Even though she’d been on the road for a couple of months now, she still had enough liquid assets in her bank accounts so she hadn’t needed to cash out even one stock or mutual fund. The monthly and quarterly dividends she received as a stockholder for various companies were enough to pay her daily expenses and then some.
She hoped that passive income continued. It should, as long as the market didn’t crash. Or she didn’t get into any kind of major financial jam where she’d need to liquefy her assets.
Being the former managing director of White Rock Asset Management, Inc., she knew how to diversify her investments and make money work for her instead of the other way around with her working for money.
While at the asset management company she had worked herself to the point of exhaustion because she never thought she had enough. She needed to keep clawing her way up that ladder, she needed to land that next bonus.
It turns out, in the end, she didn’t need much. She had proven that to herself in the last two months after she sold all her possessions, including her status quo luxury car and her three-bedroom condo in her high-rise complex. What she didn’t sell, she donated to a women’s shelter.
Once she was free of all that excess weight, she packed only essentials into her saddlebags and soft-sided travel bag, filled Agnes’s gas tank and hit the road.
With every mile she traveled farther away from Chicago and her old life, the more her mind cleared and her narrowed vision widened. She could see the world around her a lot better once she was no longer hyper-focused on her career and making a name for herself.
With every mile she rode, she realized she didn’t need the kudos or titles, or even those much sought-after bonuses. She no longer had anything to prove. To herself or anyone else.
With every mile she and Agnes traveled together, she discovered more about who she really was and who she wanted to be instead of who everyone else wanted or expected her to be.
Quite simply, she learned to “just be.”
Studying Whip’s tattoos—at least the ones she could see—made her contemplate stopping at a tattoo shop somewhere along her journey and getting her new but very simple motto tattooed somewhere. This way she’d never forget it. It would be a constant reminder that her mental and physical health were much more important than being named a top executive of an organization that didn’t give two shits about her.
The only thing they cared about was the bottom line and appearances. That was it.
Money no longer defined her. Corporate titles no longer defined her.
A brand-new Porsche didn’t, either.
She now defined herself.
While, yes, today had been a bump in her road of discovery, she loved her new life and newly-found freedom.
She could do whatever she wanted.
Including having dinner with a younger man with the best damn smile. It could be mesmerizing.
Even though he was a part of an MC, he seemed to be one of the least arrogant men she’d dealt with in a long time.
He was surprisingly sweet.
Definitely sexy.
And while they hadn’t talked about anything deep, he’d kept her interested.
He said what he meant and meant what he said. He didn’t put on airs and he certainly was far from fake or slick.
So opposite of the kind of people she’d surrounded herself with before.
Refreshing, that was what he was. Just like his honesty in the break room at Dutch’s Garage.
Whip popped a loaded fry into his mouth and she couldn’t pull her eyes from his lips as he chewed.
“What’s your real name?”
The fact that he swallowed his mouthful of food before responding showed that someone had taught him manners. Most men she knew who wore suits and Rolexes didn’t have that many. Money did not equal manners or respect.
“Real name?”
“Yes, you know… The one on your birth certificate. You were supposed to tell me it once we got Agnes back to the shop. You never did.” She tilted her head and waited.
He cocked one eyebrow. “Don’t like the name Whip?”
She jerked up one shoulder. “It’s unique but I know that’s not what your mother named you.” He had already told her it had been his grandfather’s nickname for him.
“Gonna make a difference if you know my real name?”
“No, not at all. I’m just… curious.” She had this unexplainable urge to dig deeper and learn more about the man sitting across the table from her. It was more than just small talk to fill the silence.
He raised another fry loaded with dripping melted cheese and all kinds of other toppings until it was hovering dangerously near his lips. “Just curious?”
“More than curious,” she murmured, distracted by the way his tongue swept over his bottom lip, leaving a shine behind.