Tonight, I find myself working late, paying suppliers and sending out customer quotes. But my eyes keep straying to the open tab where I pulled up Google. I’ve been trying to stay away from the computer with the temptation to do a Google search on Sofia. I need to see her again, see what she’s been up to since she took off, and this may be the only way I can.
Fuck.
I scrub my hand over my face and lean back in my chair. I have not had a woman plague my thoughts like this in fuck knows how long, if ever. What is it about her, that after a few days she has burrowed her way into me? What is it that makes her so special? When she took off, she left no note, no way of contacting her. I’m not stupid; it’s normally me leaving a woman’s bed and not leaving anything behind. I know she doesn't want me finding her, but I can't stop my mind from wanting to learn more about the beautiful woman I can't get out of my mind.
“Ah, fuck it.” Leaning over the keyboard, I open the tab and type in Sofia Winters to see what shows.
Thousands and thousands of articles pop up, including images of my Sofia, daughter to the Winters Hotel chain king, Oliver Winters.
Well, shit. I mean, she told me who she was, but I didn’t think there would be this much online about her.
Hotel heiress gets cold feet. But all is forgiven as she is spotted back with fiancé, Thomas Collins.
I’m tempted to click that link but don’t
So is this what it feels like for the women whose beds I abandoned? That makes me a pretty shitty guy.
I click on images instead of reading all this tabloid bullshit. I know half of it is fabricated to make money. So many pictures of her are labelled LA’s socialite. Pictures of her at galas, the occasional red carpet, there’s even photographs of her with the who’s who of Tinseltown.
Totally out of my league. I felt that when I was with her, but especially now that I can see exactly who she really is.
Damn.
I reach out and touch her lips on the screen with the tips of my fingers; lips that were so soft and…
Fuck. I slam the laptop shut and stand, needing to get out of here and stop feeling sorry for myself. I’ve turned into a goddamn pussy.
Picking my keys up off the desk, I switch off the light and lock up before lifting my leg over my bike. After turning it on, I peel away from the garage and mindlessly drive around.
I don’t know how long I've been cruising, but my stomach is telling me it needs food. I head toward Roxie’s and park next to Declan’s bike, my mouth curling up into a grin. If he’s here, it’s going to be a long night. When he's out drinking, he makes sure we all are. I open the front door, noticing that most of his club is here too.
“Jett,” Declan screams out.
I chuckle as I make my way toward him and slide onto the empty bar stool next to his. I nod at the barman, and I have a beer in my hand before I know it.
“Declan.” I turn to face him as I take a drink of my beer. “What’s with the whole crew being here tonight, something to celebrate?”
He drinks the shot sitting in front of him, then turns his head my way. “You could say that.”
“Why doesn’t that sound like a good thing?”
“Eh… depends on how you look at it.” He spins around, facing away from the bar, and I mimic his position, beer in hand.
“Declan,” I growl.
“I was chatting to the Pres of The Kings MC, and they are looking for a new garage to keep their bikes in shape.”
“Uh huh,” I respond, not liking where this is headed. When Declan first became a prospect with the Black Hawks, I told him I wanted nothing to do with them. While I have no issue with him and his choice, I didn’t want to be a part of that life.
“Nothing illegal. I told you we don’t do that anymore.”
I lock eyes with him. In the past, as well as security, they sold drugs and girls.
“Honestly, Jett. You’ve been talking about expanding, maybe with another location, and I may have just the spot for you.”
“Why do I hear a but coming on?”
“No buts. We just need to move