Old School (A Bad Boy Biker Romance) (10 page)

I was so happy and so relieved that I had finally gotten Vince to agree to the shoot. So much so that it took a while for the gravity of his last condition to really hit me. I had to see Vince again though, I had promised myself that I wouldn't do that for a million dollars. He was bad for me, that's what Janey and Allison would say if they knew. They would tell me to give poor, pathetic Tom another shot. Bad boys weren't worth the hassle, they never were. They played with you until they got bored and then sped over to the next girl on their motorcycle, leaving you heartbroken and longing for then. I couldn't let that happen to myself.

I wondered what exactly Vince wanted from me. The obvious conclusion was sex, though that still puzzled me. He was a good looking guy, and even if he wasn't with the blonde bimbo anymore I was sure that he could get any girl he wanted. I knew that my blow job technique was pretty solid and I could ride a dick like no one else, but I really wasn't that special. OK, I hadn't slept with women but I figured that my style of fucking couldn't be that unique. He'd seen what I had to offer, twice now. There were girls out there who had bigger breasts, prettier faces, longer legs and no gag reflexes. Shouldn't Vince already be moving on to his next conquest? It puzzled me quite a bit. Vince was gorgeous, sexy and rich. He could have any girl he wanted and he knew that better than anyone. Why wasn't he taking advantage of that? Guys like that always did. If he didn't want to be my boyfriend so badly, then why did he want to see me? I hadn't even played hard to get.

I decided that my blow jobs skills really were so fucking amazing that they just kept reeling him in. That made me giggle a bit. Maybe Jennifer would let me write this month's sex column and I could share my tips? It wasn't a question I felt like asking.

Vince didn't bother me for a few days so I was beginning to wonder if he had forgotten about that last condition. He loved annoying me so much that I figured maybe this condition was another way to do that. What was surprising was how high my hopes had gotten and how shitty I felt when I thought that they would be destroyed. He wouldn't really tease me like that, would he? I didn't know the guy that well. Maybe he would.

Then I got a text from him, short and direct. It read Business meeting tonight at your office, 8pm. I'll bring champagne, you bring ideas. No one else but you.

I asked Jennifer for permission to host the meeting in her office and she seemed to be over the moon at the idea. She was slightly less enthusiastic when I told her that I was the only one that could be there, but she agreed anyway.

"It sounds like this Vince character has really taken a shine to you, hasn't he?" she said and I nodded.

"Yes, he really has."

I wouldn't have time to head home and get changed after work. I would have to go to the meeting as I was. My usual work outfit was a slinky pencil skirt, fitted top and high heels. I always felt good when I dressed like that but I couldn't help doubting myself once I knew that Vince would be coming. Maybe he wouldn't like my outfit. The tight skirt really did draw attention to my round ass. I had always liked it but now I wasn't so sure. That bimbo from the mall had been so skinny. Maybe Vince preferred women with tiny, flat butts. I began to regret treating myself to that giant jelly

doughnut.

Why did it matter? It didn't. I was being neurotic. I said goodbye to my colleagues at six, our regular finishing time. They all wished me luck and said goodbye. Jennifer waited until they were all gone and she actually gave me a hug.

"I am so proud of you, Lola. I really didn't think much of you when you started here but you've truly blossomed into something special," she chuckled to herself as she let me go, "Who knows? Maybe you'll have my job someday. But you'll have to fight me for it!"

"Thanks Jennifer," I said, and we said goodbye. I was left alone in an empty office with only my nerves for company. This started to feel like a bad idea but I knew I didn't have a choice.

It was his condition. I had to see him. I didn't have to fuck him, I didn't have to suck his dick. I didn't even have to kiss the guy. All I had to do was sit in a room with him and talk (and hopefully keep all my clothes on). How could I mess that up?

I sat in Jennifer's office just staring into space. It felt weird sitting in my boss's chair, almost like I didn't belong there. Jennifer couldn't be the editor forever. Maybe someday this would be my chair. That was a funny thought, but I knew it was ridiculous. Even though things seemed to be going well for me now it seemed like everything could change so quickly that there was no point getting invested in the idea. After all, if it weren't for my stupid Biker Chic idea I would still be walking on eggshells at work, or worse, not working at all.

Jennifer's office had a wonderful view of the city so as I waited for Vince I enjoyed people watching. So many people passed by without even looking up, I could have sat there staring all evening and no one would have noticed. They were walking their dog or carrying grocery bags or holding hands with their partners. It calmed me down to watch them.

I saw a dot on the horizon and my intuition told me right away that it was Vince on his way to see me. My intuition was rarely wrong and it turned out that I was correct. Not many people rolled up to the office on flashy motorcycles anyway.

Vince pulled up out front and I watched him make his way into the building. Fuck, I could already feel myself blushing. Why did he have to have this ridiculous effect on me all the time? He made me feel like an awkward teenager again. Too inexperienced and hormonal to control my own emotions or actions.

I was just rummaging in my bag for some makeup to cover my redness when Vince swaggered in. He looked great, though that was no surprise. His black leather jacket had been replaced with a beaten up brown number. There was what looked to be a champagne bottle in his hand. His hair looked particularly messy today but it suited him a lot. He shot me that smile and I could have sworn that I felt my heart stop. Why did he have to be so damn hot? It made it near impossible to keep my composure, though I tried my best.

"Hey sugar tits," he said. God, I could have gone forever without hearing that name again. He had only said three words and he was already grating on me. Vince's horrible personality was nature's way of telling me that fucking him again would be a terrible idea. It was a reminder that I sorely needed, because my eyes kept wandering down his body. His muscles seemed to have gotten even more defined than they were the last time.

"Please don't call me that. I work here. This is a professional situation," I said. He put up his hands defensively.

"OK, I am sorry. That's from the bottom of my heart. For real, I don't mean any disrespect. I'm just playing with you," Vince seemed to enjoy playing with me a little too much. He sat down in the chair across from me and looked around, "This your office then? Pretty swanky, huh?"

He planted the champagne on the table and I folded my arms. There was no point in telling him that my real 'office' consisted of a tiny cubicle with barely enough room to turn around without knocking the divider down. Vince seemed impressed by Jennifer's office, so I might as well let him think that it belonged to me. It wasn't like he would be around long enough to know any difference. "Thanks. Yes, it is swanky, but I've earned it," I wrinkled my nose at the champagne, "This is a business meeting, Vince. I hope you don't think that I'm going to get drunk. I know better than to let my guard down around guys like you. I mean, look what happened last time."

I was just trying to assert myself in a semi professional manner but Vince seemed to be mortally offended. What had I said that was so bad, anyway?

"Excuse me? You're the one who got drunk and passed out on my bed last time. And I didn't take advantage at all -you needed to sleep, so I let you sleep. What kind of creep do you think I am? Contrary to what you think I am actually a very nice, kind, considerate man. It's not my fault that you're a messy drunk," he gestured to the bottle, "Read the fucking label, Lola."

I picked it up and looked at it. Ah. Non-alcoholic. What was the point of buying non-alcoholic champagne? I decided that I'd been rude enough already without asking Vince that question.

"I'm sorry for saying that, I didn't mean it that way. I misinterpreted the situation. This looks really good Vince, it was kind of you to bring it," I said doubtfully. I mean, it was hard to get excited about champagne flavored sparkling water.

That last bit must not have been too convincing because Vince frowned.

"It's non-alcoholic because I didn't want you to get drunk during the meeting," he said. Ouch. It wasn't like I made a habit of drinking until I passed out. I didn't. I never had. Well, not since college anyway. That was a low blow and he knew it.

"I wouldn't get drunk in a professional situation!" I retorted, "God, you don't know me at all. You saw me drunk once ever and you think you know everything about me. I am a professional, I do things professionally!"

I was yelling now, but Vince didn't back down.

"Yeah, some professional. You can't even drive home from work without running people over!" "You couldn't even drive that banged up piece of shit without getting hit. I mean, what the fuck is wrong with you? Do you think that you're in France or something? Cos in America, we drive on the right!"

The two of us were standing up now, yelling in each other's faces from opposite sides of the desk. It was ridiculous, two grown adults behaving like this. I had never yelled at anyone in my adult life before but something about Vince really got my goat. He was such a fucking asshole that he made me want to scream. How had I ever slept with him? How had I ever considered that I might do it again? He was possibly the rudest, most arrogant, irritating person I had ever come across in my whole life.

The two of us yelled and screamed some more about pointless shit until our voices were too tired to keep going. We just stood there, panting and glaring at each other without a word. He was an asshole. A total asshole. I didn't need him.

Suddenly, a smirk began to dance at the corner of Vince's mouth. I could see him trying to suppress it at first but he couldn't hold it off for long. His shoulders began to shake and he was a goner. He started to laugh uproariously.

"What are you laughing at?" I asked, trying my best to sound annoyed with him. I couldn't let him off that easy. Well, that's what I thought but his laughter ended up being contagious. Soon the two of us were chuckling away like a pair of giddy kids.

"Your angry face is fucking adorable," Vince snorted, "You look like a grumpy bunny or something."

He did a hilarious, hopefully inaccurate impression and I couldn't help giggling at it. "Yeah, well your angry voice is stupid," I said. Vince shrugged.

"Yeah, pretty much. That's why I try not to use it too much."

Suddenly, the laughter stopped. I looked at him and he looked at me and in that second what I wanted more than anything was for him to kiss me, to take me in his arms and kiss me like he had before. Fuck the meeting. Fuck the photo shoot. All I wanted was him. I could tell that he was thinking the same thing that I was.

A car alarm went off outside and the moment was gone. I took that as a sign that it wasn't going to happen tonight and so did he. I couldn't say that I wasn't disappointed when he spoke again. "Well," Vince said, "Let's get down to business, will we?"

Vince

I never pretended to know anything about fashion. I basically wore the same outfit in different forms every day of my life. All I needed was a plain t-shirt, a black, brown or gray leather jacket and any old pair of jeans and I was good to go. My closet was full of different versions of those three items. They worked for me. Why should I bother complicating things?

Talking to Lola about the photo shoot she was planning felt like speaking a different language to me. I had never realized how much planning and organization went into this kind of stuff. It was impressive, really. She showed me a giant scrap book, filled with pictures of girls wearing leather bikinis and posing on bikes that looked cool but probably ran like shit. Lola kept asking me what I thought and all I could do was nod in agreement. I figured that was what she wanted anyway.

She showed me a book full of models who were being considered for the shoot and their contact details. For most guys, having the numbers of dozens of beautiful young models in the palm of their hands would feel like winning the jackpot, but I didn't give a shit. Unfortunately, my expression seemed to give that away all too easily.

"Vince, do you even care who models on your bikes? This is your brand that we're talking about," she said, in the same tone that a school teacher might scold a naughty child. I shrugged.

"Does it matter? They're all models, right?" I said, but Lola didn't like that. I tried to turn things around, "I trust you to choose them. You know what to look for better than I do."