Biker Babe in Black (4 page)

Twenty-five years old, and she claimed fifty-five dollars to her name. She inhaled deeply. She would find a job, her place in the world, and she refused to let herself sink into a pit of failure.

The loud banging on the door startled Margie. She ignored the person on the other side. Her family was nowhere near Portland, and she figured it was another drunk wanting money, or a tweeker looking for a connection on his next fix.

The pounding on the door came again, this time louder and less patient. She zipped up her suitcase and sat it on the floor.

“Go away,” she yelled.

The person on the other side of the door only beat harder.
Margie, you’d better answer or they may never go away.
Hell’s bells, I won’t miss this place.

She opened the door. “I’m not buying, selling, or playing.”

The man on the other side wasn’t the vagrant she’d expected. Her hand tightened on the doorknob, and she gaped at Remy. Dressed in an Armani suit, he might as well have worn a sign that said ‘Rob me, I’ve got money.’

“Hi.” His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and his tie hung loose. Remy’s shoulders were so wide he filled her whole doorway. “Can I come in?”

Margie dipped her chin and stepped back. How did he find out where she lived? More importantly, why was he here?

Margarine pushed her suitcase out of her path and sat on the couch. She crossed her legs and cocked an eyebrow in his direction.
Let’s find out what kind of an excuse you have this time, sexy.

“Are you going somewhere?” Remy nodded toward the suitcase.

“Um, yeah. Thought I’d hit the road. Too many stalkers in Portland.”
There’s your clue, buddy, take it and run.

“Is it because you lost your job?”

Of course! Thanks to him, she’d lost two jobs within the span of a couple of days. Okay, his responsibility only covered half the reason; she took the blame for the other half.

“Partially, I suppose. I just think that a change of scenery would be best, and I hear it’s easier to get a job up north.”

“That’s why I hired a private investigator to find you.” He threw both arms up in the air, comparable to an announcement of terrific news only he could deliver. “I have a job for you…if you’re interested.”

She didn’t move a muscle. If he wanted a reaction from her, he’d have to wait until Hell froze over. Or her daddy bought a sedan.

“My housekeeper quit, and I desperately need someone to live in the spare bedroom and take over the household chores.” He stopped and rubbed the back of his neck. “And to cook meals for me. I’m a huge slob.” He bobbed his head.

Thumping from the floor above snapped her out of the daze she’d fallen into during Remy’s speech. She shook her head. How sad. This successful businessman apparently sniffed too much school glue growing up.

Remy stood with his hands clasped behind his back. She imagined him presenting himself at board meetings with this act, and it cracked her up. She laughed. Tears came to the corners of her eyes, and she used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe them off her cheeks. Un-freaking-believable.

Remy tilted his head, his lips tightened, and the whole puzzled look set Margie off again. She fell over on the couch and laughed so hard she snorted.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Remy crossed his arms and frowned.

The more animated Remy became, the more she struggled to catch her breath. A fresh round of tears filled her eyes.

“What’s so damn funny?”

Margie held up her hands for him to stop, sucked in a big breath, and exhaled in slow motion. She opened her mouth to explain, but clamped her hand over her lips. She really tried, but the humor of the situation stayed with her.

“You.” Gulp. “First you tried to buy me.” Breathe. Gulp. “Then you tried to flirt with me. Now you want to hire me as your live-in maid?” She rolled on the couch, and her legs kicked the air.

“For your information, I didn’t try to buy you.” Remy wrinkled his nose. “I was offering you some money until you could find a new job. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, since it was my fault you lost the waitressing job.”

She’d insulted him. Her amusement came to a halt. Margie understood, but for him to think she might live with him…well, he’d better think again. The instant sexual chemistry they shared didn’t guarantee him anything.

“I…I’m sorry. I thought when you approached me in the dark with your wallet open you were trying to buy me for the night.” She’d never met someone of his status, who carried hundreds of dollars around in their wallet.

Remy sat down on the scratched, water-ringed coffee table in front of Margie. He pulled her hand down off her face and held her hands in his.

“I did flirt with you. I did.” Remy nodded. “You fascinate me.” His chin fell to his chest. “I don’t think I have ever met anyone who has interested me so much, and so fast, that I would hire someone to track you down. But I did…and I won’t apologize for that.”

The husky voice he used to confess shook Margie to the core. She realized that Remy might have the power to make her fall out of the path she’d planned for herself if she let him. She didn’t have time for a relationship. She needed to hit the road.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t take that job. The maid job.” She gazed into his eyes. “It was nice of you to offer, but…” The idea to live with him, cook his meals, wash his underwear, proved too much of a distraction. The way the sexual chemistry sparked between them whenever they were together showed her how risky of a gamble it would be to spend more time around him. She must stick with the goals she set for herself. If she ignored her desire to buy a house within five years, she’d never succeed.

“I’ll pay you $1,000 a week. Free room and board. I’ll also give you Saturday and Sundays off.”

Her mouth fell open. He didn’t just say a grand a week, did he? She must be hearing things.

“
How
much?” She stared at him.

“A grand a week.”

She snorted. For a second he’d almost got her.

“And for that much money, I share your bed. No, thank you.”

One minute she experienced the warm fuzzies, and the next, he might as well have thrown a glass of cold water on her. Again. She might be naïve, but as far as she knew, most men didn’t act so wishy-washy.

She got up from the couch. She needed him to leave. The open road called to her, and somewhere out there was the perfect place waiting for her to claim as her own.

He ought to understand how wrong this is, yet…a thousand dollars a week
. She didn’t know anyone who earned so much money.

“You don’t have to sleep with me. Honest.” He inhaled. “I can promise you when you live in my house, I will not put you in a position where you have to worry about your safety.” He covered his heart with his right hand. “You’ll call the shots regarding our attraction to each other.” He held up three fingers in the age-old show of Boy Scout honor.

He let her think over his words. She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and lowered her eyebrows.

“You’d be doing me a huge favor,” he added.

He must be damn good at fishing, the way he reeled her in on a hook. A grand a week—that was more than she earned in a month! Heck, more money than any of her family members made all together. She added it up in her head. For a moment, her goal to buy a house seemed within arm’s reach.

She paced the gold-colored shag carpet. Her lips moved. In her head, she ran through all the pros and cons.
I’m strong, both mentally and physically. However, what if I lose the fight against the attraction for him and become involved in a relationship?

She felt Remy’s gaze on her as she walked back and forth. She stopped and picked at her fingernails. It would only take a few months for her to save up enough money for a down payment. Maybe working for him would work out. He probably worked long hours and would be out of the house during the day doing whatever he does, so she’d rarely have to see him.

“I swear if you’re not happy with the job, or me, you can leave whenever you want.” Remy stood up.

Margie glanced over at her suitcase, already packed and ready to go on a new adventure. She looked back to Remy. She didn’t have to sleep with him, only clean his house. Lots of people performed maid services—an honest job.

“Okay.” She chewed the inside of her mouth. “I’ll take the job, but I expect you to think of me as your employee. Only your employee.” There. The most important rule for Margie, thrown out on the table.

Remy shook her hand. “Deal. How about we go out to celebrate, and I’ll buy you dinner?”

She stared at him. He used his finger to mark an X over his heart and held up three fingers again. She giggled.
Dang, he’s adorable.

Margarine lifted her brow. “As strictly employer and employee, okay?”

The waitress at Buck’s Seesaw Palace gave Remy a curious appraisal and led him to the back of the restaurant. He’d removed his tie and rolled up his sleeves in the car, and still didn’t fit in with everyone else. He’d agreed with Margarine’s choice of diner just to get her to come with him.

His Oxbows crunched over the scattered peanut shells on the floor. Ignoring the flirtatious winks, he sat down and asked the waitress to give him a few moments to wait for his friend. She returned with his glass of water, and without any pretense, slipped a napkin with her phone number written in bright pink ink. He crumbled the napkin up and shoved it into his pocket to throw away later.

The band played loudly, and Margarine strolled through the front door. Remy’s hand trembled, and he set down his glass of water and stared. The woman walked toward him with the air of a sex goddess.

Decked out in black leather tight enough to call skin, she strutted across the floor in over-the-knee black leather boots with her helmet tucked under her arm. Every male in the restaurant stopped to appreciate the woman who came to eat with him.
Lucky dog.

Margarine tossed her hair over her shoulder and gave him a wave.

He stood up.

“I hope you didn’t have to wait too long.” Margarine set her helmet down in the booth across from him and slid into his side of the table. Nothing she did, he expected. He’d figured her wrong again.

“I didn’t know how far I had to follow you to your home, so I hope you don’t mind eating here. I don’t have any fancy dresses, and this place is comfy.”

Remy caught the scent of her. His nostrils flared, and he inhaled.
What is that smell?
It reminded him of…something. A flower. Jasmine? Yeah, jasmine.

The waitress approached the booth to take their orders. Margarine gave a squeal, stood, and gave the same waitress who’d flirted with Remy a hug.
Oh, hell.

“Remy meet Candy. Remy is my new employer.” Margie pointed to Remy. He tipped his chin in Candy’s direction without meeting her eyes.

“A new job? I thought you worked down on Seventeenth at that swanky place?”

“Nope, I’m a housekeeper now.” Margie grinned.

“No shit?”

Remy concentrated on the band and kept a look out on the two women. The situation might require interference if Candy got it in her head to pass along her flirty ways. He would allow nothing to get between Margarine and her agreement to work for him. Without the job, he worried she might take off, and his chances with her would disappear.

Margarine sat down, and he ordered for the both of them. He smiled at the way she nodded her approval over his order of steak and baked potatoes.

“How do you know Candy?” Remy leaned on the table.

“I used to work here.”

“Really?” He didn’t want to ask why she no longer worked here, but curiosity won out. “Why don’t you work here any longer?”

“See that mechanical bull over there?” Margie pointed to the contraption over in the corner. “A man just happened to ride that going over the speed that’s allowed and fell off into the jukebox.”

Remy’s laughter filled the air. “I take it you were the one controlling the speed on the ride?”

Margarine nodded and smiled. “The guy had a habit of slapping our asses as we waited the tables. I could only take it for so long before I put a stop to it. The manager, however, was afraid of a lawsuit and fired me on the spot to please the guy who crashed and burned.”

“A little vigilante justice.” He nodded.

“Exactly!”

Margarine’s eyes twinkled in delight. He always thought the term “twinkled” was a line of bull he read in a book, but damn if her eyes wouldn’t light up a pitch-black room.

It pleased him for some reason how she took these setbacks in stride. Three jobs in who knows how long, and she hired on with him.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” She drank a sip of water.

“Two waitressing jobs, a coffee server…and now a maid. Is there anything you won’t try?”

“You forgot my stint as a hairdresser and bagging groceries.” She pursed her lips to the side. “Oh, and I worked at a rental car place at the airport.”

He swallowed his water wrong, covered his mouth with his hand, and coughed. “Exactly how old are you, and what is the longest time you’ve held a job?”

“What?” She narrowed her eyes.

“I mean…it’s just that you—”

“I’m kidding.” She smiled at him. “Lighten up. I’m an open book.”

Candy brought their plates and left to help other customers. He followed Margarine’s lead and dug into his potato. He didn’t mean to grill her with all his back-to-back questions. Her job record made no difference to him.

“I’m twenty-five, but have only been working the last six months.” She picked up her steak knife and prepared to cut off a piece of meat. “I know I’ve had a lot of jobs in such a short time, but that’s how my life seems to work out.”

Remy laid his fork down on his plate and leaned back on the bench.

He opened his mouth but shut it and picked up his fork again.

“Go ahead. I know you’re curious…”

“I am, but…Jesus, that’s a lot of jobs.”

She picked up the garlic bread, tore off a piece of crust, and popped it into her mouth. She swallowed. “Eight months ago, I decided I would go to work. It’s easy to get a job, but I have this uncanny bad luck that follows me around wherever I go.”