My Biker Stepbrother, My Ruin
They were pieces on his chessboard, working day and night so Carter Automotive Hub could dominate every road, every showroom, every glossy magazine cover.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Carter,” a chorus of voices rang as I crossed the lobby. I nodded at them.
“Good afternoon, Jeremy.” I knew who that was before I looked. It was Tessa, a two-year old recruit who had severally tried to communicate her feelings for me before—through numerous eye contacts, exaggerated warmth thrown my way during past meetings, and worse, she had written a letter and tucked it into my jacket’s pocket before. She was brave, I gave her that.
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