Gunnar A Motorcycle Club Romance - Nina Levine Page 0,82
her, “Why are you in Joe’s computer?” I try to sound authoritative, like I give a shit that she’s at my husband’s computer, but what I really am is excited that she’s at it. She must know the fucking password.
She frowns at me. “He asked me to log in and send him some files that are on it.”
I walk around the desk to stand next to her. “Oh, that’s right. He mentioned this. What’s happening with it?”
“Ugh,” she complains and proceeds to show me how it keeps crashing whenever she attempts to open one of the files. She then adds, “I’ve got a million things to do this morning before he gets back. I don’t have time for this.”
“Why don’t you leave it with me? I’ll figure it out.”
She looks at me with relief. “Really? You have time?”
I wave her off. “I’ll make time. I don’t want you stressed.”
“Thank you so much, Chelsea.” She walks to the door and looks back at me. “Marrying you was the best thing Joe ever did. He used to be so, ahh, difficult before you came along. I hope you don’t mind me saying that, but he’s so much nicer now he’s with you.”
And here I was thinking she didn’t like me. She barely smiles. It turns out she suffers from the same problem I do—knowing Joe.
I smile. “I don’t mind you saying that at all. Us girls need to stick together.”
After she leaves, I settle myself in his chair.
Okay, dear husband, where do you keep your secrets?
First, I figure out the glitch and send the files to Joe that he’s requested. Then, I start my digging, and holy hell, my asshole husband is in some shit with the mafia. I was right about him being involved in money laundering and insider trading. Going by the files I find, he’s been working for them for three years. I locate a USB stick and start copying the files across. I’m about a quarter of the way through when I’m interrupted by two men who force their way into the office. Joe’s assistant apologises profusely for allowing them in, but I tell her not to stress. I only need to take one look at these men to know no one would have kept them out.
Standing, I say, “Good morning, gentlemen. My husband isn’t in until around lunchtime. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Both these guys look like they’ve stepped in a boxing ring a time or two. They have that smooshed-nose look I always think boxers have.
The blond guy trails his eyes down my body, giving me not-so-nice vibes before saying, “The thing is, sweetheart, we’re not leaving here until your husband comes out and talks to us. So keep this charade up if you want, but our patience won’t last forever. And once it’s gone, there’s no telling what we’ll do in order to get what we came for, if you catch my drift.”
“I’m not lying. He’s not here. Honestly, he’ll be here in about an hour, so feel free to take a seat and wait for him.”
The guy with the black hair steps forward and leans in close. “Babe, you’re not getting it. He owes us and we’re here to fucking collect. And we don’t fucking wait around for anyone.” He tries to intimidate me a little more when he barks, “Go fucking get him.”
I fucking hate all these motherfucking assholes I’m surrounded by. My father, Joe, Matthew Ronson, these assholes.
Dragging my balls out, I say, “You know what? My husband threatens me enough, so if you think I feel scared by you assholes, think again. Do whatever the fuck you want to me, but I’m telling you he’s not here. Trust me, if he was, I’d shove him your way faster than you can blink because I’d be hoping you might take care of him for me, if you catch my drift.”
With that, I walk back around Joe’s desk and take a seat and continue transferring files across to the USB. Files that I am almost certain are tied up with the men who employ the assholes standing in front of me.
I don’t chance a look at them. I just pray they fuck off.
They don’t. However, they do as I suggested and take a seat and wait for Joe. That actually makes my heart happy. I want him to have to deal with them.
I’m almost halfway through transferring the files when the office phone rings, and Joe’s assistant tells me there’s