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Despite what you think, I’m not trying to get into your pants. I have intel

My eyes widen. If he’s tricking me, I will cut his damn nuts off.

Ruby

You better not be shittin me, prospect

Lover Boy

It’s juicy

Lover Boy

Meet you at the Airbnb? I’ll bring the snacks

Ruby

There will be no snacking, just tell me now

Lover Boy

Can’t. We don’t know who could be watching or listening

Ruby

You’re paranoid, and you’re just trying to get me alone

Lover Boy

There’s a song in there somewhere, princess. I’ll see you soon

Lover Boy

I’ll be home by 6

Ruby

Home? It’s a rental

Lover Boy

I know how to shut that smart mouth up

I groan out loud.

I don’t reply to the last message because if there’s one thing Drifter doesn’t need, it’s encouragement.

The truth is? He knows exactly how to shut my smart mouth up; that’s the problem.

I’m the VP of the Stilettos, so I have an obligation and a duty to get the facts from him. That’s all this is. Plus, Diamond put me in charge of this damn prospect when really it should’ve been Sapphire.

I get she has a lot on her plate, and we share the load where we can. My business, Spurs and Sparkle, kinda runs itself. It’s a nail and beauty salon, and the only one-stop shop in Saddle for treatments and spa appointments, so we do well. I’m lucky that I don’t have to be there very much. I’m a fully trained beauty therapist, but I’m rarely in the salon these days because the club takes up most of my time.

I don’t mention anything to Diamond about what Drifter told me—I don’t know if he’s just trying to get my goose on purpose, or if he’s being legit.

When I roll up to his Airbnb, a nice enough cottage on the other side of town, his motorcycle is parked in the open garage. This is Decker Stirling’s place. He lives in the adjacent house, half a mile down the dirt track. His daughter, Phoebe, is Pearl’s best friend. She manages the cabin as well as a couple of other properties around Saddle. Decker has been an ally to the club for years, but he only moved back to the farm six months ago.

I park up, dismount, and stride to the front door. It’s a quaint little place with a quirky porch and a rocker in one corner; the creaks in the floorboards could wake the dead. I’m about to knock—because that’s how I was raised—when the door swings open.