Page 10 of Come Ride With Me
“I’m going to see if this is the perfect space for me. My father was happy here, so I’m going to take the time to see if I can be too,” she stated with finality.
Before her mother could say another word Mica politely ended the call with the excuse that she had to get to work. Which, really, wasn’t an excuse since now she was running later than she’d wanted to be. Her intention had been to get there early so she could walk around the building one more time. She also wanted a chance to talk to whichever employees arrived before Nash and Banyon. She wanted to know how they felt about the business. Now, however, none of that was probably going to happen, but that was okay, she had something else in mind she wanted to do this morning. Something she wasn’t totally certain was going to go over well, in light of the heated dream she had last night.
Nash
“Can I ride one?”
Nash lifted his head the moment he heard those words. He’d told himself that he was too busy to deal with her today. He had a deadline which expired in a few days. That was when he’d promised the chief engineer at Blackbond that he would have his final design submissions to him.
The Blackbond Group was a relatively new American Black owned and operated automotive company based in Alexandria. The company was comprised of auto and motorcycle design, manufacturing, and sales departments, which up until last month only worked on special orders and show-ready designs. But rumor had quickly spread that the owner and former president of the Platinum Ryders, Fabian “Fury” Mathias was planning to open showrooms up and down the east coast in the next two years. If they liked these designs, Nash could finally branch out and have his own line of bikes on the market. It was a phenomenal opportunity, one he owed partially to Bell for bringing him here to work when Nash had no place else to go.
In the years that he’d worked sweeping the floors and cleaning the tools in the shop Nash began to learn more and more about bikes—how they worked, what type of engines were better, and how to design a desirable and marketable machine. That had always been Nash’s thought when it came to bikes—how could he do this better? Well, he’d finally perfected some designs. Bell had seen the preliminary ones back in November, just before he died. He’d liked them and was actually pretty excited about having a line of bikes coming out of Bellamy Motors that was designed by one of their own. Bell had been the one to call Zayn Jamison in to have a peek at the designs. Zayn rode with the Platinum Ryders and Bell had grown up with Zayn’s father and uncles. It was a month after Bell died when Zayn—whom Nash had also seen when he’d hung out with the Ryders all those years ago—called Nash to ask about the designs again, saying he had a manufacturer that he thought would be interested in producing the bikes.
At first it felt like a betrayal against the man who had given him everything and the dealership Nash had come to love as his own. Then, when Earl had come in one day making more cuts in their supply budget and announcing that he was going to start sending the foreign made bikes out to be repaired, Nash knew he had to make a future for himself elsewhere. Earl was going to run this place into the ground by cutting corners and salaries, and giving their work to third parties that may not have been as good or as dedicated to the customers as Nash and his staff were.
With all that going on, the last thing Nash had time for was the fine ass accountant who had just waltzed into his shop wearing those tight pants and giving an almost luminous smile that if he were of a mind to admit, sent lust shooting straight to his dick. He’d hoped that if he kept his head down, he could ignore her. Waking up with a hard dick because he’d thought about touching every inch of her tight little body all night long, was not a pleasurable experience. He’d vowed that today he would remain focused and stay far away from her.
“Excuse me?” Webby asked her.
He’d lifted his six foot, four and a half inch, one hundred- and fifty-pound (soaking wet) body up from the stool he sat on when he was doing intricate free-hand artwork and smiled as he approached her.
“I want to take a ride,” she said once more, her crisp accent echoing throughout the room. “On one of these.”
She pointed at the row of six bikes lined along the far wall of the shop.
“Well, I’ll gladly take you for a ride, miss,” Webby told her.
He was still holding his paintbrush in his hand even as his tongue came out to stroke his pierced bottom lip.
“You have a bike to finish,” Nash interrupted.
“I got all day,” Webby said without looking at Nash.
“No,” Nash continued in a steely tone. “You do not. Customer’s coming in at three to see the final art.”
Webby’s head snapped around until he was now glaring at Nash. “It needs twenty-four to forty-eight hours to dry properly.”
Nash didn’t blink. “He knows that, but he’s a bit anxious so I told him he could come on down and have a look. That means you’d better get to finishing that up seeing as it’s almost noon.”
The frown on Webby’s face said he didn’t like the words Nash spoke.
Nash didn’t give a fuck.
He’d already gotten up from his desk and was now standing right beside Mica.
“Why don’t you tell me what brings you down here?” he asked her when Webby had given him one last grimace before walking away.
She cleared her throat and licked her lips.
Nash almost groaned as he watched her tongue spreading moisture over already glossed lips, thinking that her tongue and lips would feel heavenly on his dick.
“I want to know more about the bikes. I’ve been looking at price sheets and sales receipts all morning and I’m curious as to what all the fuss is about,” she said, in a quiet, but strong voice.
He could take her over to his desk and explain his drawings to her, or he could walk her back into the showroom and go through all of their stock outlining the pros and cons of each one and reasoning the sales price. Or he could simply do as she’d asked—which was actually one of the best ways to see what all the fuss was about—and take her for a ride.
“Go get your coat and come ride with me,” he said, his tone just as succinct as hers had been.
Chapter 4
