Straddling the Line. Sarah M. Anderson
smiled—without making eye contact, but it was still a smile. “Damn straight I do. Those boys would be lost without me.”
Josey considered her line of attack. “You aren’t old enough to have school-aged children—” Cass’s head popped up, a pleased smirk on her face. She might be thirty-five or fifty-five—there was no telling with all those tattoos. But flattery could get a girl everywhere—if well done. And Josey could do it well. “I’m raising money for the vo-tech program at a new school, and I thought a chopper shop would be the perfect place to start.”
So that was a lie. This was a last-ditch attempt to get some equipment. She’d started out approaching big manufacturers and had slowly worked her way down the food chain to local auto repair shops, remodeling contractors and even shop teachers at wealthier schools. Nothing. Not a damn thing.
Josey had gotten a twenty-two-year-old internet billionaire to give a few computers, a television chef who was on a healthy food kick to pay for some kitchen equipment and a furniture place to give her last year’s model dining room tables and chairs to use for desks. She couldn’t pry a band saw out of anyone’s cold, dead hands. Against the vocal protests of a small group of school board members, led by Don Two Eagles, who wanted nothing to do with bikers in general and Boltons in particular, she’d decided to try Crazy Horse.
What did she have to lose? The school opened in five weeks.
“A school?” Doubt crept across Cass’s face. “I dunno …”
“If I could just talk to someone …”
Cass shot her a mean look. Right. She was someone, so Josey pulled out a brochure and launched into her pitch.
“I represent the Pine Ridge Charter School. We’re dedicated to the educational and emotional well-being of the underserved children of the Pine Ridge reservation—”
Cass held up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I give.” She flipped on the intercom again.
“Damn it, what?” On the bright side, the man on the other end was no longer distracted. However, he sounded mad. That sense of doom came rushing back in.
“She won’t go.”
“Who the hell are you talking about?” Excellent, Josey thought. Shouting.
Cass looked Josey up and down. There was something sneaky in her eyes as she said, “The nine-thirty. Says she’s not going anywhere until she talks to someone.”
He cursed. Rudely.
Whoa. F-bombs at nine-thirty in the morning. What on earth was she getting herself into?
“What is your problem, Cassie? You suddenly incapable of throwing someone out the door?” The shout was so loud that it briefly drowned out the sounds of the shop.
Cassie grinned like she was up for a round or two. She winked at Josey and said, “Why don’t you come down here and throw her out yourself?”
“I do not have time for this. Get Billy to scare her off.”
“Out on a test drive. With your father. It’s all you today.” She gave Josey a thumbs-up, as if this were a positive development.
The intercom made a God-awful screeching noise before it went dead. “Ben’ll be right down,” Cass said, enjoying being a pain in the backside. She pointed to a door in the wall of glass.
Maybe Josey should bail. Don Two Eagles had been right—Crazy Horse Choppers was a crazy idea. Josey put on her best smile as she thanked Cassie for helping out, hoping the smile would hide the panic hammering at her stomach.
Ben—Benjamin Bolton? Robert was the only member of the Bolton family who had joined the twenty-first century and had an online presence. Aside from a fuzzy group photo of the entire Crazy Horse staff and a generic-sounding history that traced how Bruce Bolton had founded the company forty years ago, she hadn’t found anything usable about any other Bolton. She knew next to nothing about Ben. She thought he was the chief financial officer, and Robert’s older brother. That was all she had to go on.
Before she’d made up her mind to stand her ground or take off, the glass door flew open. Ben Bolton filled the door frame, anger rolling off him in waves so palpable Josey fought to keep her balance. Should have run, she thought as Mr. Bolton roared, “What the hell—”
Then he caught sight of Josey. For a split second, he froze as he stared at her. Then everything about him changed. His jaw—solid enough to have been carved from granite—set as his eyes flashed with something that might have been anger, but Josey chose to interpret as desire.
Maybe that was just wishful thinking—in all likelihood, he was still angry—but without a doubt, Ben Bolton was the most handsome man she’d seen in a long time. Maybe ever. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she couldn’t tell if that was attraction or just nerves.
He straightened up and puffed out his chest. Okay. This situation was salvageable. Brothers often liked the same things—music, games—why should women be any different? She didn’t have enough time left to start over. She batted her eyelashes at him—a move she’d learned a long time ago worked despite being clichéd.
“Mr. Bolton? Josette White Plume,” she said, advancing on him with a hand outstretched. His palm swallowed hers. He could have crushed her hand, but he didn’t. His grip was firm without being dominating. She felt her cheeks get even warmer. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today.” They both knew that he’d taken no such time, but a gentleman wouldn’t contradict a lady. His reaction would tell her exactly what kind of man she was dealing with here. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
Bolton’s nostrils flared as the muscles along his jaw tensed. “How can I help you, Ms. White … Plume?” He said her name like he was afraid of it.
Lovely. Hopefully he wouldn’t start spouting all that PC nonsense about how she was an indigenous American of Native descent. As long as no one called her an Injun, the world could keep turning. She tightened her grip on his hand enough that one of his eyebrows notched up. She couldn’t tell if his hair was black or brown in the dim light of the waiting room, but he’d look plenty good either way. “Perhaps we could discuss the particulars elsewhere?”
Suddenly, Bolton dropped her hand so fast that it bordered on pushing her away. “Why don’t you come up to my office?” he asked, that flash of anger growing a little stronger.
Behind her, Cass snorted. Bolton shot her a look of pure warning, a look so hot Josey might have melted if it had been aimed square at her. But the dangerous look went right over her shoulder. By the time Ben Bolton turned those baby blues back to her, he was back to that no-man’s-land between danger and desire. He stared down at her with an intensity she didn’t normally encounter. He was waiting for her answer, she realized after a silent moment had passed. That was unusual. Most men just expected her to follow.
“That would be fine. I wouldn’t want to keep Cass from her work.”
Bolton narrowed those blue eyes in challenge, then turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Josey barely had time to grab her briefcase before he’d disappeared out of sight.
“Good luck with that,” Cass called out behind her in a cackling laugh.
In these shoes, Josey had to hurry to keep up with Bolton’s long strides. He took the metal stairs two at a time, putting his bottom somewhere between hand and eye level. She shouldn’t be openly gaping—not in public, anyway—but she couldn’t help it. The whole back end was a sight to behold. Ben Bolton had wide shoulders packing the kind of muscle that a gray button-down shirt couldn’t hide. His torso was long and lean, narrowing into a V-waist that was wrapped in a leather tool belt, which was way more cowboy than biker. His ankles were the safest place to look, Josey decided. Black denim jeans flowed over black cowboy boots with extra thick soles.
One thing was abundantly clear. Ben Bolton wasn’t a normal CFO.
Below her,