Rock the Beat

This stranger is frustrating, but I’m dying to see the look on his face when he tries to explain himself to Dad.

Dad scratches at the thinning hair on the top of his head nervously as he glances over at Adonis. I fold my arms across my chest while taking my turn wearing a smug grin. Adonis is so going to get it for being rude to me. My dad never lets that slide. He knows how the guys around here have been treating me lately. I know he won’t stand for it.

Dad frowns and his thin shoulders sag a bit. “I’m sorry, Mr. Douglas. My daughter is normally very polite to all of our guests. Please don’t inform your boss about this. I would hate to see him lose interest in partnering with the track because of Holly’s momentary lack of self-control. I can assure you it’s not a recurrent problem.”

My mouth gapes open. Not only is my father not defending me, he’s apologizing to the pig? I take a deep breath and allow my father’s words to sink in.

Oh. Shit. “Wait. This guy? He’s here to check out the track for the investor?”

Adonis grins even wider as he extends his tattooed arm towards me. “That’s right, sugar ti—” His head snaps towards my father and he quickly clears his throat, realizing he just managed to catch himself before sexually harassing me in front of Dad. “I’m Trip Douglas. It looks like you and I will be getting cozy while you show me the ins and outs of this place.”

I stare down at his hand. Ugh. This is so not happening to me. Our family business is going down the freaking toilet and I have to depend on the guy who thinks with his dick to pull us out of the hole? Maybe the investor can send someone else? Anyone else! No way is some rich, old dude relying solely on Trip’s judgments of the place to make a huge financial commitment? This guy can’t be trusted with something so important. This guy can’t stick with the same woman for five minutes, let alone see such a huge business deal through.

Trip wiggles his fingers at me. “Come on. They won’t bite.”

Dad needs this partnership to work for the sake of the track. He told me last week how important it was for this business to get it. If it doesn’t go through, we’re in big trouble.

Reluctantly, I take his hand. It’s warm and rough against my own skin and it’s hard not to think about the way he felt pressed against me last night as he gives it a couple of quick shakes. “Holly Pearson.”

He rubs his thumb across the back of my hand in slow, deliberate circles and I don’t like what that little movement might be trying to imply. I’ve had about enough of him touching me slowly. I’m not interested now, not after I saw that I was just some random chick to him.

He smiles. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I roll my eyes and jerk my hand away from his grip, trying to get rid of the tingle that’s left in the wake of his touch. “So what did you need again? Track time?” I quickly ask.

Trip doesn’t answer—his brain obviously overloaded from his constant fixation on my chest—so I clear my throat and fold my arms, blocking his view of my boobs.

“Holly, Mr. Douglas isn’t a paying customer. If he rides, it’s free,” Dad says.

He shakes his head like he’s coming out of a daze. I didn’t know my breasts could be that damn mesmerizing. “You know, Mr. Pearson, now that I’ve been in here, I want to start going over the books. The track test can wait for another day. It will be good to know what kind of shape this place is in financially. Everything else is fixable.”

“We’re actually in great shape,” I snap, not liking the idea of some strange man invading our family business—especially one that I’m totally uncomfortable being in close quarters with for any period of time. I wish I hadn’t liked what he’d done to me last night so damn much. “Besides, I doubt you can read them. You know they have no pictures, right?”

He leans in and braces his hands on the countertop across from me, a cool smile on his lips. “Don’t let the tattoos fool you, sweetness. There’s a stellar mind behind these good looks.” He cocks his head to the side, giving me a look that I bet gets girls to do anything he wants. “You’ll find out that I can pick a person’s brain like no other. And that’s why I’m here…to pick yours.”

I growl and grip the counter tight to keep me from jumping over it and smacking that beautiful smile off his face. He is one smug bastard. I can’t stand guys like him. It only makes it worse he’s acting like he doesn’t even know who I am. “You’re welcome to leave any time you want. I don’t need you to pick my brain or anything else connected to me or my family’s business!”

“Holly!” my father warns so loudly I jump. “In my office now!”

A quick check of my dad’s face tells me he’s not joking around. With his eyes narrowed at me, he points his long, bony finger at his door. Even the vein in his forehead is popping out beneath his dark-brown hair. That little monster is usually reserved for when I’m in really deep shit. I stare up at Dad and nod.

I swallow hard and glance down at the counter, instantly feeling guilty for upsetting my dad. I don’t enjoy disappointing him. He’s got enough on his plate to worry about with the business collapsing, without having an unruly twenty-year-old daughter on his hands.

Just before I hang my head down, I glance at Trip and he frowns. I should apologize, it’s the right thing to do, but with guys like him I just can’t bring myself to do it. Egotistical pretty-boys think an apology is an invitation into my pants. No way do I want to give him that impression. He had his chance last night and he blew it. He won’t be getting another.

I straighten my back, stiffen my shoulders and march into my father’s office without giving Trip Douglas a second look.

Last year, in an attempt to bring in extra income, my dad converted his office into storage rental for customers that needed a place to store their bikes and equipment. The cramped space that was once a broom closet is now what my father calls an office. A small metal desk sits in the in the center and hogs every inch of space—and most of the oxygen—in the room. The space is what some people would consider claustrophobic. There’s no relaxing view. Hell, there’s not even a window, but I like it. It’s quiet my escape when I need to collect my thoughts when my day gets too crazy.

The bland white walls are covered with photographs of my father smiling—pictures of him with MX sponsors, pro-athletes, me, Jackson and even Grace, A.K.A. my mom. Don’t let the name fool you—there’s nothing graceful about the woman who is nothing more than my egg donor. She’s part of the reason this business is failing and why my life is slowly being sucked down the drain. The photos are a constant reminder that my once-happy life is now non-existent, which is pretty freaking depressing. Come to think of it, next time my father’s out of sight I’m taking those pictures of her down and torching them. I hate being reminded of her. It’s bad enough I look so much like her.

Dad follows behind me and shuts the door. After he squeezes around me, he plops down in his squeaky, green chair that’s older than I am—it even has the duct-tape to prove it.

He shuffles the piles of papers around on his desk. It’s the signature move he does while he gathers his thoughts—it gives the impression he’s busy.

I know what he’s going to say even before he does and I open my mouth to apologize, but he beats me to the punch.

“Holly, I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for me too, bringing a stranger in and allowing him access to everything I’ve—this family—has worked so hard for all these years. I don’t like it any more than you do, but these are the cards we’ve been dealt, honey. If this man doesn’t help us, we’ll lose everything.” I see the sadness in his eyes as he explains.

I hear what he’s saying and I completely understand, but my reservations still stick. If I could tell him why I don’t think Trip can be trusted, maybe he would see my side, but I know I can’t do that. Not without appearing sleazy for throwing myself at a random man in a bar. I would get the “I raised you better than that” speech. “But, Dad, this guy? He doesn’t look like he knows anything about running a business. Did you get a good look at him? He looks like every other biker we’ve seen on the track, and you know they aren’t always the brightest crayons in the box.”

Dad drags his fingers through his thinning hair. His hair, like the rest of his body is withering away. He’s lost so much weight over the last couple months—it makes his six-foot-two frame seem even taller. The stress is really getting to him. “Holly, I know what this place means to you. I’m grateful that you left school and to come home and help me out, but this place isn’t your cross to bear. It’s mine. This place is my dream, and it makes me feel like I failed as your father because I willingly allowed you to throw away