Beth calmed her face as much as she could when she walked into Rusty’s garage. But for her, the scene inside was like something out of a National Geographic magazine. The men working on the bikes were huge. Huge, mostly hairy, and tattooed in places that must have hurt more than being bitten by a snake.

Sure, the guys at Wilde’s were big and inked up to the eyeballs, but other than one or two standouts, none of them except Rusty were this sort of size. None of the mechanics at the chop shop were any shorter than Rusty, and two of them were at least twice his width. She wondered how on earth they had the mobility to get at the delicate parts inside a motorbike engine. And then one of them stood aside and she saw the beast he was working on.

“Holy mother of monsters.”

“I told you my bike wasn’t big.”

“And I didn’t believe you.”

“I thought you worked at Wilde’s?” Rusty voiced the incredulity she’d just been pondering.

“I know. Maybe I’ve been living under a rock but I’ve never seen anything like that roll into the parking lot.”

“There’s been a convention upstate,” one of the giants muttered in a thick Mexican accent.

“You might have missed them then,” said Rusty, “although most of the guys who go to Wilde’s don’t have the cash to own anything as beautiful as that.”

“Beautiful?”

Everyone in the shop froze and Beth wished she could have stuffed her entire head of hair into her mouth before the word had come out.

Rusty just looked at her hard. “She’s new,” he said to his team. “Doesn’t know her ass from her elbow but she’ll learn.”

“If you say so,” said the Mexican giant, giving her a look that said she better learn if she wanted to live without his huge wrench implanted somewhere very uncomfortable.

Shut the heck up, girl.

“See anything you do like?” Rusty asked her.

“It’s not that I don’t like it. It’s just, I mean, wow. These things are huge and so shiny and . . . complicated.” Ahead of her was an incredible bike—a chopper, she corrected herself. Painted bright metallic orange with flames on its tank, it should have been the picture of cliché, but somehow the flames melded with the form of the bike so they weren’t cheesy or ordinary. They were beautiful, an intricate pattern that made the bike seem ready to take off rather than just rush at traffic. “That one is amazing.”

“See, told you she’d learn,” Rusty said to the giant. The guy shrugged, apparently satisfied she wasn’t about to insult his life’s work and Beth breathed a little easier. “Where’d you find her?” the giant asked.

“She works at Wilde’s,” Rusty replied for her. “Actress. Gonna be the office manager here for a bit and then get the pilot happening. Make us all famous.” Beth felt the blush rush over her skin and she dropped her eyes so she didn’t have to look at Rusty and think about how they’d really met. But he saved her by changing the topic back to the bike she’d pointed out. “What do you like about it?”

Beth tipped her head to the side and let herself consider her answer properly, giving herself time to regain a semblance of calm. “I can’t tell you exactly,” she started. “I like how the front bit is so long, like it’s been stretched. It’s almost a cartoon of itself but it’s also totally in proportion. And the color and the gleam to it and the flames. I love how the flames seem alive.”

“Huh.” Rusty nodded. Despite his lack of commentary, his obvious pleasure warmed her. Tickled something just underneath her skin that she couldn’t put a name to. What are you doing? This is work, remember?

“What would you say about it if someone asked you to describe it?”

She put on her business voice. “Someone who wanted to buy it or someone who wanted to admire it?”

“The latter. If you were describing it for my show. Describing it so people got excited about it.”

“Can I think about it for a second?”

He nodded. “Chose your two favorite bikes.” Rusty started walking off and Beth rushed to keep up with him. The three giant men in the shop must have decided they either didn’t care about her or she was insignificant enough not to matter because they completely ignored her. Rusty checked in with each of them, pointed out where things could be more refined, where to get a rare tool from, who to try for a secondhand part.

This was the same and yet a different Rusty from the one she’d thus far encountered. He was quiet but firm with his instructions. He was in charge. In control. The king of his world. Taking his instructions to heart, she scanned the shop looking for her two favorite pieces and trying to work out what she could say about them that wouldn’t sound crass or simple. She settled on a sleek black bike with red and white internal rims on the tires, and the orange chopper. And what exactly are you going to say about them? That they’re pretty? Maybe. Maybe that’s what Rusty was after.

“And through here is where Lucy works.”

“Lucy?”

Rusty pushed open a set of double doors to reveal a slender figure crouched over a bike half hidden by a shower of sparks and a plume of smoke. “Best mechanic around. My brother introduced me to her boyfriend, Jake, and when her last boss had an accident and shut up shop I made a place for her, fast. Got a natural affinity for custom builds. Well, she’s got a natural affinity with anything with torque really. Woman is a genius, but don’t tell her I said that.” The sparks stopped flying and Rusty nodded as the woman waved and then started in on the pile of metal in front of her.

A mix of, of what, jealousy and envy, washed through Beth. She pushed it down. There was nothing to be jealous of. No part of her wanted to work with hot molten steel, with or without Rusty McKinley to watch. “You have a female mechanic? With those guys out there?”

Rusty raised an eyebrow at her.

“Not that she shouldn’t work here.” Beth stumbled over a way to excuse her reaction. “Just that, they don’t seem to be the sharing-their-space type.”

“They’re the love-this-job type. Lucy had a run of shitty luck, but she’s the best and she knows bikes like most women know shoe stores. Honestly it was shit luck that her old boss had an accident, but it worked out well for me. She does most of the Hell’s boys’ bikes from Wilde’s, which makes her happy too. Long story,” he said as she opened her mouth to ask what he meant. “Short story is if my guys get to work with the best, they’re happy. Introducing me to her and Jake is the one thing my brother did get right.” Rusty was silent a long minute and Beth wondered if she’d ever hear the long story he’d alluded to. But she couldn’t tell if it was about Lucy or his brother.

“Bet there aren’t too many equal opportunity employers in the bike industry though. Sounds like Grim is one of the good guys.”

“Come on, this way.” As if they’d never spoken about Grim, Rusty led her out of Lucy’s part of the shop. Weaving through the benches, bike parts, and racks of tools, she followed him to a desk covered in stacks of papers. One lonely filing cabinet sitting open and mostly empty in the corner.

“I see why you need an office manager.”

He shrugged. “This is some of it, the rest is upstairs.”

“There’s more?”

They went upstairs and into a room with a large table, filing cabinets, a kitchenette, and a wall covered with note cards with scene headings, ideas and phrases jotted down in no particular order, and magazine clippings. At the top was a card that said simply: THE SHOW. When he shut the door, they were suddenly in a world of quiet.

“Soundproof, mostly,” he said at her obvious confusion. “Be pretty hard to live with that racket day in and day out.”

“You live up here?” She looked around and yes, through a doorway she could see a bed and a dresser with a stack of laundry on top. Her shoulders hunched at the thought of the mess of unfolded washing and who knew what other uncategorized, unsorted untidiness in the room, but she forced herself to focus on the man in front of her. The man who is going help rewrite your future, remember? “So, this is it?” She gazed at the wall of notes and tried to follow the mess of thoughts and images in front of her.

“This is what’s come out of my head so far.”

“Do you have a script or anything?”

“It’s a reality show. I know some of those shows are pretty much all scripted, but this one doesn’t need to be. I don’t want it to be. People who love bikes, love bikes, period. And we create the best bikes there are.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but that doesn’t sound like much of a pitch. Did you think about getting Grim to be in it?”

“No. I didn’t.”

Huh. That was a strong reaction. “Wouldn’t he be the obvious choice? Biker on-screen and off.”

“He’s no biker. Doesn’t have the love.”

Definitely tension there and Beth knew better than to push it after the last time. “Okay. But where’s the drama, the intrigue?”

“That’s why you’re here, remember?”

“Right. And what else?”

“Did you not see the guys who work here?”

“Sure. And they will look impressive on TV, but what are they going to say to the camera? It’s not like they’re actors.”

“It’s about case studies. Each episode will showcase a client, or a couple of clients, their interaction with the team, and then the process of making the bike.”

Beth had to fight hard not to roll her eyes. She couldn’t think of anything more boring. But watching him she saw a spark of excitement that would no doubt translate onto camera. Just like Grim. It must run in the family, she figured. “Hasn’t that already been done?”

“Not like ours. Ours will be better.”

“Why? What sort of clients do you have?”

Rusty beamed. “That’s where the drama comes in. We’ve only been open a year but we’ve already got some pretty A-list clients. And we have their wives, and the Hell’s boys and the way they raise the money for their bike addiction. And we’ll have an episode where we pimp out someone’s bike for a charity. You know, some awesome youth-worker guy or something has been riding around on a shit-box for years and we’ll work it over so he’s got the baddest ride out there. Keep him cool with the kids.”

“Okay, so if there is some family drama thrown in, a bit of intrigue, a bit of lifestyles of the rich and crazy, and cute kids . . . maybe,” Beth said. “And you, you’ll look good on camera.”

“Oh, no. I’m not going to be in it. It’s my shop. But it’s not about me.”

“What?”

“There’s plenty without me.”

“Whatever,” was all she said. Maybe he felt insecure about seeing himself on TV given who his brother was. She’d have to change his mind on that one. He’d look great on-screen.

“And we have a producer on board. But he’s been waiting for me to come up with something to pitch for months. He’ll get bored if I don’t come up with something soon, but that’s not my field. You organize the office and the show and you’ll be welcome as long as you need.”

Having a producer already interested changed everything. Beth rubbed her hands together and looked closer at the mess of note cards on the wall. “First thing we need is to get this into better order.”

“Is that so? What about downstairs?”

“I’ll do both, don’t worry. I’m very organized and I told you if I was in, I was all in. No doing things in half measures. The better I know what you’ve been thinking for the show, the better we can work out how to script the pilot. Right?” Things always just worked out better when she had control.

His smirk did that thing to her skin again. “Right. But first tell me which ones were your favorite bikes. I need to know you can at least pretend to give a shit about ’em, otherwise this is a pointless exercise. You might just be an office manager but to be in the show you need to be an office manager who gets bikes. You asked for a minute. I gave you ten. So, sell ’em to me. Hang on, let me film it.” He pulled out his cell and nodded at her when he’d opened up the camera.

Beth took a breath and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she walked over to the table and picked up a glossy tool brochure. She ran her fingers down the cover, focusing on lavishing as much attention as she had in her on it, then she snapped her eyes up and gave Rusty both barrels. “Downstairs is a machine like you’ve never seen. It’s not the biggest in the shop. Nor is it painted the brightest or most opulent color. But its sleek black lines, coupled with the fat tires give it style. Character. Sass. This black little number has red rims and white oversized tires and fits me perfectly. When I sit in it I can already feel the wind in my hair and when the boys start her up, boy, she purrs like a well-fed tiger.” She stopped and gave Rusty a grin. “That work for you? Not too sexy? I thought I might be laying it on too thick, but then I figured, bike shop, sexy sells, right?”

For a moment, she caught him looking at her, still lost in her description. Written in his features was a heady mix of admiration and . . . longing. He’s just excited by you talking about his bikes like that. But that wasn’t how it felt. He’d been looking at her with longing and the thought of it rushed through her, making that itch just under her skin flare up and burst through to the surface. And then he cleared his throat. “Not bad.”

Beth let the thought that she’d gotten to him, really gotten to him, swell. “I’ll take that as a compliment. One day I’m going to get more than a two-word answer out of you though, you wait.”

That did it, a slow smile spread over his face. “Is that what you do? Acting wise? Sexy? I thought you were all about being Little Miss Wholesome?”

“I do whatever the part requires. I should show you my reel.”

“Yes. Now.”

She nodded and tapped the address of her agent’s site into his phone, pulling up her profile and cringing, as she always did, at the head shot her agent had chosen. It was an older one, where she looked so happy, so young, so . . . innocent. She sat, heavily, disappointment always close to the surface that her career hadn’t taken off yet.

“Nice photo.”

“Oh, I hate it,” she said, waving a hand. “It makes me look about fifteen. But whatever. The thing is I’m not getting any roles anyway. I got quite a few auditions when I first got here but the last couple of months have been dry.”

“It’ll happen,” was all he said, but he said it with such certainty that Beth felt immediately better. What was it about Rusty McKinley that tapped into something deep inside her and made her feel . . . ? She wasn’t sure how she felt. But it was something new, and vital, and . . . hot. Probably something to do with him being Grim’s brother. Maybe that was it. “Anyway, at least my reel has a bit more scope.” She pressed play and watched herself on the screen for the millionth time. As her on-screen self ate macaroni, Beth flicked her eyes to Rusty again. He watched the screen avidly, laughing in all the right places and when she did the scene with the kitten, no way, did she see a sheen of moisture in his eyes? When it wrapped up he turned to her with a curt nod. “Even better this time,” he said.

“Wait? What? You’ve already seen it?”

“Last night. Just doing my homework.”

Beth puffed out her cheeks. “Could have said.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Okay then, smart guy, did you like what I said? About your bike? The black one?”

“What about the second one?”

“I already described it. The orange one. That one is all about the flames. You want me to do it for the camera again?”

He nodded. “But do it differently. With a different tone or whatever. Pretend you’re already working here.”

She thought for a moment then brought her best bitch. “This baby is smooth to ride, and sweet to behold. She’s got flames down her tank, but they’re not just pretty. And she isn’t just a bike. This one is a living streak of hot fire, burning up the road, and soaring out into space if you let her. Treat her right and she’ll take you places you never thought you’d even see, to worlds where the sun is always setting in a rich ball of golden fire.” She paused. “Sorry, that was cheesy as hell. But, different enough?”

“Yep.”

She waited. “Aaaand?”

“Good. Both were good.”

“That’s it? Jeez-Louise, it’s like getting tears from a croc.”

He shrugged. “This is about winning over the producer. Not me. I’m already sold. Glad you liked my flame detail.”

That gave her pause. “You painted those flames?”

“Freehand. It’s my thing.”

“Wow.” The guy wasn’t just full of surprises, he was a walking, talking contradiction. Gruff one minute, able to paint like that the next, employing the most terrifying-looking mechanics she’d ever seen in one room, then having a Lucy working on bikes the room over. “Maybe I picked the wrong brother. You must be Grim’s biggest competition.” She almost pushed her fist into her mouth as soon as the words were out and she saw his face drop.

“My brother and I do things differently,” he said. “But he’s family and I’m always there for family, period. But this . . .” He swept his hand around the shop. “This is my chance to have my own thing. To make my mark in LA. Have my own piece of pie.”

“He’d want you to do well, wouldn’t he?”

Rusty shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.” The way he carefully chose his words about Grim caught Beth’s notice. But tension was to be expected when one brother was an up-and-coming movie star and the other ran a bike shop. She dismissed it as brotherly rivalry and focused on the job at hand. “Right then. I better get to work. Once I’ve gotten that pile of paper downstairs filed, I’ll need lists of all your potential clients, their bikes, and I need to talk to your guys again. I need to decide where the richest material is then we need to dig deeper to find some dirt.”

He chuckled. A deep, rumbling sound. “And here was I thinking you were just a pretty face.”

She ignored him and the odd sensation that kept whizzing around her stomach when he laughed like that. This was about fulfilling her side of the bargain: have a shot at a TV show, get together with Grim. End of story.

Trouble was the only thing she knew about motorbikes was that they killed you, and the people that rode them had a rebel streak that usually ended badly. You just rode a bike. With Rusty. Yes, but that was to check that she could. Now all she had to do was do a good job here and make sure she got to show him how right she and his brother would be together.