Biker Babe in Black (2 page)

The aroma of coffee surrounded her like a welcome hug. She inhaled deeply. Her stomach fluttered, and a pang of loneliness hit her. Reefer, her childhood best friend and another member of her family, always drank lots of coffee.

The counter at the front of the café bustled with customers, and she wound her way over to the side to inquire about the manager. As she waited, she tapped her foot in time with the peppy music playing in the background.

The manager escorted her to the back room, and after going over the prerequisites for the job, excused himself from the interview to check out Margie’s references. She nibbled on her thumbnail and hoped Reefer picked up his cell phone. She’d called him earlier and updated him on the interview. He’d promised he would do this small favor for her; in fact, he
wanted
to do this favor for her.

Her family always helped anyone in a time of need. Margie crossed her legs and formed a mental note to get some of those fancy coffee beans to give to Reefer next time he came to town. He really liked the gifts she gave him from all the places she’d worked the last six months. Without his help, she’d still be pounding the sidewalk, or worse, back home.

A soft shuffle of footsteps sounded outside the manager’s office. She clasped her hands in her lap and forced a smile, ready to meet her fate.

“Ms. Butter, your reference from Kathy’s Kafe House came back with glowing praise. Your old boss said they were sad to see you leave. Plus, you had a flawless attendance record.”

She placed her hand on her chest and batted her eyes. “He was a dear to work for. Treated his employees well and made working with him a real joy.”
I love you, Reefer.

The manager lowered his glasses and did a quick skim of the paperwork he held in front of him. “We’d love to hire you, and if you want to go ahead and fill out your papers…” He handed a stack of paperwork across the desk. “You can start tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grendle. I look forward to working for you.”

***

Early the next day, Margie, dressed in a mouse brown polyester outfit, filled the last coffee maker on the counter with ground beans. She reached down with one hand and rubbed the itchy material against her thigh.
I should have paid more attention yesterday at what kind of uniform I’d be required to wear.

Her reflection in the stainless steel espresso machine stared back at her, and she pursed her lips. She fit right in…if the year was 1950 and boring was the latest fashion trend. Of course, the brown cap pinned to the top of her head didn’t help matters. Maybe she’d be better off if she stayed away from shiny objects for the rest of the day.

The morning hours flew by, and Margie kept busy filling coffee orders, one after another. She’d memorized the sheet of recipes earlier and now it remained tucked in her pocket. A rather routine job, but at least it would cover rent.

The manager walked up to the counter and handed the afternoon phone orders to Margie. She listened as he rattled off how to fill the lunch order and store the cups in a roll-around cart to stay warm. She looked forward to getting out of the café and delivering outside orders. In addition to the rush of people inside the café, the smell of coffee had begun to give her a headache.

The office building beside Sunshine Coffee House stood fifteen stories tall and presented an impressive sight to someone who didn’t rub elbows with the conglomerates of the business world. Margie let her head fall back and shielded her eyes with her hand. The afternoon sun reflected off the many windows and blocked her view of the top from the ground. She’d try again later today after the sun set and her shift ended.

Margie pushed the UP button for the elevator. With the order sheet held out in front of her, she formulated a plan. Only floors two, six, nine, and fifteen had ordered coffee. She’d begin at the bottom and work her way up.

The secretary in suite 202 sat in the main room and paid for the order Margie delivered. She hurried out of the room to continue with the rest of the deliveries. Soft music filled the hallways, and she found herself humming from one floor to the next. This was easier than she’d expected.

The elevator arrived on the ninth floor, and the doors opened to a stage of men dressed in suits. She moved off to the side and waved all the men to go up without her—no way her cart would squeeze in there with all of them, despite it being a rather large elevator. She wondered if men dressed for success ever needed to scratch their bodies. Her skirt drove her nuts; the polyester chaffed her skin, and she wanted to rub the sensitive skin that her thong didn’t cover.

The whir of the elevator announced its return, followed by a ding. Margie backed into the elevator facing forward, pulling her cart over the gap in the floor in a hurry. Once inside, she pressed the unlit number fifteen button on the panel, and with one thing on her mind, hitched up her skirt and scratched furiously at her thighs.

A soft moan of pleasure escaped.

Remy stepped back, leaned into the corner of the elevator, and stared at the coffee delivery woman backing in with her cart. He tilted his head to take in the waist to hip ratio.
Perfect.

A soft bell set the elevator in motion. Something about the lady tickled his memory. A burning ball of excitement hit him in the gut. He realized the Harley-riding angel from Georgia’s Restaurant stood in the elevator with him.
Call me lucky.

The woman lifted her skirt and flashed him the prettiest black thong on an exceptional ass. Women threw themselves at him all the time, but not one of them had ever tried to seduce him in an elevator.

Despite the woman’s height, her legs stretched high and muscular. Her ass rounded behind her, and he’d bet his left nut a quarter would bounce off that succulent globe.

Her posture relaxed, and she continued her manipulations on her backside. The grin on his face grew with each moan she gave. Yeah, seducing him in an elevator rated high on his list of things he wanted to experience.

He cleared his throat.

Margie froze in place, her skirt bunched around her waist. She flicked her gaze left and right again, and jerked her skirt down. She groaned. The only place left for someone to hide in the elevator without her seeing when she backed in was behind her.

She turned her head, and her body followed.
Oh no! You have to be kidding me.

The man from the restaurant fiasco stood in the back of the elevator, a lust-filled smile on his face. She curled her lip, stuck her head up in the air, and viewed him over her nose.

“Are you making it a habit to follow me around?” A concealed weapons permit for carrying that much sexy around in public should be required for a man with his good looks.

The elevator doors opened, and Margie didn’t wait for an answer. She pushed her cart out. A stalker didn’t fit into her life today.

The cart banged against the door of Montgomery Steel in Margie’s hurry to escape from her maybe-stalker. She waited, but no one showed up to take the orders. The other offices had used their secretary to accept orders.

“Hello?” She cocked her head. Maybe everyone sat in a lunchroom in the back somewhere…

“Sunshine Coffee, I have your order,” she said louder.

The front office door opened behind Margie. She turned her head and came face to face with the sexier-than-sin maybe stalker. Heat crept up her neck, and she clenched her hands into fists.

“Get a clue, dude. It would take one phone call to my brothers, and you wouldn’t be picking women up ever again.” Margie shook her fist at him. “Trust me when I say you wouldn’t want that.”

The man casually strolled around her and opened the top drawer of the secretary’s desk. Seriously, this guy needed a reality check. Stealing from someone’s personal desk…even his looks couldn’t award him with a Get Out of Jail Free pass.

“How much?” He fingered a few bills he’d removed from the desk.

Here we go again.

“Seriously. You need to stop trying to buy me. I’m not for sale.” Margie crossed her arms, intent to end this silly game. The coffee grew colder the longer she let him take up her time.

“Buy you?” He shook his head.

Remy placed the money on her cart and did his own arm crossing. “I’ve never bought a woman in my life, and if I did, she’d be worth more than the five dollars I owe her for coffee.” He nodded toward the top of the cart.

A five-dollar bill lay on Margie’s cart. She sagged and knew she’d screwed up. She bent over, opened the door on the cart, and extracted a cup of Columbian coffee. Strong. Black.

“Here’s your coffee, sir, and thank you for ordering through Sunshine Coffee House, where we only serve the best.” She smiled.

“Remington Montgomery, but my friends call me Remy.” He took the cup from her and held out his other hand.

She watched the way her fingers disappeared inside his much larger hand, before quickly pulling free. “Margarine Butter. You can call me Margie.”

The room closed in on Margie, and silence reached her ears. She rolled her eyes and waited for what came next. Why did her full name slip out?
He must unnerve me more than I thought.

“It’s not—”

Margie smirked and waved a hand in front of him to stop him from embarrassing himself. “I know. It’s not butter. Ha ha, funny.”

She stood and waited for the other shoe to drop. It always did. Either the man played dumb, or it didn’t dawn on him that her name belonged on a piece of toast.

“I was going to say,” he pointed at the emblem on her blouse, “it’s not the name printed on your nametag.”

Did he really not think her name was the most sidesplitting thing he’d ever come across? A genuine smile broke out across Margie’s face. Finally, she’d found someone in the world, outside of her family, who didn’t react to her name by laughing his fool head off.

She gazed up at him. Gorgeous, considerate, and—judging from the silk shirt and Gucci suit he modeled—successful. In addition, he didn’t laugh at her name—the best part, in her opinion.
Hallelujah and let the choir sing.

“Apparently Susie Tomkins wore the uniform before me.” Margie patted her nametag. “I’m still waiting to receive my official acceptance into the Coffee Servers of the World union.”

He laughed, and she found herself smiling back.

“That’s the reason why you caught me with my dress up.” Margie bit down on her lower lip. “I wasn’t flashing you, I swear.”

“No harm done. I’m just glad it was me who got to witness your moment to scratch.” He leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms again.

“You don’t have to make it sound like you enjoyed it.” She didn’t stop her lip from twitching. Why did his obvious pleasure at a glimpse of what lay under her clothes secretly thrill her?

“Oh, geez, I’m late.” She struggled with turning the cart around. “I can’t screw up on my first day on the job, or they’ll fire me.”

“Here, follow me. There’s a private elevator down the hall you can use. Only the top floor executives use it. It’ll be quicker than taking the main elevators at this time of the day.”

Margie pushed the now-empty cart and followed Remy down the hallway. She focused on the way his slacks pulled against his tight butt with each stride. He stopped, and she almost ran the cart into the back of him.
Dang, I’m acting all googly-eyed-schoolgirl over a good-looking man.

She liked to scope out men, but this man gave her a real buzz; the same kind of rush she felt when going down Thrill Hill on her motorcycle at sixty miles per hour.

The elevators seemed the same as the ones she used earlier, only smaller. Remy entered the elevator and held the door open for her, and she pushed the cart over the threshold.

“I can find my way down. I won’t get lost.” She scooted over to push the button for the lobby.

“I need to get some files out of my car, so I’ll go ahead and ride down with you.”

“Okay.”

Margie stared at the control panel and focused on what kind of excuse she might tell the manager of why she’d run late. She didn’t have time to make a new friend today; she needed to concentrate on her job.

The edge of Margie’s cap sprang free. She poked the curls back under, but now that her hair was loose the cap didn’t stay on. She must have lost a bobby pin. She swore one day she’d work at a job that didn’t require a hairnet or hat of any kind to do the work.

“Here, let me.” He fiddled with her hair.

“You’re a hair stylist?” She raised her eyebrow.

Remy snorted.

“Hey, there isn’t anything wrong with cutting and styling other people’s hair. I’ve done it.” She shook her head but stopped because it pulled her hair out of his grasp.

“Why are you serving coffee if you style hair?”

“Well, I tried to be a stylist, but they realized I had no formal training and fired me before lunchtime.” Margie shrugged. “Who knew it was harder than it looked.”

Remy stood so close to her, the rapid rise and fall of his chest from his laughter threatened to push her away. The rush of relief across the surface of her scalp hit her, and she grabbed for the cap, but Remy had already removed it.

His other hand threaded its way into her mass of hair, and her locks tumbled free around her shoulders.

“Shit. You shouldn’t have done that. Do you have any idea how long it takes to get that cap on so it stays put?” She held out her hand. If she didn’t have it back on, her manager might fire her. “Please, I need to fix my hair before I get to work.”

Remy twirled the cap on his finger just out of her reach. “It would be a shame to hide such perfect hair.”

“This isn’t funny.” Margie planted her hands on her hips.

Remy’s eyebrow shot up in an I-dare-you-to-try-and-take-this-cap kind of way. His teasing gave her a case of the warm fuzzies, and she noticed a dimple on his right cheek. Dimples set her on fire.

She judged the distance from the floor to the cap in Remy’s hand. He must be at least six foot four. She stuck her bottom lip out and drew her eyebrows up in the best pout pose she knew. It always worked on the men in her family.