TRACKING TRISHA - A Black Hounds Motorcycle Club Romance (The Fox and the Hounds Book #1) (12 page)

“As the company has grown, so have I,” Dante answered. “I’ll always be the club president of the Black Hounds but I am now also their CEO. We went from a club house designing motorcycles in our garages to a company with three buildings and over five hundred employees. We have grown but we’ve never forgotten our core values.”

“And what values would those be?” the host inquired. “Ten years ago, many would have answered your values were shootouts and armed robbery. In fact, you’ve had your fair share of fist-fights as a teenager, Mr. Alastair.”

“The Black Hounds were founded to give back to the community,” Dante replied, not taking the bait. “We protected our hometown when no one else would. Today, we don’t do it with violence or bloodshed. We do it by making products that help people. Look at our booth on the show floor. We donate vehicles to Humanitarian groups in the Middle East and Africa. We share our R&D’s advances in safety measures with school bus manufacturers without charge. We’re a proud sponsor of Tots and Tires, a charity for disabled children.”

Trisha hung onto every word. It was like a priest saying his sermon. For that matter, the people in the crowds were cheering and applauding the CEO.

“I must admit this is an exciting new direction for both the company and yourself,” the host praised. “You’ve been sighted with a woman on the show floor. She seems to be quite the expert on farming equipment. Is the Black Hound Motorcycle Company thinking of entering the agricultural business? Or is this relationship more personal?”

“Trisha Kaplan is a lovely woman who has shown me there is more to life than cheap thrills,” Dante said with a heart-rending smile. It had to be genuine. No man could fake it. “She’s shown a business is not just about making a dollar into a dollar and ten cents. She’s shown me the value of building something and sharing it with others.”

“Thanks you, Mr. Alastair,” the host said, ending the debate. He had gone fifteen rounds with Dante and came away the loser. Her date shook the host’s hand and left stage left. “That’s all the time we have.”

For a brief moment, Trisha Kaplan forgot that she was being paid to date the handsome man on the screen.

“Dante, I think you’re using your motorcycle keys to unlock the door,” the woman giggled, slurring her words. “You’re good but you’re not good enough to ride a door.”

“Well, I’m good enough to know when I’m drunk enough that I need to hail a cab,” he replied, fiddling with his keys. “I haven’t had to ride as a passenger in a cab in months.”

His date teased him. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Where is your motorcycle anyway? Did you leave it at the car show?”

“I had one of the workers at the booth drive to one of our garages,” he answered, finally finding the correct keys to his apartment. “I’ll pick it up later. I threatened to fire the poor guy if there was so much as a scratch on it. He must’ve wrapped it in bubble wrap and shipped it!”

The farm girl placed her hands on her hips. “Separation anxiety already?”

“It’s kind of funny,” he said opening the door. “When I was a kid, a motorcycle used to be one of my most valuable processions. I cleaned it everyday. I even fell asleep with it. Now, I can have more motorcycles than I know what to do with…”

Trisha giggled. “First world CEO problems.”

Dante smiled back at his date. “Oh, to be a simple biker again.”

It was truly a night to remember. They had walked from booth to booth with hand in hand. He made her join in entering some European supercars on the show floor like James Bond and his love interest. In turn, Trisha got him to ride a tractor. Thankfully, no camera caught the moment.

They had even attended an after party next door. It had been the first time Trisha had been to a dance floor since high school. The farm girl was more comfortable with an Irish jig than the electro-pop that dominated the music charts. Nevertheless, she gladly took his hand joined him on the dance floor.

There was no grace or fluidity like in those ballroom dancing classes Lucia made him take. Instead, it was kinetic and frantic like the dancing of his youth. Trisha easily got over her nervousness and joined in with him.

Afterwards, Dante had asked if she was willing to come over his apartment for the night. It would raise less questions if the two were seen leaving together. Besides, her farm was well outside the city limits. He didn’t know whether it was the alcohol or not, but Trisha gladly agreed.

“You kicked that host’s ass back there,” Trisha said, breaking Dante out of his thoughts. “I thought it would be a friendly interview but it was much more like a presidential debate. Those questions were brutal but I think you pulled through.”

“Lucia made me do my homework for interviews,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I’d spend hours going every little detail with her. It was like being back in school. Except I couldn’t play hooky this time.”

Stepping over some junk mail at the door, she whistled in amazement at his apartment. “Nice bachelor pad.”

“I could’ve had a nicer one in uptown,” he replied, turning on the lights. It illuminated his well-furnished home. It wasn’t quite as big as Trisha house but it certainly had the illusion of being more spacious. “However, this place was closer to our new club house. Besides, the ritzy stuff never did it for me.”

Indeed, there was enough clutter to make a college student proud. “A man of simple pleasures, I take it? I guess it would be hypocritical of me to rake you over the coal for not being a better housekeeper.”

“Your place is messy because you run a business,” Dante replied “My place is messy because I’m a slacker. Hell, I’m too tired to hire someone from this cleaning service Lucia recommended to me.”

Trisha walked over to a work bench in a nearby room. The bench held a disassembled prototype of a new motorcycle. “Worried they’ll steal your toys?”

“No, that’s just something I’m working on my spare time,” Dante yelled across the room. “I don’t like bringing work home but I don’t considered this to be work. It’s probably the only part of the job I truly enjoy.”

“It must be nice being able to separate work from your home,” Trisha mused, returning to join him. “Half of my house is practically an office now.”

“I wish I could say my job isn’t just an endless series of PR events and strategic meetings,” Dante said, lounging on the couch. “It’s why I love coming home.”

“So you can be the bad boy biker when the cameras aren’t around?”

“So, I can leave the CEO and all the baggage that comes with it,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “I don’t care about being some bad boy biker or a club president. I just want some…”

For a moment, there was silence.

“Speaking of which, can I leave my shoes at the door?”

“Just leave them by the entrance,” Dante answered. He heard the pitter-patter of her heels returning to the front door. “They must be killing you from all the walking-“

“Hey, it looks like someone slipped something under the door.”

“I get that a lot,” he said with a laugh. “I practically have the menus to half the restaurants in this city. Speaking of which, do you want something to eat? I got some food at home if you don’t want to wait.”

“I’m good for now,” she answered. “Looks like a menu for a new Chinese restaurant… and a red skull?”

Dante immediately stood up. “A what now?”

“Not an actual human skull or a stage prop,” she clarified, returning to him with something in hand. “It’s some piece of cloth with a red skull stitched on it.”

Trisha handed him the patch. With a hand that betrayed the slightest hint of fear, he took it. It was an image that was burnt into his mind and that of any Black Hound. It was the mark of their enemy.

It was the emblem of the Red Aztecs.

“What’s wrong Dante?”

“It’s nothing,” he chuckled, his grin looking deceptively artificial. “It’s just some prank by one of the other Black Hounds. Those boys still think of me as their club president when I’m their CEO.”

Trisha knew there was more to it than that. In the short time they had spent together, she had learned his tells. She knew when he exposed a vulnerable side of himself. She knew when he hide that part of himself. But she didn’t probe further. “Okay…”

“You up for a drink?” he offered, changing the subject. Dante placed the patch in a drawer before heading to cabinet in his kitchen. “I got beer, rum, vodka, ouzo from Greece… and just about every other damn thing.”

“Beer is fine for now.”

He got two bottles and handed one to her. “That makes both of us.”

Trisha toasted her date’s beer bottle. “Cheers!”

The man shouted. “Kampai!”

“What?”

“Sorry, it’s a Japanese thing,” Dante replied, looking a bit embarrassed. “I got into the habit of saying it when Lucia and I were in Japan. It’s how the locals say ‘bottoms up’ when they’re drinking with their friends. And let me tell you, the Japanese businessmen know how to hold their liquor.”

Sipping her beer, Trisha leaned forward in interest. “What were the two of you doing in Japan?”

“We’re looking into expanding into Asia,” he elaborated. “Currently, anyone in Asia would have to import our vehicles from North America or Europe. Lucia wanted to look into a licensing deal with some of the big Japanese car companies. I actually came up with the idea after receiving a letter from a Black Hounds fan club in Sapporo, Japan.”

“Wait, you guys have a fan club in Japan?”

“It was news to me as well,” he admitted. “We have some licensed merchandising. It’s small stuff like jackets, drinking mugs, and other a few other things. It was just a way to get our name out there and change our brand’s image. Eventually, the stuff found its ways to Asia. People liked the logo and started buying our merchandise. However, the motorcycles themselves never made it over there. You can’t call yourself a Black Hound if you’re not riding a GY12 Bloodhound or a RT13 Foxhound. I decided it was time to make things right.”

“You’re thinking of doing business with a Japanese company?”

“I think Uncle Cass would’ve freaked at the idea but we could use their help,” Dante chuckled. “They have a good understanding of the regional markets and can hopefully maintain our standard of quality. I want people around the world to drive like us. I think that’s what dad would’ve wanted…”