Chapter 5

Rough Riders and Sexy Machines

Bella

The thought of a job interview has me freaking out. I haven't worked since before me and James were married so my resume is severely lacking, to say the least, which causes a light smear of sweat to develop across my forehead.

Over the past couple weeks, I've filled out umpteen online job applications for local businesses around the area. I'd hoped to land something prior to moving to Washington, but every phone call and email I've received have been rejection after rejection until I came across a job listing for a receptionist. I knew that I was a good candidate, regardless of my sparse resume, because I'd actually had some past experience.

During my divorce proceedings, I'd opted not to receive alimony much to my counsel's objection. My attorney was seeking five thousand a month in alimony support payments but I denied it, saying that I could survive without the bastard's money. Ultimately, I was awarded our summer house in the Hamptons and all its contents, along with my black BMW, and the jewelry my ex-husband had purchased for me. But prior to my move, I sold it all, giving some of the money to a charity and a local shelter for abused and battered women. James was none too happy with the news. He'd fought me tooth and nail but in the end, I won that fight. The only thing I owned that he couldn't fight me on was my 65' Mustang that I'd come into our marriage with. It was the last thing I had from my youth.

Before pulling out of the driveway, I chance a look at my neighbor's house. I momentarily wonder if everything's okay with the little girl I tried to help last night. And that man? For the love of Pete, he's a Grade A asshole. And where's the mother? The thought of running into the woman has me inwardly cheering because as soon as she hears how big of an ass hat her man was to me and their daughter last night, I have no doubt that fur is gonna fly inside that house. I shake my head and push the thought aside. I'm running entirely too late and I'll be damned if I let someone else snag this job before I even have the chance to fight for it.

The drive to Rough Riders Repairs & Customs isn't too far from my house, and I find myself pulling into the parking lot before I even have a chance to take in a few of the sights on my way. My eyes go wide when I see a group of motorcycles lined up in front of the building. There have to be at least seven of them, along with a few cars scattered about. Maybe this place is run by a biker gang. Even though the thought has me swallowing hard, I take a deep breath and grab my messenger bag before slipping out of my car and head for the entrance. The idea of working with a bunch of rough and rugged men with tattoos up to their necks has me chuckling because I've literally just described my neighbor.

I push my gray pencil skirt down and swing open the double glass doors. I take in my surroundings in awe of the beautiful machines. There are at least five custom motorcycles in pristine condition. The walls are scattered with various accessories; leather jackets, helmets, gloves, and clothing. I don't recall the job I applied for was at a motorcycle shop. I'm not against the idea but very curious about the other employees. As I slide my index finger across the leather seat of one of the bikes, a female voice calls out behind me.

"May I help you?"

I try to force a polite smile that doesn't resemble a pained look of constipation.

"I'm here for an interview with the manager for the open office position. My interview is scheduled for ten." I take in a much-needed breath and glance at the clock on the side wall noticing that I'm ten minutes early.

Recognition crosses the woman's features. "Right! You must be Isabella Swan," the woman replies, sticking her hand out with a kind smile. "I'm Georgia Nelson."

"It's nice to meet you Ms. Nelson and, please, call me Bella," I say, shaking the woman's hand. "Is the manager in by any chance?"

Smiling, Georgia throws her arms out to her sides. "You're looking at her, sweetheart. Shall we?" The woman announces, motioning down a short hallway.

Following behind Ms. Nelson, we enter a small office near the back of the building. "This is the boss man's office but some of us use it when we need to. Please, sit down."

Taking the seat offered to me, I sit across from the woman and place my hands in my lap. I take in the small space. It's a hot mess. Files and papers are tossed across the desk as if the office had vomited its contents everywhere. A multi-line phone is half hidden underneath the piles of papers, and a couple used, dirty coffee mugs are perched in various spots, one of them looking like it's seen better days. The office furniture doesn't fare any better as the only two chairs, including the one that my butt was taking up residence on, looks like they've been chewed up and spit back out.

"So, Bella, why don't you tell me a little about your experience," Georgia asks, taking a pen and paper in hand and begins to jot down some notes.

Um…well…gee…there was this one job. Jeez, who am I kidding?

I clutch my resume in my hands and look up at Georgia. "To be honest, Ms. Nelson, I don't have a whole lot of experience. I mean, I did have a job or two that consisted of filing, answering phones, and data input but those were more along the lines of part-time employment. Not to mention, the last one was so long ago the owner's probably farting dust with nine toes in the grave by now." I clear my throat. "And it was also an internship, so I didn't get paid for it."

"And you have a sense of humor to boot. That's always a plus around here." Georgia eyes me comically and then smiles. "Do you have a copy of your resume?"

"I should warn you. I'm not very funny." I reply, placing my resume in her hand. "It's rather pathetic."

I sit frozen to my seat and wait for Georgia to go over my barely there employment history, and it doesn't escape my notice that her brows shoot up every so often.

Yeah, lady, I know what you mean.

As I twist my fingers together I can't help but wonder what I'll do if I don't land this job. Sure, I don't need the money right now. Hell, after I'd sold off my assets and put a small cushion away, I can live off of that for quite some time. Money isn't an issue. What I am concerned about is my sanity. Having a job would help me get through the mental shit parade currently taking up space in my head. It would also keep my mind off the bullshit I've just gone through with James and provide an outlet instead of being behind four walls all day with nothing to do.

"Well, Bella, I must say, your resume looks pretty darn gloomy," Georgia replies with a smile.

My stomach begins to turn at the woman's assessment.

Fucking great! There goes another one.

"I'm going to be honest with you. I've interviewed several people for this position, and let's just say that their work histories were more than exemplary but their attitudes sucked ass to the point that I wanted to throat punch a couple of them."

At this point, I'm not sure if the woman sitting in front of me is even qualified to manage any company by that statement alone. I shift uncomfortably in my dilapidated seat a few times before sweat starts to form heavily above my brows.

"But for some strange reason you," she says, pointing at me. "There's just something about you. Tell me. How many words can you type?"

The last time I took a typing test was back in high school and that's only because it was required for typing class which I learned very quickly was boring as all get out. "Sixty the last time I timed myself. I mean, I'm a little rusty, but I'm sure I can get back to speed."

"How are you with multi-line phones?"

"Pretty good. I helped with my hus…" I begin, stopping myself mid-sentence. "Look, I know my experience is less than stellar, but if you just give me a chance, I swear that I'll redeem myself."

"Something tells me that you mean exactly that." Georgia skims over the resume once more before looking up at me. "Tell me, why do you want this job? I mean, really want this job?"

Here goes nothing.

I run my hands nervously down my skirt before letting out an audible sigh. I'd swore that I was going to keep my past in the past, and the hell if I was going to tell any potential employer about my failed marriage but I need this job. I need it like I need a lifeline. Without this job, or any job for that matter, I'm afraid that too much time spent dwelling in my own head might make for some long, lonely days or a psychotic break.

"Can I be totally honest with you?" I ask, looking up at Georgia as she sits back in her seat and motions for me to continue, her smile never fading. "I don't need this job. Well, I do but I don't. At least not financially. It's more of a want. I know that makes me sound high-risk, but I want this job more than anything."

The word vomit continues as I immediately break my promise I'd made to myself.

"I just moved from Atlanta, Georgia, coming out of a very nasty marriage and the thought of sitting in my house all day with nothing to do drives me crazy just thinking about it. I don't even have a goldfish to keep me company." I look up at the woman, noticing a familiar emotion cross her face. With a fierce determination, I sit up straight in the chair and look her in the eyes. "I will be here every day, learn what I may not already know, and do the best damn job that I am asked to do. Please. All I need is a chance."

Georgia clicks her pen on the desk top as she moves forward and places her elbows on the desk. She glances over the resume again more for good measure and looks back at me.

"I must say, Bella, you disclosed more personal information than I was ready for," She chuckles which only makes my stomach turn. I let out a big sigh and wait for the inevitable rejection. "But, I do admire your honesty and determination."

"George! Did ya bring the donuts? I need my fritter, woman."

My head whips around to find the biggest bear of a man standing in the doorway. He's attractive with sparkling blue eyes and his dimples are fierce. He's heavily covered in tattoos that sleeve his arms from wrist to collar bone, and he's dressed in a Harley Davidson t-shirt with a pair of stone washed jeans, complete with a pair of black boots, and the only piercings I can see are in both of his ears. But what really catches my attention is his mammoth size.

Crickets and assholes, he's fucking huge!

"How many times have I asked you not to call me George? Do I look like a damn George to you?" Georgia chastises the man, forcing me out of my constant staring.

"Don't get your bloomers in a twist, woman," the man replies, smiling like a buffoon. "Has that bastard called yet?"

"No, he hasn't. I talked to him yesterday but he didn't say that he'd be in today or not."

The man slams his palm flat against the desk. "Well, ain't that some bullshit! He needs to get his ass in here and help with Aro's chopper. The fucker's relentless and has specified that dipshit himself needs to be the one to finish the frame work."

"I'll call him, but with everything that's been going on, I'm not even sure if he'll answer," Georgia says, giving me a small, apologetic smile. "Do you want me to try and get a hold of him?"

I sit and listen to the exchange, feeling suddenly uncomfortable and extremely invisible.

"Nah, I'll just go over there and drag him in here by his nut sack," the man says, glancing toward me, smiling a toothy grin. "Well, hey there, tutz."

I'm invisible...I'm invisible…I'm not invisible.

"Lookin' to get a bike, sweetheart?"

"Quit being an idiot, Emmett, and meet Rough Riders newest employee, Bella Swan," Georgia announces, motioning her hand between us. "Bella, meet Emmett McCarty, co-owner of this fine establishment."

"Well, tickle my pickle and call me Nancy! Your ass finally hired someone." Emmett bellows, holding out his hand for me to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, tutz."

"Likewise, Mr. McCarty," I reply, holding out my hand for the man to shake.

"Oh, no. That shit will just not fucking do. In this shop, you can call me as Emmett, E., or Big Daddy. Mr. McCarty was my father. A rotten son of a bitch to boot. Have you not schooled this pretty, little thing yet, George?" he asks, giving Georgia the stink eye.

"I just hired her, you horses ass, and my name isn't George. Now get the hell out and let me do my job," Georgia scolds, scowling at the big oaf.

"Listen, baby girl." Emmett kneels down beside me, making me flinch. "Easy, tutz, I'm not gonna touch you. However, there are some idiots up in here that don't know how to watch their tongues, or their hands, when pretty, little ladies are present, and with legs like those you're bound to get some gawkers. If you have any problems at all," he says, looking at me pointedly, exaggerating his words as he shakes his head; not an ounce of humor in them. "You just come tell Big Daddy and I'll take care of that shit."

Before I can get a word in, Emmett's phone rings.

"It's about motherfucking time! Where the hell are you?" he roars into the phone, popping up to his feet and exits the office.

"He has no filter," Georgia says as she shakes her head. "Now, where were we?"

"I think you just hired me." I nearly bounce out of my seat with excitement and hope like hell I wasn't hearing things.

"You are absolutely correct," Georgia confirms, stretching her hand out to me. "Congratulations, and welcome to Rough Riders."

"Why?

I'm not really sure why I asked but I know if I hadn't it would've bothered me not knowing.

"Well, to be honest, you had me at Georgia," she said with a genuine smile.

"Excuse me?"

"You said that you were from Georgia. My name's Georgia. It's a sign. You belong in this nut house."

Both of us start to laugh and, in that moment, things were starting to look up.