Torque by Gillian Archer (have you read this book .txt) 📗

the show. Someone pretty to sit at the front desk, flirt with clients and with you guys. Or at least with the single ones anyhow.” He paused to gesture at Ryan and Austin. “Since you two are all but married at this point.”

“Whoa.” Austin raised his hand. “This was and always has been a family shop—we’re not bringing in an outsider.”

“And I’m sure as hell not hiring someone to date them.” I snorted. “That’s pretty fucking creepy.”

“And illegal or something, right?” Ryan jabbed an elbow in my side.

James sighed heavily, like he was annoyed. He wasn’t the only one. “I’m not saying you have to sleep with whoever you hire. Just that the network would like to see more sparks. The few shows we’ve filmed since production started up again are boring, quite frankly.”

His words were like a slap in the face. “Boring?”

“You guys don’t fight anymore.” James leaned forward and jabbed a finger at me. “You get along. It’s so healthy, it’s fucking annoying. Where’s the crew we filmed that special with two years ago? The hothead we had to cart off to the E.R. because you all couldn’t agree on—fuck, I can’t even remember what that first fight was about, fenders or some shit—but it was spectacular. Raw. Real. If you guys can’t drum up that same level of passion, then we’ll either arrange for some new energy, or we’ll be forced to cancel your show outright.”

Austin shook his head. “You can’t do that. We have a contract.”

“Well maybe you should read it more closely. I think you’ll find that we can. So that’s the deal, gentlemen.” James intoned gentlemen like an insult. “We’ll talk more Monday. Come prepared to make a plan. As always, lovely to see you.”

None of us said another word. I could see the fucking writing on the wall. This was step one in that bastard’s playbook. James had always wanted control over the show, but up ‘til now we’d given the network more than enough drama to keep them happy.

Rage built within me. I let my expression do the talking for me. That was one part of anger management I’d never gotten a handle on.

Seeing he wasn’t going to get another rise out of us, James smirked in that fucking annoying way of his and slipped out the door.

“It’s bullshit!” The words ripped from my chest before I consciously thought them. My mug sailed across the room, shattering against the door James had closed. I briefly fantasized that it’d been his face instead.

“Holy crap, Nate.” Ryan jumped and then turned concerned eyes to me. “Are you serious? Get your shit under control.”

“How can you guys just sit there and take that bullshit?” I jabbed my finger in the direction James had disappeared. “He threatened to cancel us so that he can fucking control us. Are you blind?”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Austin said vacantly.

Ryan whirled around to face Austin. “What the fuck?”

“Are you serious?” I looked at him incredulously. “We might as well quit. If we go along with his fucking plans now, pretty soon we’ll have scripts and shit, and that was never what our show was supposed to be about.”

“Calm the fuck down.” Austin huffed. “We’re not going to sell out like that.”

I shook my head. “We don’t have the clientele to make it on our own right now, Aust. Before the show, ninety percent of our customers were West Coast Kings, and ever since,” —I tipped my head in Ryan’s direction— “they haven’t come back. It’ll take us time to build up a customer base again, and the economy is in the shitter. We can’t quit the show now.”

When the president of the Kings MC found out that Ryan had hooked up with his daughter and knocked her up, he and the rest of the club beat the shit out of the Ryan—used fucking chains to do it—sending him to the ICU. They’d only stopped beating on him because James had intervened.

It was hard to remember how much we owed that fucker, James, when he acted like such a tool the majority of the time.

“I don’t see how we have a choice,” Ryan said quietly. “We need the show. Like you said, Nate, we can’t stand on our own right now. Not in this economy.”

“I don’t see what the fucking problem is,” Austin retorted. “We need a receptionist. I spend at least an hour every day listening to voicemails since Sabrina went part time. If I have to spend another minute weeding out fangirls from actual businesses who want to work with us, I’m gonna go insane. The network is the one giving us the ultimatum—not James. I don’t think hiring a receptionist is the fucking mountain I wanna die on. It would be nice to have someone around here answering the phones and scheduling clients and shit.”

I shook my head. “This is how it begins. If we roll over on this, we don’t control the show anymore. They’ll have more notes and concerns and bullshit.”

“And when it becomes too much, we push back.” Ryan answered. “I don’t see how there’s anything else we can do right now.”

I don’t know who these pod people were, but they weren’t my brothers. They were both just so apathetic. Where were the passionate men I built bikes with? The ones who cared so much it came to blows when we couldn’t agree? “At the very least, we should talk to our lawyer. Find out what exactly James and the producers can do.”

“You do that.” Austin tilted his head at Ryan. “Can we talk? My office?”

Ryan’s eyebrows went up. His eyes bounced between me and Austin before he answered. “Sure.”

Austin pushed away from the table and headed for the door. “Let us know what Evan says. Ryan?”

Ryan tossed me an apologetic look before following Austin out the door.

What the hell was that? Austin hadn’t even been in the room. I don’t think he even knew what the fuck we’d been talking about. Because