Page 159 of Collect the Pieces

“No!” she shouts, then sends a sneaky glance around as if someone might be watching. “Whisper’s daughter has…strong opinions about her father’s club. Ulfric was just trying to reassure me there wouldn’t be any issues. I felt weird not saying, ‘yeah, I know, my boyfriend is a member.’ That’s all.”

I’ve never had a “professional” job like hers, but I think I understand what she’s saying. “You realize it was going to come up eventually, though, right? Better now than at the service.”

She glares at me.

I give her a smug smile in return. “It’s okay. You don’t have to agree with me. We both know I’m right.”

“Ugh.” She clenches her fists like she’s physically restraining herself from smacking me, then stomps up the front stairs.

Laughing, I follow behind her. My smugness dies a quick death when we cross the threshold and run into Mr. Cedarwood.

Margot stops, absolutely rigid. I just avoid slamming into her back.

“Jensen.” His usually somber face actually flexes into a smile. “I was hoping that was your bike I heard.”

You were?

I straighten my shoulders. “It was me,” I answer like a doofus.

Mr. Cedarwood nods, his assessing gaze lingering on me for a beat too long, like he’s working something out in his head. “Did you run into Ulfric outside?”

“Our clubs are friendly. Have been for years.” I pause, then choose my next words carefully. “Wrath asked me to check in, see if he needs anything.”

His gaze stays fixed on me. “Well, Mr. Hall had a long list of items. It’s going to keep Margot busy for several days.”

Margot’s placid expression shifts to outrage.

Wait, is this his polite way of telling me to get lost?

His gaze flickers to Margot then back to me. “One request was a bit unusual. I was hoping you could assist Margot with it? We have another case that’s…stalled and?—”

“Yeah, of course,” I answer, relieved there’s something I can do to help Margot.

“Wonderful.” His gaze shifts to Margot. “I’m sure you know which item I’m talking about.”

“Well, I assume it’s not the floral arrangements.”

What am I getting myself into? Did Whisper request a gaggle of strippers to gyrate over his grave or something?

“You can use my office. I need to run out for a bit,” Cedarwood says. He reaches out and pats my shoulder. “Thank you, Jensen.”

“No problem, sir.”

Margot sighs as she watches her dad stride down the hall to the back door. “Come on.”

Once the door closes behind Mr. Cedarwood, I slide my arm around Margot’s waist and let my hand stray to her ass, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Tell me what you need.”

She slants an exasperated but affectionate look my way. “Have you ever seen a Harley Funeral Chopper?”

“Now we’re talking.” I clap my hands and rub them together. “I’ll make some calls.”

Margot

I settle into my father’s chair behind his desk and go through my list of vendors.

Jigsaw’s on the couch, legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, phone pressed to his ear.

The contrast between his rough-cut biker energy and my father’s neat, methodical workspace shouldn’t work. But hesomehow fits right in. I thought he’d be annoyed at my father imposing on him. Instead, he’s eager to get started.

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