by Nicole Fox
Chapter Six
Mick
I nodded distractedly at Rip as he came into the office that morning, still pouring over the half-finished sketches that I had drawn out the previous night. I was still working on the designs for J.T.'s bike, but I was getting closer and closer to being finished with them. That was good, because we were going to need to start building the bike soon if we were going to get it finished on time. I was still wondering just how we were going to pull that off, honestly, with Jessi out of the picture for so much of the time.
That said, I had to admit that Rip was doing a pretty good job around the office. He really did know his way around the books, and he knew a lot of the suppliers. He'd even given me a couple leads on different people who I could get parts from. That had already helped out when I'd needed a very specific part for one of the bikes that I had worked on the previous weekend. I'd been looking for a decent price for the piece for weeks. Within ten minutes, Rip was able to get me a better price for it than I could have ever expected, and since it had been a local guy selling it, I was able to get my hands on it that same day.
I was impressed, to say the least.
I hadn't really given him a chance to do any of the bike work yet, but I was getting to the point where I realized that was going to have to happen, and I'd been mentally setting aside some of the easier tasks for him. I wasn't about to let him screw up anything to do with J.T.'s bike, so I needed to know what he was capable of first.
“Morning, boss,” Rip said, leaning over my shoulder to look at my designs. He frowned at them. “J.T. isn't going to be interested in just another bike like that,” he commented, tapping his finger against what I had thought was one of the most promising designs that I had come up with.
I scowled and gathered the drawings together. “These are just some rough design sketches,” I told him. “They're not for J.T.'s bike.” That was a lie, and I was sure he knew that. I didn't have time to be designing anything else.
Rip shrugged and hopped up to sit on the edge of my work table. “Whatever you say, boss,” he said. He stretched hugely. “God, I feel good today. I had this awesome threesome last night with two smoking hot bottle-blondes that I picked up at this new place downtown, Hell's Thunder. The yoga revolution, man—these girls could bend themselves up into a pretzel if they wanted to. And with those asses, well ...”
“Rip, how many times do I have to remind you that this is a workplace and I prefer that all the conversation between us be professional?” I sighed. This wasn't the first time Rip had told me all about his conquests, and unfortunately, I was sure it wouldn't be the last time. I really didn't need to know about his bendy bottle-blondes or his racy redheads or anyone else.
I was just glad that he never told me about them while Jessi was around; I didn't need her hearing talk like that.
“I know, I know,” Rip said, rolling his eyes. “But seriously, man, you should have seen how far they could bend over, with those perfect asses up in the air. I'm telling you, I just wanted to spank them all night long.”
“Let's get to work for the day, shall we?” I asked, maybe a bit too loudly.
Rip groaned. “What sort of menial tasks are you going to have me do today?” he asked. “You want me to organize your automotive parts in alphabetical order or some bullshit like that?”
I snorted. “Come on, I haven't been that bad.”
“Not yet,” Rip agreed. “But I figure you must be running out of things for me to inventory, and given that Jessi just inventoried everything a few weeks ago, according to her notes, I figure that you know exactly how much you're wasting my time by having me do that again.” He paused, looking seriously at me for the first time. “Mick, I'm here because you told J.T. you would need some help around the shop with Jessi gone, so that you could finish your projects on time. But if I'm not helping you on anything productive, I may as well not be here. I can tell that you're already getting behind on your deadlines. Jessi's time-table of when things should be happening is perfectly clear, so why don't you actually let me help you out?”
“Because I don't trust you,” I said bluntly, leaning back in my chair and looking up at him. “That's the honest truth, Rip. I don't trust you. I have spent years building up this business, and the last thing I need is some young, reckless hooligan messing things up for me. It's great that you tech your own bike out in your garage and keep her running smoothly. But the kinds of things that I'm doing in here-”
“Look at this,” Rip interrupted, showing me a picture on his phone. It was a beautiful, souped-up little motorcycle that I was sure could get some incredible speed on a flat road in the middle of nowhere. It had a sleek black paint job with some thin red stripes running down the sides of it. “I built this myself,” Rip told me. “She's my baby. Nobody else has ever touched her—not to help build her, not to help paint her, and definitely not to ride her. I don't even let my conquests on the back of this one.” He flipped through a few more pics of her, proudly showing me each one.
And I had to grudgingly admit that the guy was good. I could kind of see why J.T. had recommended that I take him on in the shop in Jessi's absence.
“Okay, okay,” I said, holding my hands up. “Fine. If you want to help on the bikes, I'll let you help out on the bikes. Not J.T.'s bike, though.”
“That's fair,” Rip told me, nodding his head and hopping down off the work table. “What do you want me to get started on?”
“Do you think you could do that oil change for Marshall's bike?” I asked. Sure, it was a bit mean giving him the dirty work while I got to work on designs, but he was there to help out, after all.
Rip gave me a short salute and left to get started anyway, and I mentally breathed a sigh of relief. That was one more project off our plates at least. Now, to tackle some of the bigger problems that we had at the moment.
Chapter Seven
Jessi
It was weird to come into the shop on Friday afternoon and find Rip and Dad both working on bikes together, getting their hands dirty. I had expected Rip to be back in the office, where he normally was, but instead, they were both working to replace a couple of parts on Ben Marshall's bike.
It was a task that I had expected to be working on with Dad that evening, and I felt a moment of irrational jealousy. But I quickly pushed that away. It was great that they were working together on it, and it was great that Rip seemed to know what he was doing. Dad needed someone like that helping around the office since I wasn't able to do much during the weekdays. Maybe Rip would finally help us get caught up on the deadlines that had been slipping away from us.
“Hey guys,” I said to them, waving as I ditched my bag and went to change into my bibs.
“Hey, Jessi,” Dad said, glancing over at me. “Do you think you could get started in the office? I need you to track down a few pieces for me. I've left a list on the desk.”
I frowned at him. It wasn't that the request was anything abnormal. I was used to having to track down pieces for him. But the fact that Rip was out there working on a bike with him while I was going to be stuck in the office doing the menial work of ringing up a bunch of different suppliers and seeing if they were selling whatever pieces he needed …
I didn't want to say that my dad was sexist, but that was kind of the way he was about the chop shop and everything to do with the biker culture. Now that he had Rip helping out around the shop, I was starting to feel like I would never get a chance to do any of the design work or anything else that I'd been dreaming of for so long. And I was sure that Rip, despite being a newcomer, was going to get to work on J.T.'s bike.
It wasn't fair. If I were a guy, I'd probably have been building custom bikes from my own designs starting a long time ago. But Dad refused to let me anywhere near any of the big projects.
I stormed into the office and had to take a few deep breaths to compose myself. Then I grabbed the list and started making the calls.
A little while later, Rip poked his
head into the office. “Hey, Jessi,” he said as I finished up the call that I was on and made notes on the pad that I was using.
“Hey,” I bit out, not looking up at him.
Rip seemed amused by my brusque tone and came into the office, moving to perch on the edge of the desk right next to me. I couldn't help blushing a little at the close proximity. “Why don't you let me make some of the calls and you go help your dad out on the floor?” he asked. “I think Mick's trying to work on some designs for J.T.'s bike right now, but to be honest, none of the things he's coming up with are wild enough for the boss of the Hounds of Hades.”
My jaw tightened a little and I gritted my teeth. “Well, Dad won't let me anywhere near the design process for J.T.'s bike,” I told him. “So if you want changes to it, that's something you're going to have to take up with him on your own.”
“Aren't you going to school for automotive engineering?” Rip asked, frowning at me. “Last I checked, that meant you had to have a flair for design.”
“Yeah, I mean, I've been designing things for years now,” I told him. “But Dad never lets me actually bring any of my designs to life. He doesn't trust me on that.” I snorted. “If he had his way, I wouldn't be going into anything to do with this business. He doesn't think it's a woman's place.”
Rip shrugged a little. “If I'm being honest, I don't really think it is either,” he admitted. “Hounds of Hades has some really hot biker babes who ride like the devil, but they don't do any of the mechanical stuff for their bikes on their own. I can't really imagine you designing a bike on your own. But I would love to see some of your designs sometime.”
I blinked up at him, wondering if I should be offended by what he had said or flattered by the fact that he still wanted to see my designs. I reached hesitantly towards my bag and pulled out my sketchbook, flipping it open to a design that I'd been working on for Gary's class. “This is one of my latest pieces,” I told him, turning the pad around so that he could see it properly. “It's not quite finished yet, but-”
Rip's fingers came up to trace the lines of the bike, and I could see interest glittering in his eyes. “You're not just a pretty face and a pair of legs, are you, Jessi?”
I blushed and started to snatch my sketchbook away, but Rip held on to it, flipping through some of the other designs. He finally settled on one that I had done a few months back, for my college application. He whistled softly. “Jessi, this is great. I mean, it's not perfect—I'm really not digging those narrow handlebars on a bike this big, and I think you could make it a bit flashier.. But …this could be exactly what J.T. is looking for.”
At that, I did tug my sketchbook away from him. “Don't tell Dad that,” I said. “Like I said, he doesn't want me anywhere near the design process for J.T.'s bike, and I don't want him to think that I've-”
“You want your dad to use this bike to expand his business, don't you?” Rip interrupted. “Which is only going to happen if he puts together a bike that J.T. loves. I'm telling you, the designs that he's coming up with aren't the kinds of things that J.T. would love. That bike that you just showed me? That is. So what are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing,” I said firmly. “Rip, I can't take this over from my dad. He doesn't want me designing things, and I've just finally gotten him on board with the idea that I'm going to go to school for that. Maybe in a few years he'll let me work on some smaller projects, once I've gotten my degree and really know what I'm doing. But for now-”
“Fine,” Rip said, throwing his hands in the air. “But when you lose the project because J.T. is bored by everything that your father tries to submit to him, you'll have to blame yourself.” With that, he stormed out of the office.
I shiverede, watching him leave like that. There was something so powerful in his voice, something that really made me want him to knock me around a little and then fuck me hard, right there in the office.
I blushed at the thought and looked back down at the list that I had been working on. Then I took a deep breath and picked up the phone again.
Chapter Eight
Jessi
It was crowded when I got to Flame, the place that Gary had suggested, and I wondered how I was ever going to find Gary in all this mess. I also wondered if I should order a drink first and then find the group, or if I was supposed to find the group and then get drinks with them. And I wondered if maybe I was a bit over-dressed in my black dress and sparkling jewelry.
I didn't do this kind of thing very often.
I mean, not that this was a date or anything stressful like that; this was just meeting up with my professor and some other students and having a couple beers. But I wasn't really the bar or club kind of girl.
“Hey,” Gary said, coming up behind me and resting a reassuring hand against my lower back. I turned to face him, instantly feeling a lot more comfortable. “Wow, you look amazing.”
I blushed a little and tugged self-consciously at the dress, wondering if maybe it wasn't a little too revealing for a meeting with my professor. I wanted to impress him, sure, but I wasn’t about to date him. I was sure that was against departmental rules. It was kind of flattering to see the way his eyes roamed over my form, though.
“Where's everyone else?” I asked him.
Gary shrugged a little and guided me towards the bar. “I don't know,” he told me. “I haven't seen anyone else yet—I guess they might be showing up a little later or something. Why don't we get a beer, though, and we'll chat until they get here?”
“Sounds good,” I told him, smiling.
“So what do you do out in Crossdale, anyway?” Gary asked me once we'd found a table. “I assume you must have some sort of job?”
“Yeah, kind of,” I told him. “My dad owns Greyhound Custom Motorcycles. I don't know if you've heard of it, but it's one of the big biker shops around here. We're the main chop shop for the Hounds of Hades motorcycle club, in fact.”
“I've heard some rumors about them, but not much,” Gary said. He didn't look as impressed as I wanted him to.
“In fact, Dad recently got assigned a project by J.T. Williams, the head of the Hounds of Hades,” I boasted. “The guy wants a totally fresh bike, and he's given Dad full creative freedom over it.” I paused. “I really want him to use one of my designs for the bike, but he's refusing to let me anywhere near the project.”
“That hardly seems fair,” Gary said. “I've seen your designs, and you've got some serious talent.”
“To be fair, so does he,” I said truthfully. “But Rip—J.T.'s right-hand man—says that Dad's designs aren't going to be anything that J.T. wants, and he thinks one of my designs would be better. I'm not sure how to tell Dad about that. I don't want him to think I'm trying to take over the business already. That's eventually my goal, but I know I have a lot of learning to do before I get to that point. I'm hoping that once I get my degree finished, he'll take me on as a real partner in the business, and then it will eventually transition to being my business once Dad gets older and decides to retire, or to just come in and do projects for fun.”
Gary was frowning at me by the time I finished. “I mean, that's an okay plan, I guess. But I think you have way more talent than that.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Greyhound Custom Motorcycles is, to put it bluntly, a small, podunk business that hardly anyone has heard of, even though it's right up the road from here. With designs of the caliber that I'm already seeing from you, you could be working at some of the biggest design shops in the world by the time you're through with your degree. Hell, I've got connections. I could probably even get you a great internship opportunity for the upcoming fall so that you could really get some experience under your belt. I'm sure that your Dad's shop was a great place to learn a little bit and get your foot in the door, but you could aspire to so much more.”
I shook my head. The shop had been my whole life, and it was all I ever dreamed of doing with myself. I couldn’t imagine g
oing to work for some big-name brands, especially not since … “I don't want to design boring, safe bikes, though,” I told Gary. “And I know that's what I'd be doing if I was working for one of the bigger brands. If I have so much talent, why would I want to waste it turning in the same sorts of designs that the world already has seen?”
“It's not all about that,” Gary argued.
“Well, no, I know there are some concept bikes and things like that,” I conceded. “But that's not the main focus of those companies. What I love about working in my dad's shop is that we get individual bike aficionados who want these totally out-there, custom jobs. I want to cultivate a clientele and get more projects like this one that J.T. just assigned us—I want to design new styles of bikes that are tailor-made for the person that they're going to.”
“And you want to waste all your time actually building the bike, rather than just churning out design after impeccable design,” Gary said, rolling his eyes.