Billionaire Biker (Billionaires - #23) Read online

  I got up off the couch and walked over to give her a hug. “Thanks for watching Jack for me.”

  The truth was, if Mom had really wanted to mess with my modeling, she could have made up some excuse why she couldn’t watch Jack that day. For all my frustration, in the end, Mom did seem to understand that I was doing my best for my son.

  “You’re welcome,” she said.

  I pulled away and took a deep breath. “I have to get going. The last thing I want is to be late.”

  Mom smiled warmly. “Then get going. And good luck, Cat.”

  * * *

  “Huh,” I said, as I pulled into the parking lot. Not what I expected. Not what I’d expected at all.

  I’d seen billboards for Stroker Motorcycles before, but I’d never actually been to the company. Denver’s a big city, though. There are a lot of places I’ve not seen here.

  From what I understood, the building was where they put the bikes together, but the whole place didn’t look that big. I guess I was expecting some sort of huge factory with a billowing smokestack. Not that I knew a lot about building motorcycles. Even before the accident, I’d never been all that fond of them.

  Once I’d parked, I hurried out of my car after checking my hair and make-up one last time. I was already cutting things close, and I needed to get this job. I doubted my agent would find another job that paid so well anytime soon. As much as I loved living in Denver, it wasn’t LA or New York, and it was harder to make a good living as a model here.

  After a few steps into the lobby, a pretty woman with dark hair and a bright smile approached me. She radiated confidence. She was pretty enough that I might have assumed she was another model, but her pantsuit screamed businesswoman.

  “Are you here for the audition?” she asked.

  “Yes.” I offered my hand. “Catherine Villiane, but everyone calls me Cat.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cat. I’m Daniella Stroker,” she said, “Operations Director here at Stroker Motorcycles.”

  I couldn’t help but notice her last name. I hadn’t realized it was a family-run company, and I didn’t know if that was good or bad. That’s what I got for not doing my research. The money short-circuited my brain, and I hadn’t cared much past hearing about the pay.

  Daniella pulled her phone out of her pocket and tapped at it a few times. “I think you were the last one we were expecting.” She gestured toward a hallway. “Follow me,” she said, as she started walking.

  I fell in behind her, my heart racing. She was still all smiles, but I was the last person to show up. She might already think I was a flake and unreliable. You didn’t last long in the modeling world if clients thought you weren’t reliable. Trying to control my heart, I focused on Jack and how going to a nice private school would set him up for a better future.

  A minute or so of quick walking brought us to a huge room littered with motorcycles and pieces of motorcycles. A line of nineteen women—obviously other models—stood along the back, chattering among themselves. It was hard not to look them over and take in their features. It’s not like I wanted to compare myself to them, but it was hard not to worry when there were twenty beautiful women gathered together.

  The thing I had discovered though, was that it wasn’t always about being the prettiest or the sexiest. Every campaign and client had their own needs, their own desired image. Maybe they needed a girl with a certain hair color or eye color, or who had a certain special quality. That’s not something a model can always predict ahead of time.

  Daniella pointed to the line, and I jogged over to stand in it, offering smiles to the other girls. Some smiled back. Several scowled. I knew who I didn’t want to work with on the gig.

  Daniella addressed the whole group with a warm smile. “Welcome to Stroker Motorcycles. While we’ll only be able to hire a small number of you for the campaign, I did want to give you all a little background on our company.” She gestured widely around her. “This is actually the main assembly floor. We’re not like a lot of companies. We specialize in handcrafted quality. I guess you could say we’re almost like a boutique motorcycle company. And our prices reflect that.” She laughed, and everyone else laughed politely.

  I didn’t laugh. I was standing in a room filled with motorcycles, the gleaming metal almost mocking me. Three years wasn’t that long of a time when you’ve lost someone; at least it hadn’t been long enough for me to forget or recover from the fact that my husband had died in a motorcycle accident.

  Pushing the thoughts away, I plastered a smile on my face. Money. That’s what I was there for, not to become the queen of all motorcycles. I needed to remember that. I could suffer a little for my wonderful little boy.

  Daniella explained a little more about the history of the company, excitement in her voice and care in her eyes. Of course, it made sense that she’d be proud of the company her father built, though I didn’t really see why it mattered much if we knew a lot about the company. The photographer would give us all the direction we needed during the photo sessions.

  I knew what I was there for—to look good and make their product look good. I was a model, not a mechanic or a businesswoman.

  My breath caught as a man turned the corner and headed toward Daniella. He was gorgeous. Simply gorgeous. Dark hair, dark eyes, and muscles that strained against his shirt and threatened to pop a button or two.

  I wondered who he was. He wasn’t dressed super-casually, but he had his sleeves rolled up and was sporting some major tattoos on his arms—not exactly the kind of thing you’d expect from some business jerk. Maybe he was a photographer.

  My hungry gaze roamed over him, heat pooling in my center, and I had to bite my lip. Hot as hell. I didn’t get it. I’d not so much as looked at a man in the last three years, and now I couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like to rip open his shirt and run my hands along his chest. Or my tongue.

  The tattooed hottie whispered something to Daniella, and she nodded back. He crossed his arms and his hot gaze swept across us. Another pulse of warmth shot from my center as his dark eyes landed on me, lingering for a long while, or so I thought. Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

  The way he looked at me stirred something within and worried me. I looked away and took a deep breath. I prayed that he wasn’t the photographer. If he was, it’d be hard to focus on the job. Really hard.

  Chapter Three

  Drew

  I frowned down at my desk. Twenty different photos of the models lay on the top, with a small note paperclipped to each with a few highlights about their personality and impressions from Daniella and the PR department.

  “How many do we need?” I asked, scratching an eyebrow.

  “Three. That’s what we figured would be best.”

  “And the PR department isn’t picking?”

  “Nope. They gave their general input, but this is a high-value campaign, so they thought it was best if you and I did.” She waved her hand over the pictures. “Like I said, we need to narrow it down to three. I figure you pick one, and as long as I don’t have a violent objection, we go with her, and then I pick one, and we compromise on the last one. That way we don’t sit all day arguing about hot babes, which might be fun for you, but boring for me.” She grumbled under her breath. “Too bad our target demographic doesn’t want a bunch of hot shirtless dudes on bikes. Stupid bikers.”

  I laughed. “I’ll try and make this quick.” My gaze flicked from picture to picture, taking in the appearance of each model and the notes. After a minute, a frown grew on my face.

  “What’s wrong, Drew?” Daniella asked. “You don’t look happy.”

  I shrugged. “It’s—not easy. It’s turned into an actual decision-making process. I’d thought it would be—you know, a lot more fun to—” I grunted.

  “Look at the hot women and decide which you want to pose with our bikes?” Daniella said, a mischievous smile on her face.

  “Yeah, to be honest, I wonder if this is how lingerie photographe
rs feel after a while. It stops being fun and becomes just another obstacle or chore to get through before the end of the day.”

  My sister winked. “Work is work in the end. If it was so easy, you wouldn’t be getting paid so much. So pick, big brother. Suffer through the horrible fate of being forced to pick beautiful women to sit half-naked on your bikes.” She smirked at me. “Unless you like my shirtless dude plan. Then I’d be happy to pick.”

  Another grunt of annoyance escaped my mouth, and I returned to checking out the pictures. I tried to imagine the girls with the bike. It was hard to know who would work in the end, so instead, I searched for the right attitude. I figured any girl could pose the right way, but a photographer couldn’t give them a personality they didn’t already have. Some things were impossible to fake.

  At least I thought so. This wasn’t my first rodeo when it came to ad campaigns, but PR and my sister mostly handled them. Not that I hadn’t seen more than a few model spreads in magazines in my life. It was part of biker culture, after all.

  A green-eyed redhead making a pouty face in her picture caught my attention. I tapped my finger on her photo. “Her, Jessica. She’s got a wild vibe that I think will go well with the bikes. And she even kind of looks like someone you can imagine being an actual biker babe.” Who knew, maybe she even was.

  Daniella leaned over to peer down at the picture. She sat up and offered me a nod. “I think she’s a great choice, and I agree.” She nibbled on her lip for a moment before tapping a dark-haired girl. “And Briana. Not quite the wild vibe, but a very dark and intense vibe that I also think will pair with the bikes. A good mix of biker babe and femme fatale.”

  I nodded my agreement after picking up the model’s picture to look at it closer. Most any of these girls would work, honestly. I just didn’t want some of the more California preppy-babe looking types. It was hard to explain really, but I could just tell when I looked at some of them that they wouldn’t be comfortable around or on the bikes, and our customers would sense that.

  Authenticity was important in this business, and as a biker myself, I wanted to do everything in my power to make sure customers had confidence in all facets of Stroker Motorcycles, including our advertising. We had a good product, and we didn’t need to trick our customers with hot babes who’d never been near a bike before the photo shoot.

  Yeah, I knew that advertising was always kind of a trick, but I was trying to find a compromise between authenticity and bullshit.

  “I’m not sure about the last one,” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” Daniella said. “I’ve got the perfect choice.”

  She raised her hand and moved her finger toward the pictures. My heart kicked up as she moved closer and closer to a picture I’d been doing everything to avoid looking at.

  Don’t pick her, damn it. Don’t pick her.

  “Catherine,” Daniella said. “She goes by Cat. I like that. It’s like even her name is feisty. Honestly, I only didn’t pick her earlier because I thought you would. It’s almost a no-brainer.”

  My sister tapped the picture of a beautiful woman with long blond hair and large gray eyes. I’d spotted her during the lineup and audition instantly. She didn’t have the wild or intense vibe of some of the other models, but damn if she wasn’t sexy as sin. Too damn sexy.

  My cock jumped as I stared at her picture. I grunted. No. I couldn’t have her hanging around the building if I wanted to get any work done. The only thing I’d be able to think about was planting myself in her tight pussy.

  What the fuck? I was supposed to be picking a model for an advertising campaign, not thinking about having sex with one.

  I needed to throw Daniella off my scent.

  “Nah, a blond?” I shrugged. “That’s kind of generic. She doesn’t have the right vibe. She’s too—I don’t know—waitress trying to be an actress modeling for a motorcycle ad. Our customers won’t think she’s authentic.”

  “A model who actually isn’t a biker? Shocking!” Daniella slapped her hands on her cheeks. “Oh my God. And a blond on a motorcycle? I’m sure no one will ever tolerate that, and it’s never, ever been done before in all of history. All our customers will riot and destroy all their bikes.”

  My jaw tightened. I needed to make sure that this Cat didn’t end up with the job. I guess it’s a weird thing, a model not getting a job because she was too sexy, but I couldn’t admit the truth to Daniella. She’d never let me hear the end of it.

  I scanned the other pictures and pointed toward another blond. This other girl was hot, though she didn’t fill me with a surge of lust like Cat. I could easily not think about her.

  “How about this one?” I said. “If you’re so set on a blond.”

  My sister stared at me for a few moments, not saying anything. I wondered if she saw through me. She slowly shook her head. “No, I’m not budging on this. I want Cat. I don’t know why you don’t, but we’d be idiots not to hire her.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  I threw up my hands and leaned back in my chair. “Fine. Whatever. I don’t really care that much. Hire her then.” I glanced at my watch. “I have a meeting with the board anyway. I don’t have time to sit here and gawk at models all day.”

  Daniella waved a hand. “Sure, sure. I’ll talk with PR, and we’ll contact the women.” She stood and headed for the exit without saying anything else. Just as she stepped out of the office, I could have sworn I heard her snicker.

  My gaze drifted down to the picture of Cat. She smiled at the camera, offering a bewitching look with those alluring gray eyes. I sucked in, hardening again.

  “Damn it, woman,” I muttered to myself. I promised myself I just wouldn’t act on this lust. I was a grown man, and I could control myself.

  I had a board meeting to go to anyway. That was about the least sexy thing ever.

  * * *

  I yawned as I stepped out of the board meeting. Just another monthly update. Dealing with the board was the least favorite part of my job, but they always were happy with me, or, more specifically, happy with how fat I’d made their wallets. All my business plans had helped the company, so it’s not like they were ever in a position to complain.

  Not that they always liked me. When I first started, more than a few of them made it clear that they didn’t like someone with my limited business experience running such a large company.

  Sure, I had a business degree, but other than an internship in college, I’d not run a company. It was only the fact that I inherited a controlling interest, along with my father’s will and the push from my sister that turned me from biker to CEO.

  I headed toward the elevator, whistling. The door dinged and opened. My stomach rumbled as I stepped inside. Good timing. I’d just go and hit the cafeteria.

  Eating in my office wasn’t something I enjoyed, and I thought it was good for the guys to see me. I got that I wasn’t one of them, being the CEO and owner and all, but at least it showed I gave a damn, especially since I hadn’t exactly worked my way up the ladder to earn my job.

  Once off the elevator, I headed through the assembly floor. Men filled the area, surrounding bikes in various states of construction. Sparks flew, and drills whirred. The smell of oil and burning metal filled my nostrils. I loved everything about the assembly floor.

  “Hey, bossman,” said John, one of the foremen.

  “How is your daughter doing?” I asked. Last I’d heard, she’d ended up with a nasty virus.

  John smiled. “Great. Feeling a lot better. Thanks for asking.”

  I nodded to him and moved farther into the floor. “Hey, Darius, Gary, John, Bryan.” I waved a few other guys as I moved past them. “Jorge, your grandma still pissed at you?”

  He laughed. “Nah. It’s all right. But probably just because I broke up with the girlfriend she hated so much.”

  I chuckled. “Family first, am I right?”

  “Yeah, bossman, family first.”

  I stopped for a few more chats. Some o
f these guys I hadn’t met until I started working here, but others I’d known for years. Even if I hadn’t worked much the last few years with my father and Daniella, I still visited the company all the time. After all, I loved bikes and seeing these guys, basically freaking artisans, putting together high-quality bikes basically by hand always got to me.

  Not only did I like the guys, but my father had shown me how giving a damn about people makes them give a damn about you. I knew I could never replace my father, but at least I could live up to his ideals.

  I pushed open a door and stepped into the cafeteria. The smell of ribs hit my nose, and my stomach growled again.

  This time, I didn’t stop to chat, instead making my way to the line to pick up my ribs and some corn. I hurried over to a corner and took a seat.

  Looking out the window, I brought a rib to my mouth and started ripping into it like I’d been starving for weeks.

  Gray eyes flashed in my mind. Blond hair.

  I swallowed and put my rib down. Several deep breaths followed.

  Cat was just some model. I didn’t know anything about her other than she had a killer body and a come-hither stare with those gray eyes that seemed to grab my balls.

  I grunted. It’s not like I never got laid. I wasn’t a man-whore or anything, but I hadn’t neglected sex just because I’d neglected vacations. Yeah, it had been a couple of months, but that didn’t explain why my dick kept wanting to come to attention at the mere thought of that woman.

  There’d been twenty hot models there. It’s not like I didn’t enjoy looking at them, but none of them sent lightning to my cock like Cat.

  Why the fuck had I let my sister convince me to hire her?

  I ran a hand through my hair. I needed to stay away from that woman before I did something I regretted.

  Chapter Four

  Catherine

  “That’s enough syrup, Jack,” I said, smiling. If my son had his way, he’d drink the syrup and not worry about the pancakes.