Page 13 of Havoc

Instead of threatening to give a negative report on him to Storm, I tried a softer approach. “In order for this to work, we need to talk about goals. If you don’t want to do this, that’s okay too. I’m not here to force you to do things you don’t want to do. Tell it to me straight—do you want my help or not?”

“Fucking fine, we’ll do this, but on my terms.”

I nodded, staying calm. “In order for this to work, we need to talk about goals and what you think is holding you back from accomplishing them. You said you want to do this on your terms. Tell me more about that.”

“First of all, I want some fuckin’ time to think. Storm dropped this on me out of the blue, and you’re so fucking eager to pick my brain that it’s all pissing me the hell off.”

I pulled out my phone and opened my calendar. “Okay, that sounds more than reasonable. When do you want to meet with me again?”

“How about whenever I feel like it.” He gave me a little smirk that looked all kinds of sexy on him. “Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

“I’m sorry, but being called like a dog isn’t going to work for me. You’re not my only client. We can either schedule something, or I’m going to have to make more productive use of my time.”

The smirk fell right off his handsome face. I was pretty sure this man was used to having his way with women. It was about time he learned that not all women were pushovers.

“What do you have open?” he said, looking all kinds of put out.

“Weekday mornings are good for me.”

“No. I have to be at work. I’m about to let my crew run wild on my construction site.”

So, he was some kind of construction supervisor. I filed that away for future reference. “We need to look at evenings or weekends then, right?”

“I spend my weekends with my club, particularly Saturday.”

“Would you prefer to meet up on Sunday or a weeknight?”

“I’d prefer not to meet up at all, but since I promised Storm that I’d give this a shot, I’m gonna say a weeknight. There’s no sense spoiling the weekend with this shit.”

I wasn’t about to let this big, surly biker knock me off my game. I said, “How about Wednesday night? That’ll give you a few days to think about your goals and maybe come up with some things that you think might be holding you back from accomplishing those goals.”

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke, his voice was exasperated. “Lady, if I knew what the fuck was holding me back, I wouldn’t need you.”

“Well, maybe we can figure that out together. I’m not a therapist, but I’m a good listener. If something’s worrying you or weighing you down, we can talk about it. Maybe between the two of us, we can figure out a way to change it up.”

He looked at me, and I saw the moment his gaze turned calculating. I felt like he was trying to decide if I could really help him or if I was full of shit. I let the silence spin out between us, once more giving him time to think it over. He shifted in his seat and took a drink of his whiskey.

Finally, he asked, “Do you ride a bike?”

I immediately shook my head, wondering where he was going with this.

He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck before asking, “You ever dated a biker?”

“No,” I snapped. “Why do you ask?”

“You don’t know one single fucking thing about my world, but you think you can help me sort my shit out. Is that about the size of it?”

Pushing down my irritation, I told him primly, “I don’t have to understand the intricacies of your world in order to help you.”

“That’s some high-speed bullshit you’re peddling there, girl.”

“I know you didn’t choose to work with me. I get that it feels like being put between a rock and a hard place. But here’s the thing—at some point, you’re going to have to decide for yourself if this is something you want. If not, I think it’s only fair that you explain your reasoning to Storm.”

“Tired of dealing with me already, are ya?” His tone wasn’t condescending. It was strangely hollow, like he was conflicted between not wanting to work with me but also feeling like there was a decent chance I could help him, and he felt like it was slipping from his grasp.

I leaned forward in my seat and looked him in the eye. “I’m confident in my ability to make progress with you on moving your life forward in the direction you want. But it’s time for you to piss or get off the pot because I’m not going to waste my time on someone who can’t stop throwing himself a pity party because he got roped into a situation he wasn’t anticipating.”

His expression hardened, so I wrapped it up by saying, “This isn’t the man that I saw take charge at the Neon Vibes bar last week. You rallied the prospects and, unless I miss my guess, you saw that Slater was harassing me and intervened. I remember when all of you moved between us, you gestured for me to get away from him. You gave me a chance to make a clean getaway, and I gratefully took it.”

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