From Bully To Beloved

CAL

We walk into a wave of noise.

The main garage is almost complete, and the guys are in the process of installing larger pieces of equipment. Power tools can be heard, and below the sound, an old radio plays heavy metal.

Immediately, I spot the new contractor, Charlie Holland, a lively Irishman with disheveled dirty-blond hair and a braided beard-maybe somewhere in his thirties or early forties-giving orders to some of the men.

“Once ye feckin’ get back, I want ye going ninety. It’s stopped rainin’ so just get on with it. The riggings have all been installed, and once the lads are clear of the area, I want ye to stress test each one with the dummy bikes that came in last night,” he says, and the men nod. “I trust where they come from, but they still need to be tested-let’s make sure they were installed properly. After ye do that, the shelvin’ should be finished, and ye can start stockin’ each station with the tools laid out in the back. Everythin’ is labeled, so make sure they feckin’ stay that way.”

When he spots me and Justin, he gives us a nod of acknowledgment and glances at his watch before calling over the noise, “All right, lads. Union lunchtime! Ye’ve got an hour.”

“Hey, man,” I greet him, holding my hand out for him to shake, which he accepts.

“Ah, chief, how’s it goin’?” Charlie is in his usual look: torn blue jeans, and I’m unsure if he’s being modern or wears his jeans until they fall apart-I’m guessing the latter. His armless shirt reveals a sleeve of a naked pin-up-girl with huge tits, blowing a kiss from his upper arm with one eye squeezed shut into a wink. Below that is a big heart with three letters: MOM. Either Charlie has a twisted sense of humor, or he found himself under the ink gun sometime late at night after a heavy night of partying.

“Lost myself a bit of a bet there.” He answers my silent question, likely used to getting odd looks. “Are ya happy enough with things?” He lifts his hand, gesturing around him.

There’s the state-of-the-art showroom where we can display the classics and more expensive bikes, our workshop space (“the garage”) where customers can get their bikes fixed, customized, and detailed, plus a couple of modern office spaces in the back for Justin, sales staff, and other administration employees.

“Things are looking great,” I say, pleased with how organized Charlie is and how systematically he handles his crew. There is not a single array of clutter anywhere, or the mess I usually face during construction periods with sharp deadlines, and I’m pleased. “I didn’t expect to have all the rigging in today.”

“Yeah, fella called me this mornin’ at 5:30, sayin’ they had a cancellation and could move us up the list. Met him first thing, and we got everythin’ unloaded before the lads got here. What d’ye think?”

I scan the workspace with a grin. “It looks like an actual garage.”

“Feckin’ imagine that.”

Chuckling, I slap him on the back. “Thanks for looking out.” Knowing that we have an opening date and are going to make it takes a massive load off. “Have you run into any issues with distributors?”

“Don’t be worryin’ about that. It’s grand. Sure, you won’t get anyone any better round these parts,” Charlie boasts, pointing a thumb at himself and grinning. “I went through all your notes, and we’re good. That last fella was feckin’ useless. Wouldn’t know his arse from his elbow, just runnin’ up the bill with all sorts of shite. There’s plenty left in the budget for us to finish things up properly.”

In the construction field, it’s normal that contractors pick each other to pieces. Everybody wants the job. Not everything you hear is true. I don’t hold it against Charlie that he’s running down a peer. At least we’re within budget.

“Good job,” I tell him.

“You’re grand.” Charlie jerks his head to the back. “The admin offices are all done. The furniture is due in tomorrow, so long as ya approve. Will we give it a look?”

“Sounds good. Let’s check them out.”

We follow Charlie toward the back of “the garage” where the administration offices have been finished. The space is well lit with natural light coming from large windows and modern lighting fixtures. This is better than I could’ve hoped for. We’ve already hired the administration staff, and with their offices complete, it means they can start at least two weeks earlier than expected. It’ll be good to have a central space where business operations can begin while the rest of the building is being finished.

After the brief tour, Charlie heads off to take his break. “Go on so. I’ll talk to ya later.”

Justin and I crouch down on the floor of the room that’ll soon be his office.

“So, I have a question,” Justin says, leaning back on his hands and taking my attention away from my thoughts. “About this girl. What do you know about Sera’s friend?”

His question comes out of nowhere and catches me off guard. “Which friend?”

“You know, the brunette she works with. Side-braid. I think her name was Kelly.”

“Ah, yeah, not much. I know they’re close, but that’s about it. It’s not like Sera and I share every detail about our lives.”

“Do you know if she’s seeing anyone?”

I remember the lunch we just had and how Justin had shamelessly looked her over. I smirk. “You weren’t even remotely subtle about checking her out.”

“How could I be? Did you see those big blue eyes? My God. Not to mention she was fucking smoking.” He makes a noise in the back of his throat and shakes his head. “She reminds me of Jessica Lilly Dawson, remember her?”

“The bookworm with glasses?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

“So what? She was hot. Andnotinto me.”

“You certainly have a type.”

“Well, so do you.”

He’s not wrong there. We smirk at each other.

“You should ask her out,” I tell him. “This Kelly chick.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I asked if you knew whether or not she was seeing anyone.”

“No idea. I don’t think she is. Next time we go, you should ask for her number.”

“I thought about it, but I didn’t want to do it while she’s working. Also, not sure if she’s into me. Not all chicks like tattoos, piercings, and shit. Don’t want her to think I’m some kind of creep who’s stalking her or something.”

I snort in amusement, assessing the huge-ass mountain of a man. He’s an ugly-ass motherfucker-his words, not mine-about three inches taller than me (I’m six foot one), with a bushy beard, and his black hair ends in a short wavy ponytail, like he doesn’t give two fucks. “Don’t tell me you’rescaredof a small waitress?”

His lips twitch. “Me? Never.”

“I can ask Sera to give her your number.”

His eyes light up. “Fuckyeah. Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” I say, bumping his fist.

“How about you?” he asks, changing the subject. “Getting laid any time soon? I bet this whole marriage thing is really cutting into your dating life.”

“Yeah, you could say that. Can’t exactly bring a chick home and be like, ‘Oh, just ignore the woman sleeping on the couch. She’s technically my wife, but it’s cool.'”

He laughs. “All right, all right, fair point. I just think the whole thing is fucking hilarious. Especially the whole bet situation you’ve got going on. I take it that’s still on the table.”

Oh, yeah, I told him about that this morning while we were getting ready for our drive. He knows the details of what happens when I win. And I’m going to win. There’s no doubt in my mind.

“So far so good,” I say. “I’ve never seen her clean up after herself before.”

“Imagine, all it took was the idea of kissing you. Man, she really can’t stand you.”

“Gee, thanks, dude.”

“Come on, you had to know she would freak out,” Justin says. “This is Sera we’re talking about. The two of you can’t be in the same room without arguing.”

“We didn’t argue at lunch,” I point out.

“You bickered.”

“But we didn’t argue.”

“Bickering is arguing.”

“Bickering is intense talking,” I counter.

“It’s not like you did anything to prevent it.”

“You act like that’s all on me.”

“Never said it was,” he replies, crossing his arms. “But now that I’ve seen you two together a couple of times, I’m brought right back to high school. Cal, bro, it’s always been that way between you and Sera. I’ve never known two people who get on each other’s nerves like you two do. It’s actually kind of impressive.”

“At least I got her down from hating me to extremely disliking me. Progress.”

“I think you two just need to fuck and get it out of your systems.”

This isn’t the first time Justin’s expressed this sentiment, and I know it won’t be the last. “Hey, man, I’m all for it,” I say, shrugging. “She sure could use a good dose of the good ol’ D. Actually, it would do us both a world of good. But Sera is stubborn. There’s no way she’s going to admit she’s attracted to me without being helped along the way. Hence the bet. Let’s start with a kiss and go from there.”

“You think she’s attracted to you?” he asks, arching his eyebrows.

“Of course she is. I can sense it.”

“But she doesn’t know it yet?”

“Oh, she knows. But she doesn’t wantmeto know.”

“Women and their games.” Justin shakes his head with a chuckle.

Now that everything is back on track, I don’t feel the need to hang around the construction site and oversee it all. Charlie clearly has things in order, and it’s no skin off my back. With that weight lifted off my shoulders, I’m free to focus on other things.

As everything is finishing up for the day, I reach out to Mr. Osborn. The phone to his office rings twice before a soft female voice answers, “Osborn Car Repair and Detail, Mr. Osborn’s office.”Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“Colton Ashton calling for Mr. Osborn.”

“Hello, Mr. Ashton, please hold for one moment.”

She puts on that god-awful hold music, and I stand there, waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting even longer.

Before I signed the papers for this dealership, I reached out to Osborn to introduce myself and let him know what business I was bringing to the city. I did my homework beforehand and knew if anyone was going to invest, it would be him.

Born and raised in NYC, Andrew Harold Osborn owned the two biggest car dealerships in the city and had started to buy out the smaller dealerships shortly after opening his second location.

I knew since I focused on motorcycles, my business offered something different, yet similar enough to pique his interest. It only took one phone call to get him to invest a cool heavy amount without breaking a sweat. Not sure how much Mrs. Osborn has a say in his company, but she and Osborn are on zoning and construction boards in the city, which makes his support even more important.

That being said, aside from our initial meeting, I haven’t done much by way of communication since I got back. I knew if I planned to stay on Osborn’s good side, I’d need to do some damn schmoozing sooner or later.

Fucking politics.

It was inescapable to refresh the connection in person.

Eventually, the soft voice returns to the line, and in a chipper tone says, “Thank you for holding, Mr. Ashton. Mr. Osborn is available to speak with you. I’ll transfer you now.”

“Thanks.”

He probably kept me on hold as a power move to determine if I have the patience to wait for him. I know that trick from my corporate days. It was a tactic highly encouraged at Ecclestone. Osborn has done it several times during our various correspondences. I don’t care for mind games, but I’m willing to go along with it if that’s how Osborn wants to play this.

His assistant transfers my call.

It rings exactly three times before it’s answered.