Page 17 of Courting Danger

At least Pope was letting him smoke. Sucking in a long drag, Danger let it fill his lungs, the mellow aroma confirming Pope’s claim that it was better quality bud than the stuff Danger had stashed in the smoke box back in his office. Roark, the club’s weed man, had some serious explaining to do the next time Danger saw him.

“I don’t fuck up paperwork,” Danger declared.

“I know this, so does Mark, so who’s claiming otherwise?”

“I am.”

Pope held up his hand, regarded him for a moment, then reached for his beer, scowl deepening the longer he pondered Danger’s words.

“You think you should have caught on that something was off at the strip club sooner?” Pope surmised.

The man had always been sharp, possessing keen observation skills and the ability to piece together fragments of issues until he had a clear picture. It was one of many reasons why his books were so well received. And that he wove facts together with humorous anecdotes that kept them from being dry, boring reads people had to slog through if they wanted to finish them. The only reason Danger knew half the words he did was because Pope had taught them to him, and when the truth had come out about Danger’s affinity for numbers, he’d been the first one to press for the club to pay for the classes for him to get his CPA.

He’d never wanted to be an accountant. The title alone made him think of guys with closets full of suits and a tie collection to rival the drawers full of t-shirts back in his room. Nevertheless, the club had a need, and he’d had the ability to fulfill it, since aside from his way with figures, he’d also possessed one other thing necessary to make him perfect for the job.

A clean record.

So, he’d taken the courses, passed the examinations, and settled into the role grumbling the entire time. When his club brothers had been unable to rein in their jokes when they’d caught him behind the desk in the office Mark had set up for him, half buried under mounds of paperwork and project proposals designed to guide them towards more legitimate means of earning, he’d blamed Pope.

And in a way, he’d never forgiven him.

Instead of bringing paperwork back here, he’d chosen to hunker down in there, glower at everyone who heckled him, andhelp Mark establish business after business until the only time Pope looked at him was with fury in his eyes.

When he wasn’t downright ignoring him.

There had been no public breakup, no disavowing of their ties, nothing but Danger quietly cutting Pope’s Pup patches off all his clothing and laying them on the table in front of him in the bar one night before retreating up into the hills for a long ride.

And he’d regretted it ever since.

“The overlap in the first month threw me off until I went back and looked at the dates. After Mark removed Teddy, he took over the office there for three weeks before they brought the new manager in. It wasn’t until his second month running the place that I caught on to anything being off, and only because Mark was already starting to hear whispers by then, so I pulled out the recipes and took a closer look.”

“And during that time, how many other projects did he have you working on?” Pope asked.

Frowning, Danger inhaled and let the buzz help him dial in on those specific months. Where some folks kicked back and vegged when they smoked, something about THC had always sharpened Danger’s brain, allowing him to dial in on one thing and stick with it until he’d finished his task.

“The metal fabrication shop, the ironworks studio, the expansion for the garage, Mable’s Drag Boutique…”

“Basically, the entire factory row expansion,” Pope said, cutting him off.

“Well, yeah, but…”

“No buts,” Pope interrupted again. “You accomplished a lot in a short time with no reason to suspect that someone would be stupid enough to try to steal from us. Trust is never weakness. I thought I taught you that years ago?”

“There’s a difference between trust and business,” Danger grumbled. “In business, just because you trust somebody doesn’t mean you fail to check the bottom line.”

“Did you?”

“What?”

“Check the bottom line,” Pope asked, as patient as he’d always been.

Danger huffed, smoke pouring from his nostrils before he answered. “Several times, it never lined up, so I started pulling everything, let Mark know right away, and kept him updated every time I found another piece that didn’t mesh. I made sure to highlight it too, since we both know he’s a bottom-line guy and hates when someone overcomplicates shit.”

The words spilled out of him in an indignant rush, because despite how much he hated being tasked with the job, he took pride in how well he did it.

“Then what the hell are you beating yourself up for?” Pope asked.

Danger’s knee bounced up and down, the chain connecting to his wallet jangling with every restless motion. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I know I did everything right, yet everything felt wrong afterward, and I still can’t shake it. Then the ride got fucked up, and I saddled myself with that damn Roan, who half the time I want to spank the hell out of because I’m constantly getting complaints about him. He’s been on his best behavior since the accident, though. Maybe it finally rattled him enough to act right.”