Page 2 of Thick

“Can you mention him? You know. At the beginning? Or the end?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

I offered him a nod of appreciation.

“I’ll have a contract for you to sign as soon as it makes it through legal. Let’s say 30 days.”

I shrugged. “Handshake’s good for me.”

He shook his head and then chuckled lightly. “You’re one of a kind, Mr. Reynolds.”

“No,” I said. “I’ve got a handful of brothers that are like carbon copies. You’ll meet them at that thing. The opening.”

“I look forward to it.”

I glanced at my watch. “Well, I’ve got to get. Last thing I need is to get one of LA’s finest on me for not having working turn signals. It’s an hour and a half back to Oceanside.”

He extended his hand. “I’ll have Trent show you out.”

I shook his hand and turned toward the door.

After I’d gone half the distance to where Trent was standing, Freeman cleared his throat. I paused and glanced over my shoulder.

“A premier, Mr. Reynolds. It’s called a premier.”

Chapter One

Bobbi

I unlocked the hinged food slot and released it. The heavy chunk of iron swung open and slammed against the jail cell’s steel door with a loud bang. After sliding a tray through the opening, I pushed the meal cart to the next cell and repeated the process. For the inmates who were still sleeping, the disruptive sound from my morning’s duties cut through the silence of the institution like an irritating alarm clock.

My interaction with the prisoners during my morning routine was almost nil. Being a female Federal Corrections Officer in an all-male holding center was an oddity. It brought a tremendous amount of attention my direction, not all of which I found desirable or flattering.

I peered through the wire-reinforced glass window and into Tate Reynolds’ cell. Wearing prison issued khakis and a wife beater, he was dressed like everyone else in the prison. The similarities, however, stopped there.

He was polite, kind, and respectful. His ability to maintain a consistently calm demeanor throughout his incarceration intrigued me. I often imagined what my life would be like if I was on the other side of the cell door. Calm and polite weren’t traits I suspected I’d have.

I unlocked the slot and carefully lowered it to the open position. “Reynolds, it’s time for breakfast.”

On the floor of his cell doing pushups, he rose to his feet and turned to face me. A handsome man with colorful tattoos, short brown hair, and a muscular build, he was easy on the eyes.

Wearing a slight smirk and glistening with sweat, he sauntered toward the door. “I was hoping for oatmeal and hard-boiled eggs. What’d you bring me?”

I pushed the tray into the slot and grinned. “Oatmeal, coffee, and two hard-boiled eggs.”

He paused a few feet from the door and crossed his tattooed arms over his broad chest. “Who says dreams don’t come true?”

A member of a notorious Southern California motorcycle club who was arrested while trying to break up a bar fight, he’d been incarcerated for several months while waiting on his hearing. Although I’d been trained not to make eye contact with the inmates – or to show emotion – refraining from those things in his presence wasn’t an easy task.

I tried to look away, but his hazel eyes were just as irresistible as his handsome looks. He met my gaze and I couldn’t help but grin.

“Any word on your hearing?” I asked.

“Postponed it again.” He gave a slight shrug. “Second time they’ve done it.”

“Maybe their case is weak.”

He chuckled a low-pitched but genuine laugh. “I had a gun in one hand and a guy’s neck in the other. Not much to prove, Officer Madden.”