Page 3 of Jingle Belle's Biker

By the time a cab pulls over, I’m beyond late and most likely resemble a drowned and murdered rat, and the doors to the meeting are shut.

I stand outside the door and glare at Bob in his dry security uniform. I know his name is Bob because of his name tag.

“Please.”

Sympathy flashes across his face. “There are protocols, miss, and besides, the meeting’s over.”

As he says that, the doors open and people stream out. I rush in and find the mayor’s assistant, who’s packing up.

“Angie.” I dig the folder out from the bottom of my bag and shove it at her. “I’m sorry, but the storm hit, and?—”

Her set lips stop me. Finally, she sighs as she flicks a glance behind me. “Belle, I told you the mayor wouldn’t be here long, and with the storm . . .”

She doesn’t need to finish. The mayor cut it short. Probably left when we were rearranging the art area of the classroom. And me being on time would’ve shown in the minutes.

“Ange, I really am sorry.”

“I know.” She squeezes my arm then wipes her wet fingers on her trousers. “But I said you needed to be here.”

“At least take the signatures as a formal complaint against the Super Hank’s proposal. Hastings wants?—”

“To inject money into our home city, Isabelle,” Lance says behind me.

Angie’s eyes narrow as she takes the file, a tacit move to let me know she’ll do what she can. I mutter a thanks and turn to face Lance Hastings.

My ex-fiancé.

Lance is blond, tall, beautiful, and always tailored in his handmade English suits or in his crisp Cape Cod rich boy around-town casual wear.

My heart used to lurch and do a loop-the-loop whenever he appeared.

Past tense.

I glare as he smiles.

“No, you want to take the land where the Gardens are,” I say primly.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You, Lance, wanted to tear down the library for a restaurant.” I fold my arms. Water splatters on the floor, earning a slight smile from him.

We both ignore the fact my interference in that both ended the relationship and his bid to close the city library.

“Bookshops exist—Amazon exists—for people to buy books. The library’s a waste of money, and this city needs a facelift.”

“People live at the Secret Gardens complex,” I say. “I live there.”

Lance’s eyes sparkle in a way that accentuates the blue but doesn’t add one drop of anything to his expression, where he’s parked it firmly in neutral.

“No one said anything would happen to it. But a Super Hank’s will be perfect in that area. You’re soaked.” His gaze rakes over me, lingering a nanosecond too long on my breasts. “Let me take you home.”

“I’d rather walk.”

With that, I march past him, shoes squelching the entire way.

My high road stops at a dead end the moment I step out onto the steps of the city hall.

It’s a Thursday, and the streets run in a swish of traffic, sending up sheets of water, footpaths shiny with running silver rivers, and Armageddon above.

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