Page 16 of The Biker and the Baker
“I care becausemy auntvalues your skills and she’d be devastated if you didn’t turn up Monday morning because your drunk, stubborn ass got killed in a car accident,” he says flatly. “And no, I’m not a drug dealer. The Hummer belongs to the club. We use it to shuttle the dancers to and from work. We take care of our people.”
“But wouldn’t you be ecstatic if I got killed in an accident?” I ask. “I mean, you would get to revamp the entire kitchen staff to size-two Barbies.”
He sounds genuinely confused when he asks, “What?”
“Nothing,” I mumble, then hand the phone back to Mice.
“So? What will it be?” Mira asks. “Uber or Hummer?”
I’m reluctant when I answer, “Hummer.”
While I’m not too swell about taking help from the jerkhead, the girls whoop in drunken delight as they skip across the street to the limo, too excited to end the night in style.
As I cross the street behind Mice, I glance around for Onyx, wondering where he was spying on us from. I don’t see him, but I’ve no doubt in my mind that heiswatching me. And…
I think Ilikeit.
As the protectivemother hen who always makes it her business to ensure that everyone gets home safely, I’m the last to be dropped off, as usual.
After dropping off Mira and Kim—who’d begun making out like horny teenagers the minute Lissa was out of the limo, because apparently my sister fondling her girlfriend in front of me isn’t weird at all—I sidle up to the front and tap my knuckles against the partition window.
When it powers down, I ask, “Who’s your boss, Mice? Miss Walsh—Cookie? Or Mr. Walsh—Onyx?”
“My loyalty is with Onyx, Ma’am.”
“Pia,” I correct again. “And that’s a strange answer.”
“How so?” he rejoins. “I don’t care about titles. I care about people’s actions and how they treat not only me but others. ‘Boss’, ‘Leader’, ‘President’, I don’t care about any of that. If I give you my loyalty and my services, it’s for a good reason.”
I can’t hide the disbelief in my voice when I ask, “And you think Mr. Walsh is agoodperson?”
A tense pause. “You don’t?”
“He’s given me no reason to believe that he is.”
“So, should I just drop you off at the side of the road and let you walk home drunk and alone then?”
Point taken. One mark for Onyx in the “good deeds” tally. “Too late. We’re already two blocks from my house.”
When I climb out of the limo two blocks later, I bend at the waist and knock on the front passenger window. As it slowly slides down, I say, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“How big is your penis? Asking for a friend.”
“Tell your ‘friend’ that if she ever wants to see for herself, she should call and ask me out on a date first.” He smiles affably. “Have a good night, Ma’am.”
“Pia—” I start to correct, but he’s already gone.
Chapter 4
Pia
It’s Wednesday, rightbefore quitting hours when Onyx saunters into the kitchen, with a slim stack of shimmery mauve envelopes in one hand and a stiff, uncharacteristic smile on his face, the doors swinging back and forth in his wake.
Why is he smiling? It’s weird. Kinda creeping me out.
Also, it irks me to admit it, but he looks fresher than mint leaves after the rain. Blue jeans, Timberlands, navy-blue sweater with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, Cuban link gold chain, and a new drop-fade haircut. Most of his hair is now trimmed low, leaving the top long but styled with cornrows. He looks stinking stupid hot and I despise him.
