Page 46 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

I’m both terrified and happy. It’s an odd combination.

I throw the test in the trash bin under the sink and wash my hands thoroughly with soap and water. I feel a bout of tears coming up, but I swallow everything back down and pat my face with a moist towel, careful not to ruin my makeup in the process.

I’m already a single mother, though. I know how hard that is. Do the guys even want this? Would they want be a part of our lives? And how would that work?

I don’t have time to think of that now, so I paste a passable smile on my face and step out into the salon.

“There she is,” Rita says, halfway into a manicure for Mrs. Stendhal, the bridal shop owner. “It took you forever. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just some heartburn from something I ate,” I reply and take a seat at my workstation. “How are you doing today, Mrs. Stendhal?”

“I’m great, just getting new tips.” She studies my face. “You look beautiful today, Robyn. I don’t know what’s going on in your life right now, but whatever it is, keep at it. It’s giving you a most gorgeous glow.”

“Aw, thank you,” I reply. “Where’s my first client for the day? Isn’t she supposed to be here already?”

As if summoned, Marlo Hughes walks into the salon. “Good morning, ladies. Good morning, Robyn.”

“Speak of the devil,” I sigh.

I lift a questioning eyebrow at Rita. She responds with a subtle shrug. Clearly, she’s not the one who took this booking, so it was probably our part-time receptionist. Marlo is the last person I want to deal with at this point in an already complicated day.

“Good morning, Marlo,” I say, watching as she sets her purse and jacket on the chair next to us, then takes a seat at my workstation. “What are we doing today?”

“I was thinking some fall colors. Maybe a burnt orange?”

“That’s a great choice,” I reply, glancing back at the nail polish bottles on my shelf. My gaze wanders out the window, and my stomach drops as I see Calvin climbing out of the driver’s side of Marlo’s limo. He’s wearing a tan suit and sunglasses, his reddish hair pulled into a tight ponytail. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Marlo looks at me flatly. “Is there a problem, Robyn?”

“What is Calvin doing here?” I ask, my tone clipped.

“Oh, he works for me. Didn’t I mention that?” Marlo replies.

The look on her face tells me this is precisely the reaction she was hoping to get, and it pisses me off more than the fact that Calvin is out there just a couple of yards away. Across the street from him, I see Paulie sitting up straight on his motorcycle. He saw Calvin too, but he’s not making a move yet. Why? His orders were clear.

“Marlo, I have a restraining order against Calvin. He’s not supposed to be anywhere within fifty yards of me,” I say. “Surely, he must’ve mentionedthat.”

She gives me a slight frown. “I’m supposed to park fifty yards down the road because you couldn’t patch things up with your ex?”

“He hurt me. There is nothing to patch up. What exactly did you hire Calvin to do for you?” My mind’s shooting all over the place, and I need all the self-control I can muster not to punch this woman right in the face.

“It’s none of your business,” she replies harshly. “I would, however, appreciate it if you told your Rider goons to stop harassing him. They did quite the number on him last night. I don’t like being driven around by a man who looks like he just lost a fight with a lawnmower.”

I hold back a chuckle, then take a deep breath. “Marlo, with all due respect, Calvin can’t be here. He needs to leave.”

“Fine,” she says, then swiftly proceeds to text him.

I watch the interaction in real time as he takes out his phone and reads her text. He laughs, then nods and texts back. A moment later, he gets behind the wheel and drives off. In the meantime, Paulie is halfway across the street. He was just about to approach Calvin by the looks of it. I look past the delay in his reaction. Maybe he was simply shocked to see his former best friend get out of a Lincoln Town Car.

“He’ll pick me up when we’re done here,” Marlo says. “I assume that won’t be a problem. Or will you call the police on us?”

“No, Marlo, I won’t call the police. But please, be advised, he’ll be in breach of his restraining order if he comes here again,” I calmly reply.

There’s tension between us. Underneath her eloquent, organized appearance, Marlo is brewing something. I know what her family used to deal with. I’ve heard the rumors around town.

“I don’t think you’re aware that it might not work in your favor if people see you working with him in any capacity,” I say, preparing my tools.

“I think you need to stick to what you know best,” Marlo replies, narrowing her eyes at me. “Remember, I want a burnt orange shade, and keep the almond shape.”

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