Page 4 of Single Mom's Bikers

“She knew what she was getting into.” His grin turns wolfish. “And if I remember right, you didn’t exactly object when she suggested all three of us take her to dinner—and the hotel uptown afterward.” He winks.

He’s right. We’ve always shared everything—our home, our business, and sometimes, when the chemistry is right, our women. But that’s exactly why I dragged myself out of bed at dawn today. The gallery needs someone professional. Someone focused on the job instead of the possibility of landing all three Cross brothers and vice versa.

“Not this time.” I fix him with a hard stare. “Whoever we hire today is off-limits. I mean it.”

“Spoilsport.” But he nods, knowing I’m right.

My office tells the story of our success—certificates on the walls, ledgers neat on the desk, everything perfectly legitimate. The safe behind the hunting photo holds other records, the ones that keep Wolf Pike’s less savory elements in check.

The contractors arrive exactly on time, bringing plans for the gallery’s expansion. We’re taking over the space next door, above The Den, adding more private rooms for the high-end clients Chase’s reputation keeps bringing in.

It’s a good problem to have, even if the timing’s tricky with Death’s Head MC sniffing around our territory lately.

“These support beams need checking.” The head contractor points at the blueprints. “Might need extra reinforcement for the second floor.”

I’m about to respond when motorcycles roar past outside—not our guys. The rumble has that distinctive Death’s Head growl Chase always complains about. Message received. They’re watching our expansion plans.

“Whatever it needs,” I tell him, keeping my voice steady. “We’re not cutting corners.”

The meeting runs long, eating into the time I’d planned to review resumes before the interview. Chase wanders in as the contractors leave, looking marginally more awake.

“Teller called,” he says, dropping into the chair across from my desk. “Said to remind you about tonight’s meeting. Sounds serious.”

Of course it does. Everything’s serious lately—territory disputes and protection arrangements. The Black Wolves MC might have started as a brotherhood, but under Teller’s leadership, it’s become something bigger. Something that needs legitimate faces like ours.

“You seen today’s candidate’s resume?” Chase picks up the file I was reaching for. “Evie Ashbourne. Single mom. Accounting experience. Boring.”

“Boring might be exactly what we need.” I take the file back. “Someone who’ll actually focus on work instead of getting tangled up in?—”

The gallery’s front door chimes. Through my office window, I see Zane finally arriving, a leather jacket thrown over bare shoulders. He’s grinning like he just won something.

“You’re late,” I call out as he passes my door.

“Had an interesting morning.” He pokes his head in, still wearing that troublemaker’s smile. “Met the new neighbor.”

Chase perks up. “The one in the blue house? With the kids?”

“The very same.” Zane’s grin widens. “Let’s just say mornings just got more entertaining.”

Before I can remind him about not getting involved with neighbors, the door chimes again. This time, the sound stops all three of us cold.

Our new applicant strides through the door in a black dress that hugs her curves. Her portfolio’s tucked under one arm, and she carries herself like someone who’s faced down worse than a tattoo shop interview.

“Well,” my youngest brother drawls, “if it isn’t my new neighbor.”

Her spine straightens. “Mr. Cross. I didn’t realize you worked here.”

“Just Zane. And I do more than work here.” His grin turns predatory. “I own the place. Well, part of it.”

I watch her process this information. Most women either giggle at my brother’s charm or run from it. Evie Ashbourne does neither.

“How unfortunate.” Her voice stays perfectly level. “I was hoping for a professional environment.”

Chase chokes on his coffee. I hide my own smile. It’s been a while since someone put Zane in his place so efficiently.

“Ms. Ashbourne?” I step forward, extending my hand. “I’m Rick Cross. We spoke on the phone.”

Her handshake is firm and confident. Up close, I notice things my brother probably missed while flirting—the watchful intelligence in her eyes, the way she positions herself to keep all exits in view.

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