Page 9 of Fury

“Well,” he pulled his right leg up, folding it to about ninety degrees and propping it on the other. “I understand there is some issue with the funeral of our president?”

“I’m sorry. You’ll have to be more specific.”

His dark eyebrows pulled together, irritated but not annoyed.

“Ste Carter. You are dealing with his body and his funeral.”

“Yes. We are.”

“And there’s an issue with the account?”

I glanced at my computer, typing in the surname and watching as the details of the account, one of the first to be transferred to the new electronic database, came to life in front of me.

“And what is your relationship with Mr Carter?”

“I’m the Vice President of the bike club.”

I scanned the account, looking for the information I’d uploaded late last night.

“I’m sorry Fury. I don’t have you on the account. Unless you go by another name?”

“Well, who do you have down there?”

“I can’t tell you that. Client confidentiality,” I added when his brows knitted even further together.

I don’t think I’d appreciated quite how dark his eyes were when he’d first walked into my office. But now, as his irritation morphed to something else, I noticed. They were deep brown. So dark they could almost be black. But even in the dimly lit office, I could still see a very slight russet, enough to stop those orbs being completely obsidian. Like his facial features. And he was even more handsome when he was pissed off, even with his long hair tied back into a man-bun and the thick leather jacket he wore.

“Look, lady….”

“Heidi. You may call me Heidi if you wish.”

“May I?” His tone was clipped. “I like lady better.”

“Well, I don’t, thank you. It’s Heidi or Ms Fischer. Or it’s out of my office.”

“Dave’s office.”

“It was Dave’s office. Now it’s mine.” I stopped a moment, taking a breath and reigning in my temper, another great quality I’d got from my father.

The man in front of me exhaled pointedly, dropping his bent leg to the floor and leaning forward onto the desk. It was another tactic of intimidation. One that wouldn’t faze me.

“Look, Heidi.” His voice had softened a touch. “Indie, that’s Indominous Carter for your records and information security shit.” He raised an eyebrow, pleased with his own achievement of dropping in a buzzword. “He’s busy looking after his injured girlfriend at the same time as trying to mourn his dead dad and keep control of his extremely emotional brother, half-brother,” he corrected himself, and then looked momentarily confused before the mask of intimidation slipped back into place. “Indie asked if I could come down here and sort whatever the problem is out.”

“There is no problem. The account has been under billed and there are some aspects of the funeral we cannot provide. I’ve re-worked the invoice and posted it out to Mr Carter. He should have it tomorrow. When he gets it, be sure to ask him to ring me.”

“For fuck’s sake,” the man muttered, agitation growing. I could see it in his eyes. A dark storm swarming. “Lady….”

“Heidi…”

“Lady. I don’t give a shit what your name is. What I give a shit about is that our president gets the send-off he deserves. As agreed with Dave. Not our fault that the invoicing got all mixed up. You need to honour what was originally billed.”

I opened my mouth to come back at him.

“Shhsssh,” he said, leaning over the desk, a finger suddenly pressing against my lips like I was a little girl he was calming down. I sprang to my feet. Anger filling my veins.

“You touch me like that again, and it’ll be more than a finger I break. Now you can either sit back in that chair like a good boy or get the hell out of my office.”

My reaction was over-the-top. Unprofessional. I was tired. Stressed. They were easy excuses. But if I was being honest, it was something about the man dressed in leather that rattled me. The man with the dimples just showing through his short, cropped beard. And now he lowered himself back down into the seat opposite, grinning inanely, as if I merely amused him.