Her body had effectively turned to mush.
With rough breaths, he cradled her against the heat of his body—pulling her up to him. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “Fuckin’ beautiful.”
Suddenly aware that he was in possession of her panties and his pants had been tossed on the gravel, Velma pulled herself together and started to move from the bike.
His arms tightened their grip. “Nope. Not yet. You need to hear what I’m about to say.”
She paused.
“Turn around.”
It took some maneuvering, but she managed to turn so they faced each other, her legs around his middle.
He stroked her cheek, his touch light. “You are a lot of things, Velma Johnson. You’re high-strung. You’re organized as all fuck.”
She opened her mouth to defend herself, but his fingertip over her lips stopped her.
“Don’t get on me about cussing right now, because what I’m sayin’ is important. You take your living room art too seriously, and you care too much when my socks don’t hit the hamper. But don’t let anyone ever tell you you’re less because of it. Or make you feel like you’re boring because you like things the way you like ’em. Even me. You care deeply about the people in your life. If they can’t see that, fuck ’em.”
She glanced to the exhaust pipe, unable to meet his gaze as a tear slid out of the corner of her right eye.
He ran a fingertip under her chin and lifted her gaze to meet his. “If people can’t appreciate all you bring to the table, they don’t deserve to be in your life.”
In that moment, for the first time in a long time, the stars aligned and the world righted itself. She believed him. Freedom-loving Brek, who would soon ride out of her life as easily as he’d ridden in. The thought caught in her throat, burning her back to reality. What on earth was she supposed to do with herself when he left?
Chapter Eighteen
Countdown to Claire & Dean’s Wedding: 16 Days
Velma doodled a sketch of a poorly drawn motorcycle on her yellow legal pad. Annuity sales meetings were tedious. Her mind drifted from the conference room to her adventures on Brek’s bike the night before.
“Velma.”
She glanced up. Crud. How long had her boss been standing over her? “Sorry, yes?”
“There’s a man in your office here to see you.”
Velma’s pulse dropped at the way Tim, her boss, said “a man.”
“Um…” She glanced from where her boss stood at the door to her colleagues situated around the polished mahogany conference table.
“Perhaps you should take care of this…Brek?” Tim’s eyebrows puckered, making the lines more prominent than usual.
“Yes, of course. Excuse me.” She snatched her leather portfolio with the company logo embossed in gold on the cover and shuffled past him.
“Velma.” Tim’s voice commanded her attention.
She paused and turned toward him. “Yes?”
He strutted toward where she’d stopped in the hallway. “I trust this won’t be a common occurrence? Guests are strongly discouraged while you’re working.”
She read between his lines easily enough—long-haired, leather-clad bikers were strongly discouraged. The sour feeling in her stomach doubled at the way Tim’s pinched expression broadcast precisely what he meant.
“I understand.” Velma’s fingertips went cold. Portfolio pressed against her chest, she beelined for her office.
Brek stood there holding a marble paperweight from her bookshelf, turning it over in his hands.
Oh, no. No. No. Brek had his tattoos on display today with a short-sleeved black tee and one of his excessively ripped pairs of jeans. This pair was missing both knees and a decent amount of thigh material. The tee sported screen-printed lips with a giant tongue. Holy crap, her boss must’ve burst a blood vessel when he saw Brek waiting in the plush lobby next to their two-o’clock clients.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey.” He dropped the marble paperweight back on the ledge with a thump. “Tried to call.”
“Sorry. They’ve had me in meetings all day. What’s up?” She skirted around the edge of the desk, dropping her notepad next to the phone.
He shoved his fingertips into his pockets. The bags under his eyes and the frustration etched in his expression were unusual for him. “Meeting Dean and Claire at the courthouse in thirty. Can’t find where you put their stuff.”
“Sorry, I have it in their file. I double-checked on the country club and the photo booth place over lunch.”
“Everything set?”
“Yes.” She grabbed her briefcase and pulled their file. “I thought you guys were doing this next week?”
“Change of plans. Dean’s mom’s coming to town, and they’re goin’ up to Vail for a few days. Has to happen today.” Brek’s gaze raked over her. “You look pretty.”
Her pulse skipped at his perusal. “Thank you.”
She had picked the most professional power suit she owned that morning and twisted her hair in a French roll. So far it had only given her a headache.
He stepped close behind and ran a hand over her shoulder. Her stomach clenched. What would Tim think if he walked in right now?
“Not here, Brek,” she said, her voice low. Not where her boss could see them.
His hand immediately dropped. “You have the papers?”
“Everything for the marriage license is on this side.” She opened the brown file folder and pointed to the correct tab.
Brek slid an envelope across the desk with one finger. “We need this, too.”
Velma ripped open the envelope and laid the papers in the pile, smoothing the creases. The wedding was two weeks away. Family members had booked nonrefundable airline tickets. Velma was absolutely fine with all of it. Excited, even. The weight against her chest when Claire and Dean announced their engagement had lessened to nothing, and there could only be one reason. Brek.
He was scowling at his phone. Again.
“What’s going on?” She dropped the pages in the folder and flipped the file closed.
He ran a hand over the long hair she’d grown rather fond of. A lump lodged in her rib cage near her heart at the defeated look on his face.
She scooted across the office and pushed the heavy wooden door closed. Brek watched her without a word.
Screw Tim and his ideas of who could visit her at work. She stepped to Brek and ran a palm over the planes of his back, up to his shoulders. He leaned into her hands, a too-deep breath escaping his lungs. His back had been in knots lately. More than once in the past week, she had given him a massage before bed. The massages always led to other things. Whatever bothered him, he never said.
“Want to talk?” she asked.
“Nothing to talk about.” He stared straight ahead. Clearly, there was a load to talk about.
“Liar.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Maybe I can help.”
“Not unless you can get my guys to behave. We’re already knee-deep in promotion and ticket sales, and if they don’t get their shit together, we’ll have to cancel.”
Well, seeing as the entirety of her music connections stood next to her, she probably wasn’t any help in that department. “Has this ever happened before?”
“Normally, I’m out in the thick of things. Not a big deal. It’s all about being present and keeping the connection.” The exasperated tone in his words ached.
“If you weren’t in Denver helping Aspen, what would you do?” She wished like heck there was more she could do for him than rub his arm.
He lifted a shoulder. “What I always do. Hop on my bike. Make shit happen.”
She remained silent. He’d be able to do just that soon. After Sophie and Troy finally made it down the aisle—or whatever they would be walking down—and Claire and Dean said “I do,” Brek would be free to do what he needed to do for the sake of rock ’n’ roll.
Velma swallowed the heavy feeling rising in h
er throat.
Brek would be gone, dealing with his band. He was temporary. He wasn’t about happily ever after. Soon she’d be alone, and this time the emptiness would be permanent. She would have to go back to her spreadsheet.
“I need a miracle.” He dropped to the chair in front of her desk. “Things’ve been tight. More than tight. Sophie’s mom caused a shit storm when the wedding didn’t happen. This Rosette thing has to work or Aspen’s gonna be out.”
Velma’s stomach turned upside down. “Out?”
“Of business.” He let out a broken breath. “Did you have your meeting with Jase about their account?”
“I’m supposed to have dinner with the entire family.” She was a little nervous. Their account would be huge. “Jase said they’re loud.”
“Maybe you should bring a hot date with you. A guy who knows a thing or two about being loud. A guy who also grew up close to the Dvornakovs. I’ll come to dinner. Drink some vodka. Eat Russian food—which is the shit. I’ll get a front-row seat when they agree with my assessment that they are totally fucked without you.”
“You’d do that for me?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, V. I’ll go hang out with my friend’s family if it’ll help my girlfriend feel more comfortable.”
Her whole body tingled.
“Am I your girlfriend?” she asked.
He stared at her a beat. “You banging other guys?”
“No.” Of course she wasn’t.
“I’m not banging other chicks. So, yeah, that makes you my girlfriend.”
Girlfriend. The word sounded sticky to her ears. Temporary girlfriend, maybe. Fling, even.
He stood to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “I gotta go.”
He swung open the door. Her boss was loitering in the hallway right outside her office. A pointed glance her way made it clear she hadn’t disposed of Brek quickly enough.
Brek caught the look and glanced from Tim to Velma. Not an idiot, Brek clearly got what was going on here. Namely, her boss could be a jerk.
“See you at home.” With that, he left—without even a glance toward Tim.
Chapter Nineteen
Countdown to Claire & Dean’s Wedding: 15 Days
Brek had two jobs: ensure Sophie got married and prevent anyone from getting arrested. He did a quick head count. Bride and groom. Check. Minister. Check. Photographer. Check. He and Velma would stand as witnesses. Check. Check. He held the walkie-talkie to his mouth. They could’ve used Aspen’s Bluetooth setup, but the two-way radios were way more A-Team. “Ready to go, Eli. You copy, Dean? Jase?”
“In position,” Jase replied. “Traffic cones going up now.”
“What he said,” Dean’s voice crackled over the radio.
“In position,” Eli parroted.
“Let’s roll,” Brek replied into the handset. He dropped the radio beside him on the wooden bench inside the back of the bread delivery van and settled Buttercup on his lap. The dog wasn’t happy about wearing a mini tux again.
They had borrowed the box truck from one of Eli’s suppliers after the owner finished his morning deliveries. Eli covered the bakery logos with new ones for the fictional Cal’s Famous Pizzeria while Brek swept out the crumbs and installed the benches. They even added fake license plates so it couldn’t be traced.
Velma squeezed in next to him.
His hand found hers. When she was nearby, it seemed he couldn’t help but touch her.
“I’m suddenly craving some French bread with a side of extra carbs. This is torture.” Her stomach rumbled in agreement.
“Didn’t you eat before you came?”
“No time. Busy at work, then I had to grab supplies for Claire’s shower and find a dress for tomorrow’s dinner with Jase’s family.”
“They’re gonna love you. I’ll make sure of it.”
She had been stressed about making a good impression. Jase’s family could be intense, but Brek would be there as her buffer.
“I hope so. I really do. By the way, he told me how lilies are your go-to flower to pick up women. I’d be grumpy, but I really like lilies.” Her eyes danced with laughter.
“You’re the only woman I’ve ever picked up with flowers.” Truth. Usually, he didn’t need to buy flowers to get a woman to drop her panties. “And Jase needs to keep his trap shut. What else has he told you?”
“Things I’ll never say.” Velma raised her eyebrows and mimed zipping her mouth shut.
He needed to have a talk with his buddy about shit Jase should keep to himself.
The photographer shifted next to Velma, camera in hand. Velma’s grandfather-slash-minister, Pops (he’d insisted Brek call him that), was perched on the bench across from them, along with the happy couple. Pops had a goofy grin etched on his face. Brek had caved, telling him the plan so he’d agree to get in the back of a bread truck. As soon as Pops heard what they were up to, he had been ecstatic.
“All aboard,” Eli said before pulling down the rolling door and locking it in place. Everything inside went dark. Velma sucked in a breath. She gripped Brek’s forearm, her fingernails biting into his skin. Not in the good way they’d done that morning.
Only a sliver of sunshine crept under the door. He probably should’ve brought something for light. Hindsight and all that.
Velma dug through the oversized duffle bag she’d placed at her feet, sliding a little as the van lurched forward. Brek caught her waist before she took a header onto the floor. She sat up and clicked on multiple flashlights. Well, huh. She’d come prepared. Of course she had. She was Velma—cell phone flashlights wouldn’t cut it.
She handed one to him and another to Pops. The eerie glow of the flashlights gave this wedding a distinctly creepy feel. Buttercup yapped in apparent agreement.
They hit a bump and everyone bounced. Velma hit her head against the metal side of the van. Brek raised his fingers to rub her hair where she had bonked.
“That feels nice, but it’d be better if you told me what’s happening,” Velma whispered to him. He turned the flashlight beam to her.
“Sophie and Troy are getting married,” he replied, breathing in the unique scent of everything Velma. He glanced to the duffle bag she’d filled with things. Flashlights, apparently. Who knew what else she’d packed into her bag of tricks. “You didn’t need to bring umbrellas.”
“You’ll thank me when it rains.” She pressed her shoulders back and raised her eyebrows at him.
He shook his head and nudged her knee with his. “Thanks for bringing flashlights.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I want to take that dress off you later,” he whispered in her ear.
“Brek,” she whispered back, giving the side-eye to her oblivious grandfather. “Behave.”
“It’s gonna happen,” he replied.
He couldn’t help it. She wore one of her fancy business dresses that turned him on like a teenager at a Katy Perry concert. He’d also dressed up for the occasion in black jeans and another a starched, collared white shirt. Velma had already shown her appreciation for his effort by promptly undressing him that morning. Dean was making him wear a fucking tuxedo for his wedding. Brek held high hopes for Velma’s reaction to him in a tux.
The radio propped against his hip cracked to life. “Dean to Brek.”
He pressed the button on the side and raised the mic speaker to his lips. “Brek here.”
“Cones are set. I’ve got traffic diverted. Where are you at?” Dean’s voice muffled toward the end.
“Two minutes out,” Eli replied for him.
“Okay.” Brek dropped the radio to his lap and rubbed his hands together. “Boys and girls, this is how it’s gonna go. We’ve gotta be in and out before the cops show up. I’m thinking we’ve got about five minutes before anyone realizes we have no business being where we’re about to be.”
“Cops?” Sophie asked, her voice higher than usual.
He swung the light from the flashlight her way, so shadows da
nced across her face.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be gone before they arrive. We’ve got all the traffic stopped at the intersection of Broadway and Fourteenth Street. Pops, you’re out first. Then the photographer, then Velma, then me, then Troy, then Sophie.”
Everyone seemed to be following. Although, Velma didn’t seem to be breathing. “Breathe, V. No one’s getting arrested.”
She gulped a lungful of air.
“We’re getting married where we met?” Sophie asked, her tone dreamy.
“It’s almost perfect.” Troy’s voice was husky.
“Almost?” Sophie asked.
Troy slipped her the wooden case holding the family heirloom pearls. It took some effort, but Brek had gotten the regurgitated pearls restrung.
“Totally romantic.” Sophie wore a cheek-to-cheek grin. Regurgitated pearls apparently did that to a chick.
Troy helped Sophie latch the necklace at the back of her neck. “I can’t believe we never thought of getting married where we met.”
Yeah, well, her previous wedding endeavor had been about keeping up with the Joneses. This one was all about them. About their story. Who they were and who they would become as a couple. Brek couldn’t hold back a smile. Totally perfect.
“We’ve got a problem,” Jase’s voice came through the radio. “God’s spitting on us.”
Velma, apparently back on her game, pursed her lips and gave him a solid I-told-you-so look. “I think he means it’s raining.”
Brek held the radio to his mouth and smirked. “We’ve got umbrellas.”
Velma was already on it, pulling out the umbrellas and handing one to Pops and one to Brek. “I’ll hold for Sophie; you get Troy. Pops can hold his, and Dean can hold for the photographer.”
“Dean is on traffic duty.” Brek checked the latch on his umbrella to be sure it’d pop open.
“I’m good. I’ve got a waterproof case on this. Figured it might rain today,” the photography guy, Alan, said.
Velma gave Brek another look. This time she shook her head.
Going Down On One Knee (A Mile High Matched Novel Book 1) Page 18