Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
If she hadn’t yelped from the genuine pain when she’d spilled that hot coffee on herself earlier, she’d have been convinced this was all a fever dream.
God knew what Lock thought of her, especially since she’d been too chicken to stick around and find out. At five this morning, she’d fled from his house, determined to leave without talking to him. The prospect followed her to her home, where she’d showered, dressed, and packed enough to last a few days before beginning her disastrous workday.
“Excuse me, Brenna?”
Brenna blinked and gazed up into the smiling face of a woman maybe ten years her senior. Her client wore distressed denim shorts and a black ribbed tank with a dog rescue logo. Her brown hair was pulled up in a long ponytail, and her face appeared free of makeup.
“Brenna?” A frown of doubt crossed the woman’s face.
“Yes, sorry.” Brenna stood and extended a hand, which the woman shook it. “I was lost in thought. I’m Brenna, and you must be Brooke?”
“Yes, that’s me,” she said with a warm smile.
“Please sit.” Brenna indicated the vacant seat across from her.
“Thank you.” Brooke sat and placed her icy drink on the table. “I’m so excited to get started. Wait—” She peered out the window. “Is that Four?” she asked of the prospect staring at them from astride his bike in the parking lot.
Frowning, Brenna followed her gaze. “You know him?”
“You know him?” Brooke’s forehead creased as she bounced her attention between Four and Brenna.
“Kinda.”
They looked at each other and then burst out laughing.
“Let’s try this again,” Brooke said. “I’m Brooke, your new client and ol’… uh, girlfriend of Curly, the president of the Hell’s Handlers MC. That’s how I know Four. Are you dating him?”
Brenna snorted. “Oh God, no. He’s way too young for me. He’s my, um, well…” For crying out loud, how the hell was she supposed to explain this?
“Ohhh.” Brooke’s eyes widened. “Brenna.” She slapped a palm to her forehead. “That’s not the most common name. I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together. You’re the woman from last night.”
Okay, she guessed she didn’t have to explain. “That’s me,” she said with a sheepish smile.
“Well, shit. I can’t believe you’re working today with everything you’re going through.”
Canceling had crossed her mind, but she’d needed the distraction. “Yeah, I kinda need something to think about besides my ruined personal life.”
“Okay then, let’s talk business, and if you’re feeling up to it later, we can chat about other things.”
“All right.” With a nod, Brenna swiped her iPad open and pulled up her favorite note-taking application. “You said on the phone you’re creating a women’s shelter, correct?”
“That’s right.” Brooke rested her elbows on the table. “We’re about ninety percent done with exterior construction. The shelter is on the MC’s property. They own an enormous plot of farmland. We built the shelter far enough back on the property that the women we serve won’t be running into giant bikers all the time, and we just finished paving a private entry road.
“Probably smart,” Brenna said as she jotted notes. The more she learned about this club, the more baffled she became. None of what she’d encountered met her expectations. Burly bikers who ran a women’s shelter? What planet had she landed on? “You’ll be serving women who’ve survived domestic violence? Is that correct?”
“Yes, absolutely, but we’re also hoping, especially hoping, I guess you could say, to serve as a safe place for victims of human trafficking.”
Brenna glanced up. “Oh, wow. That’s amazing.”
“We want to be a place for women to receive the support and care they need while transitioning back home or living independently.”
“That’s really impressive, Brooke.”
Her client smiled. “Thank you. It’s an issue that’s near and dear to us.”
“Us?” Did she mean the MC?
“Us ol’ ladies.”
“Oh, that’s like girlfriends of the bikers, right? I met Liv last night.”
Brooke’s face lit up. “Oh, you did? Great. She’s my business partner and planned to be here today but got… sidetracked.” She winked. “… if you know what I mean. Spec tends to have that effect on her.”
Brenna’s cheeks heated. Had she ever bailed on a meeting to have hot sex with her man? Nope.
Lucky bitch.
“So, recognizing we will be serving a vulnerable population who might be experiencing severe trauma, we are looking to create a welcoming and comforting environment that is also empowering.” Brooke chuckled. “Is that even possible?”
Bubbles of excitement began to zip through Brenna’s veins. She loved projects like this. Designing trendy homes for wealthy clients or sleek corporate interiors was fun and the bread and butter of her business, but creating a space with a life-altering purpose gave her immense joy. Those projects were few and far between but made her heart sing.
“Yes, absolutely,” she said with conviction as her mind began to pop and fizz with ideas. “I’m assuming we’re talking bedrooms and some common areas?” She typed away on her iPad as she spoke.