Page 40 of How to Win the Girl

One of them—a tall, lean guy with shaggy brown hair and sharp eyes—grins, flashing a dimple that should be charming but somehow isn’t. Instead it’s almost menacing.

"Morning, sugar," he drawls, his voice dripping with amusement. "Heard you needed a plumber."

The second man, bulkier with a shaved head and arms covered in full sleeve tattoos thick with muscle, just crosses his arms and stares. His silence is somehow more unnerving than the first guy’s smirk.

I tighten my grip on the mop handle, my throat dry.

"I—I called my grandfather," I manage, trying to keep my voice steady. "I was expecting—” I shake my head. “I don’t know who.” I end up whispering the last part.

I know my grandfather owns The Velvet Hall, a small strip club and the Kings are always there. No, I don’t go in his business. He wouldn’t like that, but I drive by to get home and on my late nights, he is open. There is always motorcycles out front, no less than three on any given night.

I guess they have a plumbing business so grandpa decided to give them his business. At least that is what I tell myself.

"Yeah, yeah," the lean one cuts in, still grinning. "He sent us."

I hesitate. "He sentyou?"

"That’s what I said," he replies easily.

"My grandfather owns this building. I don’t want to insult you, but are you a licensed plumber. I know he would want the job done right the first time.” God, this sounds awful, but something about them being here has me on edge.

The grin widens, turning downright smug.

"Does he?" The taller one winks, “Sugar, we can do any job you need us to. For Konstantin or for you.”

A sick feeling curls in my stomach. There’s something about the way he says it, something Idon’tlike. I fumble for my phone, pressing the call button before I even register what I’m doing. My grandfather picks up on the first ring.

"Dedushka," I whisper, stepping toward the kitchen to put some space between me and the two men. "Why are there bikers in my bakery?"

A heavy sigh filters through the speaker.

"Ally…"

"Dedushka," I repeat, heart hammering. "You own my building, right?" I don’t know why I keep asking this.

Silence.

Then, finally?—

"No, Ally," he admits. "The Kings own your building. I pay the rent. They gotta do things their way.”

The world tilts.

I grip the edge of the counter, feeling like I just stepped into a reality I don’t understand.

"Wait—what?" I breathe.

"The Kings own many things in this town," he says gently. "Including The Velvet Hall’s building. I didn’t tell you before because you were happy there, and it mattered not. But I promise you, I wouldn’t have sent them if you weren’t safe. They’re gonna fix your sink, and then they will leave."

I stare at the floor, my mind struggling to keep up.

My bakery—the place I built from the ground up, the place Ithoughtwas mine—is owned by an outlaw motorcycle club.

A club that makes me uncomfortable.

A club that’s been coming in here more and more lately.

A club that’s standing in my kitchen, waiting for me to let them fix my broken pipe.