Blaze
I was knee-deep in payroll numbers for the bar—Kat’s bar—cursing the slow-ass computer and wondering if I could bribe one of the girls to handle this crap when a knock hit the door to the MC office.
“Come in,” I grumbled, not even looking up from the screen.
But then I smelled him before I saw him.
Clean. Sharp. Expensive.
Mr. Ellis.
I looked up and there he stood—suit, tie, polished shoes. He looked out of place among the leather, smoke, and lingering scent of engine grease. Something about the expression on his face made my stomach knot.
“Mr. Ellis,” I said slowly, standing. “Why are you here?”
He didn’t speak right away. Just walked in and shut the door behind him with a soft click. His eyes were darker than usual, mouth drawn in a tight line as he pulled a folded piece of
