TRACKING TRISHA - A Black Hounds Motorcycle Club Romance (The Fox and the Hounds Book #1)

by Garland, Fiona

  “This is Mr. Brown’s magnum opus,” Dante answered. “I promised that you would be protected. I keep my promises. You will be in the clear. I even set up a fund that will be released if the Black Hounds violate their side of the deal. Think of it as a security deposit you can dip into if we start acting like bad tenants.”

  The biker knew how to work his God-given charm. It would be a great skill to have when the company went public. Now, it was only a matter of getting there.

  Trisha digested the magnitude of the decision she had just made. Strangely enough, it felt as mundane as buying a lottery ticket. Except she was guaranteed to receive a payout. She signed, initialed, and dated the contract.

  Mr. Brown take the binder and rotated it so it faced him. He scanned the pages like a hawk. “Everything looks to be in order.”

  Dante smiled. “Are you ready to start working tomorrow?”

  Indeed, Trisha had settled her affairs at Foxtail Farms. It could operate on its own with minimal oversight from her. “Sure thing. What am I supposed to do? Are we going anywhere?”

  “A car show,” Dante answered. “The Black Hounds will be showing off some of their new designs. It’s a pretty big event with some celebrities showing up for the free shrimp cocktails. Honestly, the vehicles are the best part of these events. I really can’t stand talking to some of the people there but it comes with trying to grow the business. It’ll be a good way to make our relationship official. A lot of press outlets attend these events just to follow celebrities.”

  “That sounds like a heavy hitting event for a woman who is supposed to throw her first pitch.”

  “It’s honestly not,” Dante clarified. “These events are big but there is a lot of white noise. We’ll be competing for attention from celebrities and big businesses. It’ll be a good way for us to get media exposure while you’re still on training wheels. From there, we’ll ramp up our campaign.”

  Trisha sucked the lower part of her lip. Now, the magnitude of her decision had hit her. The farm girl would be in front of cameras with. She wasn’t sure what type of fashion was in vogue. Trisha had a hand-me-down dress from her mother that she mothballed in a closet.

  “I can tell you’re worried about what to wear,” Dante smirked. Trisha mouth widened in shock before forming a smile. The man could read all her tells. “I’ve read that expression on Lucia’s face more times than I can count. Speaking of her, she’ll help you doll yourself up for the car show. Unless you already have something in mind. I don’t mind mud-stained overalls but most other people do.”

  “I got my mom’s old gown from the late 80s… if that’s still in style,” Trisha replied. The demands of running a farm had left little time for her to dress up and socialize. Now, she had all the time in the world. In fact, playing the role of a debutante was her job now. “I think I’ll ask Lucia for advice. I can rent a dress from-”

  “We’ll pay for everything,” Dante said adamantly. “It’s part of the deal. We need you to focus on playing your part. We’ll take care of all the incidental expenses. Besides, Lucia has some dresses picked out for you in the other room.”

  “She knows my dress size?”

  “My sister knows everything,” Dante answered with a boyish grin. “I guess this is the end of the meeting.”

  Overwhelmed with her newfound line of credit, Trisha thanked Dante and Mr. Brown. She left the two to discuss further matter about the arrangement in private. Lucia awaited her in a nearby room.

  Lucia’s sizable apartment was as neat and organized as the Black Hounds clubhouse was cluttered and unruly. The room had been made into conference room for impromptu meetings. The woman seemed to work even when she was at home.

  Trisha entered the room and found Dante’s sister talking to someone over the phone. The woman wore a business suit that fit in well with her lithe, athletic body. She wore no makeup or jewelry. However, a string of tattoos could be seen under the cuffs of her blouse.

  Not noticing her presence, Lucia chatted away. “Yes, I need you to check his record and see if anyone-“

  The woman stopped mid-sentence when she saw Trisha. The farm girl raised her hands. “Sorry, Lucia. I didn’t mean to interrupt-”

  “I’ll talk to you later,” she said, ending the conversation on her smartphone. Lucia turned and smiled at her visitor. “No, I should apologize. Dante told me to prepare you for tomorrow. In all honesty, I just didn’t think you’d accept the terms so readily.”

  Trisha laughed. “That makes two of us.”

  “Follow me,” she replied, leading Trisha to a nearby table. It held several garment bags. They were type she had seen used at the dry cleaners. They most likely held designer dresses. “Well, it’s time for us to make you the belle of the ball.”

  “What’s the dress code for a car show?” Trisha probed. “I don’t suppose leather jackets are in vogue.”

  “I wish it was for us ladies,” the businesswoman chuckled, brushing her short tomboyish hair. “I hated wearing dresses. I put on Dante’s spare jeans and leather jacket whenever I could. Mom wanted me to wear a skirt like the other girls. Dad, on the other hand, figured I might as well wear clothes my size instead of borrowing Dante’s stuff. He got a Black Hounds jacket made just for me. Even now, a fancy dress feels like I’m wearing someone else’s skin.”

  “I can relate,” the farm girl replied. “I grew up wearing tattered jeans and overalls. Besides, my family never had much money for fancy clothing.”

  “Since we’re running on a tight schedule,” Lucia began, unzipping one of the garment bags. “I took the pleasure of choosing some dresses for you. One of my business partners is married to a woman who owns her own dress shop. She even seams ever own clothing. These dresses are fresh off the loom.”

  Trisha gasped when a beautiful blue silk dress came into view. “It’s gorgeous…”

  Lucia unzipped the next one. It was a black dress. “You can’t go wrong with this piece when it comes to a ritzy dinner. It covers the arm and back. However, a car show is a little more casual. We don’t want you to come off as snobbish during your debut.”

  Trisha touched the zipper of the final garment bag. “May I?”

  Lucia nodded. “You’re the one who will wear it. In the future, we’ll let plan out your appearance and provide then necessary funds. These will have to do for now.”

  The farm girl gasped when she saw the contents of the garment bag.

  The satiny red dress was almost like a negligee. Silk stitching lined the edges with an intricate pattern. Straddling the line between evening wear and lingerie, the dress left much exposed.

  Trisha held up the soft, luxurious dress. Its low cut and slit would reveal a sizable amount of leg and cleavage. The farm girl thought it looked more appropriate on a Maxim model than the would be girlfriend of a CEO. “This is really sexy… maybe too sexy.”

  “Sexy sells at a car show,” Lucia said with a smile. “I think we’ve found our dress. Now, we just have to find matching shoes.”

  It was never a good idea to keep a girl waiting. Dante’s mother had told him it was one thing for a woman to keep her man marinating in worry and frustration. It was a cardinal sin for man to keep his girl waiting.

  Nevertheless, the biker was worried as he parked in front of Foxtail farms. He worried the woman would get cold feet. Hell, she could even terminate their deal and go to the media. It could potentially bring him down and the entire business along with him.

  Most of all, Dante feared he would never see Trisha Kaplan again.

  Suddenly, the door of house opened and he sighed in relief. The woman closed the door and began descending the patio like a newborn. High heels must have been uncharted territory for her.

  She looked so lovely amongst the moonlight greenery of the farm. Trisha didn’t have the pouty looks of the supermodels he had briefly dated. She didn’t have the confidence of swagger of the biker women he had met. However, there was a sensitivity and intelligence in her eyes that
he had rarely seen before.

  Trisha found her footing and strode confidently across the dirt pavement. The woman wore both an alertness in her eyes and a mischievousness in her heart-rending smile. She was a fox reincarnated as a woman.

  Dante leaned back against his motorcycle. “You sure took your time. I can’t complain seeing the results.”

  The biker eyed his date. He had to admit Lucia had gone to town to the farm girl. The low cut and tight fabric accentuated her curves. He didn’t know how his sister acquired three form-fitting dresses in such a short time but Lucia worked in mysterious ways.

  Nevertheless, Trisha wore her new clothing well. The difference between the farm girl and the debutante was like the transformation of Cinderella. He just had to make sure this charade didn’t fall apart like Cinderella’s did at midnight.

  “And I’m enjoying what I’m seeing,” Trisha grinned, eyeing the biker from head to toe. “Although, I expected a full limousine service. Can’t the Black Hounds break the budget for a poor old farm girl like?”

  “No, we always had more money than sense,” Dante laughed. “I talked with marketing and they think it’s better if I arrive on one of our own vehicles to the car show. I can’t complain if it gives me a chance to ride a motorcycle for work.”

  “I also expected a dinner jacket and some slacks,” she replied. “Is this what the Black Hounds consider to be business casual?”

  The biker wore a dress shirt that clung tightly to his physique. An expensive pair of cufflinks, handpicked by Lucia no less, lined the sleeves of his shirt. He had gone as far as to drape himself with enough cologne to remove the gasoline fragrance that always followed him. However, that was were any semblance of professional attire ended.

  The man wore dark jeans that could be mistaken for slacks at a glance. A thick leather jacket finished the look. The Black Hounds logo was absent from the jacket. Nevertheless, he looked like a biker through and through.

  Dante was experienced enough to know when a woman was mentally undressing him. He had taken extra care to look appealing to his date. His appearance was that of a confident and powerful man. The biker wanted her to be comfortable at the car show.

  “I’m still the bad boy,” he smirked, holding her hand by its relatively dainty wrist. She was so warm like the feel of a warm leather seat. He wanted to kiss her but that could wait until the cameras were up. “I have to play this part for the car show. It’s important for me not to dress up too much for an event like this. Besides, you haven’t made me an honest citizen just yet.”

  Trisha frowned at that statement. Her dainty nose seemed to shrink and her eyes lost a bit of their fire. Dante didn’t know what he had said that could upset her. He combed over the words he had just said.

  Then it hit him.

  The woman was a romantic at heart. He had just shattered this illusion by speaking about their arrangement. The biker made a mental note. More than anything else, Trisha would have an easier time playing her part if she wasn’t constantly reminded that their relationship was a sham.

  Dante moved in to cup her face with his hands. A thumb brushed her cheek and pushed away a stray strand of hair. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Her skin was paradoxically hot and cold. When he broke the kiss, he pressed his cheek against the area he had just kissed. He felt her slow breathing before breaking away.

  Failing to hide a smile, Trisha blinked at the gesture. “What was that for?”

  “Practice makes perfect,” he whispered. Dante wondered if she knew what he was thinking. The woman’s salt of the earth appearance belied her intelligence. He wasn’t sure if her deductive skills would be a burden or an asset in the coming weeks. “We might have to do this a lot.”

  “At the car show?”

  He brushed his nose against her neck. “As long as we’re together.”

  Looking unconvinced, Trisha pursed her lips. Dante knew it would be difficult for her make her love feel genuine. It took a special part of herself to make it feel real. Perhaps, it would take time for her to become more comfortable.

  The farm girl turned her attention to his motorcycle. “So we’re taking that on the highway? What’s the safety record on this thing?”

  “You’re looking at some who was one of the best riders in his club,” he replied. “Now, I’m the safest rider in the company. My days of going over on a sixty highway are over. And I’ll have you know that we’ve won several vehicle safety awards for our models for the last three years.”

  Trisha folded her arms. “At least with a car I can see my head crash against the windows.”

  “Here, wear this helmet,” he replied, handing her a motorcycle helmet. The biker put on his own helmet. “I’m as good as finding the right helmet size as my sister is finding the right dress size.”

  “It must be genetic,” she giggled, trying up her hair first. The woman scanned the baubles that lined the helmet. “‘Banana Bounty?’ ‘Golden Harvest?’ ‘Bonobo’s choice?’ What’s with the banana stickers?”

  “An old Alastair superstition,” Dante answered, mounting the motorcycle. It was a tradition to put fruit stickers on helmets to ensure a safe ride. The Alastair family had been doing it for years. The day his father and Uncle Cass got ambushed was the day they wore fresh helmets. “Now, hop on board.”

  He felt the woman secure her hands above his waist. It must not have been her first time riding of the backseat of a motorcycle. “Dante, please drive safely.”

  “Don’t worry,” the biker chuckled. “Keeping you in one piece is part of the arrangement.”

  As Dante revved up the engine, he felt Trisha’s heart race with it. It rose again once he started to actually drive. The woman’s heart thundered once he entered the highway.

  The noise of the engine and the muffling of their helmets didn’t allow the two to have an audible conversation. Nevertheless, Trisha’s tight grip on his body was all Dante needed to know. The girl needed a demonstration.

  With casual ease, Dante weaved in between larger vehicles. He snakes his away around tractor trailers. It was a fraction of the skill he processed. Nevertheless, the farm girl seemed both impressed and pacified by his driving prowess.

  Soon, her heartbeat was steady as his own.

  “You certainly know how to arrive I style, Mr. Alastair,” the older man laughed, leading the fake-real couple into the car show. “Are you afraid the valet driver will run off with your motorcycle?”

  “Oh, he can keep it,” Dante replied, gripping Trisha tightly around the waist. “I got plenty of rides in my garage. I just don’t want anyone to run off with my lovely date.”

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” the man said, offering Trisha a handshake. “Dante here likes fast rides and faster woman. The moment he gets tired of one, he gets another. Are you sure you can keep up with him?”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” the farm girl said nervously. She wasn’t interested in learning Dante’s entire dating history. “I’m Trisha Kaplan. And you must be-”

  “James T. Bigelow,” he stated proudly as if she were to recognize the name. “I run this show. In fact, I run every trade event worth a damn in this fine state. But this is what I’m most proud of.”

  The man gestured to a lavish show floor displaying all manner of vehicles. Europeans showcased exotic brands of supercars. A NASCAR champion and an engineer talked about a new type of engine. Beautiful women with breasts the size of canned hams posed with sports cars. There were even tractors from a brand Trisha recognized.

  The people looked even more interesting. They were rich and well-to-do as the munched on some free shrimp cocktail. The people staffing the booths looked out of place next to such finery. She even recognized some celebrities from Hollywood. However, they were closely guarded by bodyguards and public relations.