Therefore, I moved to the sink, threw the sponge in it, turned to my man and said, “Hop, honey, I told you because it’s a pain and I needed to vent. I didn’t tell you so you’d do something about it.”

Hop shoved a plate in the dishwasher, pushed the rack in and closed the door with his boot before turning to me.

“Lanie, baby, that might be so, but my woman isn’t dumb. You may not have been officially folded into the life but you been around the Club enough to know exactly what tellin’ me that shit is gonna lead me to do.”

“This stuff with my old company is halfhearted and eventually it’ll die down,” I explained.

“Don’t give a f**k if it’s halfhearted but I do know it’s gonna die down,” he declared.

Oh dear.

He wasn’t backing down. He was intending to intervene. Biker badass against ad agency.

This was not good.

“I meant naturally, Hop,” I protested, trying to cut him off at the pass. “Not them backing off because my man and his biker brethren pay them a threatening visit.”

“Chaos doesn’t make threats, babe.”

Gah!

“Hop!” I cried, quickly losing patience as was my wont. “Seriously. I do not want you to get involved. I didn’t tell you so you’d get involved. And, most importantly, if you do,” I leaned into him, “it’s going to tick me off. Like, bad.”

He grinned at me like I amused him and asked, “Like, bad?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” I snapped.

“Don’t be cute and I won’t make fun of you,” he returned, still grinning.

“I’m not being amusing, Hopper Kincaid, I’m being very serious,” I warned. “This is my career and I’ve worked hard to make a name in this business. I’ve worked hard to build my agency. It means something to me,” I shared. “I can’t have a bunch of badass bikers stomping around in their motorcycle boots and leather cuts giving me a reputation I do not need.”

The grin faded clean from his face and it got hard before he asked, “A reputation you don’t need?”

Uh-oh.

He took that the wrong way.

“You know that wasn’t what I meant,” I said.

“Then, babe, it’d be good you tell me what you did mean and do it real f**kin’ quick,” Hop shot back and I stared at him as an unpleasant burn hit my belly.

Then I said softly, “That isn’t cool.”

“Damn straight it isn’t,” he retorted and I shook my head.

“No. You don’t understand me. That isn’t cool, not even close to cool, Hop, that you’d think for one second that’s what I meant.”

“Again, lady, you need to tell me what you meant.”

“Not once,” I pulled in a calming breath before going on, “not once, Hopper, not since that very first moment when Brick walked into my house with Tyra, when she told me Elliott was making whacked decisions and then you showed later to put me on the back of your bike and take me to Ty-Ty’s, have I ever, ever,” I leaned in again, “done one stinking thing to indicate I was a biker bigot.”

“Yeah, until you just told me you’d get a reputation, I get involved in your life,” he returned, not letting it go.

“No, I didn’t say that. I said I’d get a reputation if you got involved in my business,” I amended sharply. “And it wouldn’t matter if you were a biker or a businessman, Hop. I’m a businesswoman and we’ve come a long way but it’s still a man’s world and any man sticking his nose into my business makes it look like I can’t see to my business. I’ve worked too damned hard to prove I’m good at what I do, to demand credit for my work when some ass was taking it from me, to prove I can manage accounts, staff, an entire agency, to compete for business and best the competition, to have another man, no matter he’s my man, I care about him and he thinks he’s looking out for me, make me look like I’m not strong enough to do it.”

I was glaring at him and breathing heavy when I was done with my speech so it took a few moments for me to see the hard had gone out of his face and his eyes had warmed.

He understood me.

I didn’t care.

What he said was bad and I was still ticked.

He made a move to take a step toward me but since I was still ticked, I stepped back. He stopped and his eyes locked on mine.

“Not lost on me the way you live,” he said low, his hand swinging out to indicate my house. “Your office. Your clothes. The sweet ride you drive. Your parents. That f**kin’ condo that was three times the size of the one I gave my kids.”

“And?” I prompted acidly.

“Eventually we were gonna have this conversation,” he explained, but it didn’t explain a thing.

“Why?” I asked.

“Babe, you are not of my world,” he informed me.

“Really?” I retorted. “So do I have a Biker Babe Lanie Clone I don’t know about who’s been going to hog roasts and shooting the breeze in the Compound the last seven years?” I asked sarcastically.

He rested his weight in a hand on the edge of the sink and said in warning voice, “Tone it down, Lanie. We gotta talk this out but we don’t have to do it ugly.”

“Okay, so, when I infer you’re a bigot or something equally distasteful, I can rest in the knowledge you’ll be cool in the face of me being an ass**le?”

His jaw tensed hard before he replied, “No, babe, I get where your anger is comin’ from but you gotta rein in the drama and see where I’m comin’ from.”

“Your turn to tell me what you mean,” I snapped.

“I’ve met your parents,” he began. “I know how you grew up, who you grew up with, and how they think. And you know, babe, they raised you and so it isn’t a leap to think there’s a possibility that at least some of that shit is in you.”

He could not be serious!

“First, Hop, it is since you’ve known me years and you’ve been getting to know me for weeks and you know that’s not right. Second, I thought you didn’t care what people thought of your lifestyle.”

“I don’t but you aren’t people, Lanie. You’re mine and I care a f**kuva lot what you think about me, about the way I live my life, about how you feel you’ll fit in it, about f**kin’ everything when it comes to you.”