3. Hunt

CHAPTER 3

HUNT

"I need a favor."

"Hello to you, too," Jason "Cash" Montoya says, smirking when I stride into his office bright and early the next morning with his assistant, Rulie, at my side. He leans back in his executive chair, lacing his fingers together behind his head.

"Cut the shit," I growl. "It's important. And it's going to make you a lot of money."

"Well, by all means, continue…" He tips his chair forward, his smile growing.

"You have too goddamn much money, Cash." Rulie stomps across the office before lowering himself into a chair with a grunt. The man is about as assistant-like as I am. He's in his fifties, dressed in an MC cut, with an unruly beard and mischief in his eyes.

"I don't hear you complaining when you're cashing your checks, motherfucker," Cash retorts, flicking a look at Rulie before motioning for me to continue. "How is your favor making me money, Sola?"

I knew that'd get him. The man loves his money. Ironic, considering he gives so goddamn much of it away. In my time in town, I've seen no less than four different charities with his name, or the name of his MC, associated.

"I want to move all of my money to your bank, and I want to move it today. Investment accounts, savings accounts, everything." I pause. "But I'll only accept Molly Exley as my account manager."

I haven't been able to get her off my mind since I walked her home last night. I probably stood outside her building like a fucking creep for a good half-hour, just staring into space, thinking about the way her lips felt against mine and the way she whimpered for me.

My cock was hard all night—after I jerked off twice. I need to see her again. Waiting for dinner tonight isn't going to work for me.

Showing up where she works unannounced is probably overkill, but she mentioned hoping for a big client last night to prove herself. I'm going to give her one—me. If it means I get to spend the day with her, too, well, that doesn't suck for me.

His deep brown eyes widen. "Jesus Christ, Hunt. That's millions."

"Told you that you were going to make money," I say, shrugging. "Can you make it happen or not?"

"You wouldn't be standing in my office if I couldn't make it happen."

True. He owns the bank. And since Bronx's wife is friends with his wife, we've been moving in the same circles since I got to town. It pays to know people who know people, especially in this town.

He eyes me sideways. "Molly, huh? She's only been with us a few months. From what I remember, she just graduated. You sure you want her cutting her teeth on your bread?"

"Positive," I growl. "If it's not her, I'm not moving it."

"Jesus Christ," Rulie mutters, his laughter booming across the massive corner office. "That didn't take long."

I don't know what the fuck he's talking about, and I don't bother asking for an explanation.

Cash picks up the phone on his desk and dials, staring at me. "Hey, Rodney, it's Cash. Molly Exley has a VIP client coming in by the name of Hunt Sola." He pauses. "Yes." Another pause, his gaze flickering over my face. "I want her to help him move everything from his current bank to ours. She has my approval to use whatever resources she needs to begin the account transfers. She can call me directly with any questions, but he will only deal with Molly. Keep everyone else off his back or they'll deal with me."

He listens for a minute and then disconnects, arching a brow. "Satisfied?"

I jerk my chin in a nod, striding toward the door, eager as fuck to see my girl.

"Thanks, Cash," I call over my shoulder.

"You can thank me by inviting me to the wedding!" he shouts after me.

I'm barely out of his office when my phone dings with an incoming text.

Unknown

Am I still fired?

I read it and smile, my fingers flying over the screen.

Me

You're absolutely fired. Where do I send your bonus?

Unknown

No bonus needed. You're welcome!

Unknown

I do accept five-star reviews and referrals, however.

Me

Consider it done.

I shake my head, smiling. I don't know who the fuck the lady at the agency is, but she might just be a genius.

A little over two hours later, Rodney Ackerman, the bank manager, leads me across the bank toward her office, his goddamn shoes squeaking on the floor. The man barely reaches my chest, and he hasn't stopped talking since I walked through the doors.

"Man, I just have to tell you," he says, a bright smile pasted on his face. "You're doing wonders for my fantasy team. That passer rating is absolutely killer."

"Good to know," I mutter, my eyes already locked on Molly through the clear glass windows of her office. She hasn't seen me yet. She has her blonde head bent, focusing on something in front of her, nibbling on the end of a pencil. Fuck. I want to be that pencil.

"It's a damn shame about the shoulder," Rodney says. "You were the best QB in the league."

I cut my eyes at him, steeling myself for the familiar swell of loss. Oddly, it doesn't come. For once, being reminded that my body gave out before my will doesn't piss me off. There's a prick of pain, but it's fleeting.

Hearing the same damn thing is getting old, though. Quick. I know people mean well, but no one wants to be constantly reminded of what they lost. And yet, everywhere I go since I retired, it's all I hear. It's irritating as fuck.

"Thanks," I growl. "But a word of advice? Don't assume your heroes want to be reminded of why they're permanently benched. Most of us don't." I nod toward Molly's heavy wooden door. "I can take it from here."

Rodney stumbles to a stop. "Mr. Sola, I…"

"It's all good, Rodney. Thanks for pointing me in the right direction." I jerk my chin at him and stride away before he can say anything else, leaving him standing there stuttering out an apology.

I push all thoughts of Rodney, football, and my injury from my mind as I approach Molly's office door, anticipation thrumming through me.

"Come in," she calls when I knock. Followed by a thump and then, "Oh, shoot!"

I push the door open, only to chuckle when I find her desperately trying to mop up a small river of coffee from her desk.

"One minute," she says, slightly out of breath. "I made a mess."

"I see that." I don't give a fuck about the mess. All I see is her. She looks way too beautiful in a black pencil skirt and a lacy pink blouse with her long hair up in a bun. Somehow, her lips and cheeks match her shirt.

Her office is tiny, but her personality is stamped all over it, from the personal photos lining the shelf to the small stack of books to the bronze sculpture of the Houston skyline.

My gaze lands on her computer screen. I grin when I see the photo of me pulled up front and center.

She seems to remember it at the same time. She squeals and throws her hands up in front of it, trying to hide it.

My grin grows as her guilty eyes meet mine.

"I can explain," she squeaks, blushing bright red.

"I certainly hope so, goddess." I push the door closed, leaning against it. "Because that's a terrible fucking picture. Matter of fact," I say, tilting my head to try to see around her hands. "I'm not even sure that's a real photo."

"Really?" She pulls her hands away, looking between the photo and me as if assessing for herself. "Looks real enough to me," she mumbles and then blinks, shaking her head. "This isn't what it looks like."

"Oh? So, you weren't internet stalking me?" I step deeper into her office.

"Okay, so maybe it is what it looks like." She grimaces up at me. "But honestly, Hunt, you have no one to blame but yourself."

"Well, this should be good." I stride the few steps across her office, taking a seat across from her. Once I'm comfortable—leaned back, arms behind my head—I grin. "Please, tell me how it's my fault you're internet stalking me."

"You called my boss, and I don't mean Rodney because he barely counts. I mean Jason Montoya, the owner of the freaking company, and pulled some kind of strings," she rambles. "Imagine my surprise when everyone around here starts talking about you like you're some kind of god, but all I know is that you kiss like one."

My cock throbs, aching like a motherfucker.

"You think I kiss like a god?"

"What? No. I didn't say that."

"Baby, don't piss me off. I'll remind you here and now what my lips feel like against yours," I growl.

She slaps her hand over her mouth as if that'll stop me when I can see the desire in her eyes. She's aching for another kiss.

I lean forward to get up, intending to give her exactly what she wants.

"Please not here, Hunt," she begs quietly, eyes darting toward the office windows. "I need this job."

Well, fuck.

"Fine," I growl, not willing to compromise her job. I need her to fall for me, not hate me. "Not here. But as soon as we're done for the day, make no mistakes about it, Molly, you will be kissing me. Repeatedly."

"Okay," she whispers.