Blaze
An MC Romance
Book 4 in the Twisted Devils MC
By
Zahra Girard
Copyright © 2020 by Zahra Girard
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Foreword
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Want More Steamy Action?
The Twisted Devils MC
Book one: Razor
Book two: Rusty
Book Three: Mack
The Rebel Riders MC:
Book one: Thrash
Book two: Riot
Book three: Duke
Book four: Rooster
Book five: Creole
Book six: Bull
The Wayward Kings MC Series:
Book one: Bear
Book Two: Ozzy
Book Three: Hazard
Book Four: Preacher
Other books by Zahra Girard:
His Captive
Liar
Chapter One
Tiffany
“Tiffany, your numbers are shit. Absolute shit. They make me want to step into the alley and puke my fucking guts out. Do you even want this job?”
Fingernails tap an intolerable rhythm on my desk and a mess of long, bleached-blond hair falls into my field of view.
I look up from the pile of paperwork on my desk — account histories, financial projections, risk analysis reports — and stare into a set of malevolent eyes that are framed by a perfectly coiffed mess of wavy, bleached blond hair, hair that sees at least two-hundred-dollars per week spent on it.
“Yes, Anna. I want this job. I care about this job. And about being professional. In fact, that’s why I’m doing my work,” I say, tapping the stack of papers. “There’s a huge backlog of files and accounts that really need to be audited.”
She shakes her head. A lone bleached hair frees itself from the perfectly coiffed nest on her head and drifts to land on the rim of my coffee cup. The tip of the strand breaks the surface of my coffee and a delicate chemical shimmer radiates outward — hair spray.
“That’s not your job.”
“If we want to call ourselves a responsible financial institution, these are the kinds of audits we need to regularly perform on all our accounts.”
Again, she shakes her head. Another too-blond strand escapes from her and falls — this one lands on my keyboard.
“Remind me again: what job did my dad hire you for?”
“Loan application specialist,” I say, grudgingly.
“And what position does he hold in the bank?”
“CEO,” I say.
It’s a two bank chain, I want to say. But I keep those words to myself.
“And who manages this branch?”
“You do.”
But you shouldn’t.
“Now, I graduated from Cal State. Remind me again: what college did you graduate from?”
My teeth nearly snap, I’m grinding them so hard.
She taps my desk again. “Tiffany. Talk to me.”
“You know I went to Stanford,” I say.
Her fingers rap the desk once more and a frustrated sigh breaks through her pursed lips.
“That’s not what I asked. Everyone knows you went to Stanford — you made such a big deal of it back in high school when you got accepted and about how they were giving you a full ride — but I asked you where you graduated from, not where you went to and then transferred out of because you couldn’t deal with the stress.”
There’s an angry lump in my throat. I swallow. “I received my degree from Torreon Community College.”
Satisfied, she nods.
“So, let me get this straight — and correct me if I’m wrong about any of this — I got my degree from a better college than you, I run this branch, and my father, who recruited and hired you out of pity and as a favor to your father, runs all of Southwest Regional Bank; between the two of us, who do you think is the one who has the authority to define your job description?”
That angry lump in my throat doesn’t want to be swallowed. In fact, it wants to spit right out of my mouth, along with a ton of vomit and about a million different curse words directed at my boss, Anna Ebri.
“You do.”
“Now, as your boss, I’m telling you to forget about that auditing crap. Your numbers are garbage — you’ve brought in only two new clients for the bank this month and it’s already the 28th. If you don’t fix that, I will fire you and then you can go back to the temp agency where you were working for years before I hired you. I mean, I’m sure they’ll be happy to have you
