle it.”

  “Wh-what are you going to do?” her mother asked, clearly worried.

  “Handle it,” she repeated slowly. “Where’s Deke?”

  Catherine’s mother actually trembled when she heard the question. The hand she used to tuck her hair behind her ear shook. “I don’t know.”

  Even I heard the lie.

  Catherine didn’t call her on it. She inclined her head. “Sit down. I can’t stand it when you hover.”

  The woman hesitated, clearly wanting to say more. Catherine dismissed her by sending out another group of text messages. I really wanted to be nosy and lean close so I could read her screen, but if I wanted her to let me be involved in this I had to go slow. Clearly, there was more involved here than Jamie being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “Catherine Brown, please come to the information desk.”

  Catherine rose to her feet. So did her mother, until Catherine shot her a look that had her sinking into her seat. I didn’t understand the relationship dynamic here, but Catherine was obviously the one in control. I stood as well, and when Catherine turned her frown onto me, I blandly met her gaze.

  I knew from working with Catherine that for all her demure demeanor, the woman had a will of steel. She needed to see I had the balls to stand up to her if a marriage between us would ever work. Catherine glanced from me to the information desk where they waited. I could see the moment she decided she didn’t have time to deal with me.