“Trisha Kaplan is a lovely woman who has shown me there is more to life than cheap thrills,” Dante said with a heart-rending smile. It had to be genuine. No man could fake it. “She’s shown a business is not just about making a dollar into a dollar and ten cents. She’s shown me the value of building something and sharing it with others.”
“Thanks you, Mr. Alastair,” the host said, ending the debate. He had gone fifteen rounds with Dante and came away the loser. Her date shook the host’s hand and left stage left. “That’s all the time we have.”
For a brief moment, Trisha Kaplan forgot that she was being paid to date the handsome man on the screen.
“Dante, I think you’re using your motorcycle keys to unlock the door,” the woman giggled, slurring her words. “You’re good but you’re not good enough to ride a door.”
“Well, I’m good enough to know when I’m drunk enough that I need to hail a cab,” he replied, fiddling with his keys. “I haven’t had to ride as a passenger in a cab in months.”
His date teased him. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Where is your motorcycle anyway? Did you leave it at the car show?”
“I had one of the workers at the booth drive to one of our garages,” he answered, finally finding the correct keys to his apartment. “I’ll pick it up later. I threatened to fire the poor guy if there was so much as a scratch on it. He must’ve wrapped it in bubble wrap and shipped it!”
The farm girl placed her hands on her hips. “Separation anxiety already?”
“It’s kind of funny,” he said opening the door. “When I was a kid, a motorcycle used to be one of my most valuable processions. I cleaned it everyday. I even fell asleep with it. Now, I can have more motorcycles than I know what to do with…”
Trisha giggled. “First world CEO problems.”
Dante smiled back at his date. “Oh, to be a simple biker again.”
It was truly a night to remember. They had walked from booth to booth with hand in hand. He made her join in entering some European supercars on the show floor like James Bond and his love interest. In turn, Trisha got him to ride a tractor. Thankfully, no camera caught the moment.
They had even attended an after party next door. It had been the first time Trisha had been to a dance floor since high school. The farm girl was more comfortable with an Irish jig than the electro-pop that dominated the music charts. Nevertheless, she gladly took his hand joined him on the dance floor.
There was no grace or fluidity like in those ballroom dancing classes Lucia made him take. Instead, it was kinetic and frantic like the dancing of his youth. Trisha easily got over her nervousness and joined in with him.
Afterwards, Dante had asked if she was willing to come over his apartment for the night. It would raise less questions if the two were seen leaving together. Besides, her farm was well outside the city limits. He didn’t know whether it was the alcohol or not, but Trisha gladly agreed.
“You kicked that host’s ass back there,” Trisha said, breaking Dante out of his thoughts. “I thought it would be a friendly interview but it was much more like a presidential debate. Those questions were brutal but I think you pulled through.”
“Lucia made me do my homework for interviews,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I’d spend hours going every little detail with her. It was like being back in school. Except I couldn’t play hooky this time.”
Stepping over some junk mail at the door, she whistled in amazement at his apartment. “Nice bachelor pad.”
“I could’ve had a nicer one in uptown,” he replied, turning on the lights. It illuminated his well-furnished home. It wasn’t quite as big as Trisha house but it certainly had the illusion of being more spacious. “However, this place was closer to our new club house. Besides, the ritzy stuff never did it for me.”
Indeed, there was enough clutter to make a college student proud. “A man of simple pleasures, I take it? I guess it would be hypocritical of me to rake you over the coal for not being a better housekeeper.”
“Your place is messy because you run a business,” Dante replied “My place is messy because I’m a slacker. Hell, I’m too tired to hire someone from this cleaning service Lucia recommended to me.”
Trisha walked over to a work bench in a nearby room. The bench held a disassembled prototype of a new motorcycle. “Worried they’ll steal your toys?”
“No, that’s just something I’m working on my spare time,” Dante yelled across the room. “I don’t like bringing work home but I don’t considered this to be work. It’s probably the only part of the job I truly enjoy.”
“It must be nice being able to separate work from your home,” Trisha mused, returning to join him. “Half of my house is practically an office now.”
“I wish I could say my job isn’t just an endless series of PR events and strategic meetings,” Dante said, lounging on the couch. “It’s why I love coming home.”
“So you can be the bad boy biker when the cameras aren’t around?”
“So, I can leave the CEO and all the baggage that comes with it,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “I don’t care about being some bad boy biker or a club president. I just want some…”
For a moment, there was silence.
“Speaking of which, can I leave my shoes at the door?”
“Just leave them by the entrance,” Dante answered. He heard the pitter-patter of her heels returning to the front door. “They must be killing you from all the walking-“
“Hey, it looks like someone slipped something under the door.”
“I get that a lot,” he said with a laugh. “I practically have the menus to half the restaurants in this city. Speaking of which, do you want something to eat? I got some food at home if you don’t want to wait.”
“I’m good for now,” she answered. “Looks like a menu for a new Chinese restaurant… and a red skull?”
Dante immediately stood up. “A what now?”
“Not an actual human skull or a stage prop,” she clarified, returning to him with something in hand. “It’s some piece of cloth with a red skull stitched on it.”
Trisha handed him the patch. With a hand that betrayed the slightest hint of fear, he took it. It was an image that was burnt into his mind and that of any Black Hound. It was the mark of their enemy.
It was the emblem of the Red Aztecs.
“What’s wrong Dante?”
“It’s nothing,” he chuckled, his grin looking deceptively artificial. “It’s just some prank by one of the other Black Hounds. Those boys still think of me as their club president when I’m their CEO.”
Trisha knew there was more to it than that. In the short time they had spent together, she had learned his tells. She knew when he exposed a vulnerable side of himself. She knew when he hide that part of himself. But she didn’t probe further. “Okay…”
“You up for a drink?” he offered, changing the subject. Dante placed the patch in a drawer before heading to cabinet in his kitchen. “I got beer, rum, vodka, ouzo from Greece… and just about every other damn thing.”
“Beer is fine for now.”
He got two bottles and handed one to her. “That makes both of us.”
Trisha toasted her date’s beer bottle. “Cheers!”
The man shouted. “Kampai!”
“What?”
“Sorry, it’s a Japanese thing,” Dante replied, looking a bit embarrassed. “I got into the habit of saying it when Lucia and I were in Japan. It’s how the locals say ‘bottoms up’ when they’re drinking with their friends. And let me tell you, the Japanese businessmen know how to hold their liquor.”
Sipping her beer, Trisha leaned forward in interest. “What were the two of you doing in Japan?”
“We’re looking into expanding into Asia,” he elaborated. “Currently, anyone in Asia would have to import our vehicles from North America or Europe. Lucia wanted to look into a licensing deal with some of the big Japanese car companies. I actually came up with the i
dea after receiving a letter from a Black Hounds fan club in Sapporo, Japan.”
“Wait, you guys have a fan club in Japan?”
“It was news to me as well,” he admitted. “We have some licensed merchandising. It’s small stuff like jackets, drinking mugs, and other a few other things. It was just a way to get our name out there and change our brand’s image. Eventually, the stuff found its ways to Asia. People liked the logo and started buying our merchandise. However, the motorcycles themselves never made it over there. You can’t call yourself a Black Hound if you’re not riding a GY12 Bloodhound or a RT13 Foxhound. I decided it was time to make things right.”
“You’re thinking of doing business with a Japanese company?”
“I think Uncle Cass would’ve freaked at the idea but we could use their help,” Dante chuckled. “They have a good understanding of the regional markets and can hopefully maintain our standard of quality. I want people around the world to drive like us. I think that’s what dad would’ve wanted…”
Trisha smiled holding the. “Quite the international businessman.”
“No, Lucia would fit the bill better,” he said. “Did you know she speaks four languages? I barely speak one good enough!”
“You mean ‘well enough,’ right?” Trisha teased. Dante rolled his eyes and began taking off his jacket. Even with the air conditioning on, sitting around in a heavy jacket could get uncomfortable. “I thought motorcycle club members were obligated to wear their jackets all the time?”
“It’s true that we do wear our jackets while we shower,” Dante joked, placing his jacket on a nearby coat rack. He saw the farm girl eye his now exposed biceps. “But I’ll make an exception now that I have a guest.”
Trisha pulled out the hem of her dress. “Hey, Dante could I ask you a favor?”
“Want another beer? Or some of the harder stuff?”
“No, it’s just this dress,” she said, finishing her beer. “It’s getting kind of stuffy in here. I’m also afraid to have it snag on something and tear it. Lucia would kill me if I tore it.”
Dante leaned back against the couch. “Relax, you’re more valuable to my sister alive than you are dead.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied, folding her arms. “Well, I’d hate to impose on you but I’d like a change of clothing. Do you happen to have something that’s in my size?”
“You’re asking if a bachelor has any change of clothing for a lovely female guest who is staying over for the evening?”
“Oh, ha-ha!” she answered back in mock laughter. “So do you have clothes that aren’t quite as stuffy as a two thousand dollar dress?”
“Head down to my bedroom,” he replied, pointing “Go straight down that hallway and it’ll be to your left. On your right should be a dresser. The bottom drawer has some nightgowns that should be your size.”
Trisha raised an eyebrow. “You keep woman’s clothing in your drawer. That’s very gallant of you. Or perverted.”
Dante held up his hands in defense. “Hey, it’s for Lucia when she’s staying over!”
The farm girl playfully slapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll be back. Save some beer for me.”
As she entered to Dante’s bedroom, a strange thought came to Trisha. He was easily the powerful man she had ever met. Yet, he had let his guard down due to their unusual arrangement.
The whole apartment reminded her of him. There was a part that encapsulated his duties as CEO of a fast-growing company. There was a part that that conjured up the image of an outlaw biker. Finally, there was side that he had hid in his heart and the deepest parts of this apartment.
Rummaging through the drawers, she found a satiny nightgown that looked comfortable enough to sleep in. She carefully slipped out of her dress and folded it neatly on the top of the dresser. That’s when she noticed a photograph.
It was of Dante’s parents in some desert. The two of them posed against a motorcycle with sun shining behind them. Conveniently enough, it had their names etched into the frame. Trisha read it out loud. “Vergil and Samantha Alastair.”
The man was tough and aloof. Only the tight grip around his woman and the look in his eyes betrayed the compassion he held for his lover. Vergil looked like Cool Hand Luke or some hero from a Western. Trisha could see where Dante got his devastatingly handsome looks from.
Samantha Alastair was a beauty. She didn’t have the pouty lips and high cheeks of the models that dominated today’s magazines. Yet, there was regal quality to her appearance. The wind-swept hair and sun-dried jeans, however, suggested to was no stranger to hard work and the outdoors. She looked so happy being with the man who would become her husband.
Now, they were dead.
Trisha thought it was strange to feel such emotions for two people. Stranger still, the lives of the Alastairs and the Kaplans were linked. Her mother had known Dante’s mother. Now, her life was intertwined with that of the Alastairs.
When she returned, she say that Dante had taken off his shirt. She saw the contours of his well-muscled torso. Trisha also eyed the various tattoos and scars that intermittently marked his athletic body. The farm girl wondered if the biker always took his shirt off to impress his female guests.
It was working. Then again, it was his home and it was a hot day. She wouldn’t have minded if had taken off his pants as well.
“Took you long enough,” Dante said, nursing another bottle of beer. He had placed a bucket full of beers and ice cubes on the table. “Trisha what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I found a change of clothing,” she said, picking up her beer bottle. “And I saw a photo of your mother and father… the one on top of your dresser.”
“It’s nothing,” he chuckled, his laughter sounding more like a cough. “That was taken back before Lucia and I were born.”
She sat down next to him. “It looked like the photo was taken out in a desert in Arizona.”
“That’s right, they took it for their honeymoon,” Dante replied, a bittersweet smile on his face. “Dad had saved enough money to take them to Paris. Mom told him she’d rather be sipping a cold beer with him in a desert than sampling frog legs and wine under the Eiffel Tower. I think that’s when he realized she was a keeper.”
“Where did they go for the honeymoon?”
“The took two week road trip across Texas, Arizona, and California. They even went down to visit Mexico.”
“She’s beautiful,” Trisha said absentmindedly. “Your mother that is.”
“She was,” he said somewhat grimly. “The cancer treatment did a number on her… but she was still so beautiful. The other patients voted her the prettiest woman in the ward. Lucia and I even made a wig for her from some of my hair. She had the same hair shade as mine.”
“That was very sweet of you.”
Dante continued, seemingly forgetting he was even talking to a guest. “Dad said she was the most beautiful girl in Ironville, that’s our hometown. It’s a small iron mining town, hence the name, but the mine ran dry ages ago. It’s not too far from here but I haven’t had a chance to visit in years…”
The evening had taken on a somber atmosphere. Trisha wanted to change the subject. That’s when something on the wall caught her attention. “Is that a gun?”
TRACKING TRISHA - A Black Hounds Motorcycle Club Romance (The Fox and the Hounds Book #1) Page 8