Blind Date with a Billionaire Biker (Blind Date Disasters Book 3) Read online

  Blind Date with a Billionaire Biker

  Blind Date Disasters

  Evangeline Kelly

  Copyright © 2019 by Evangeline Kelly. All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book shall be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author. Blind Date with a Billionaire Biker is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Scripture quotations are from The ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. https://www.esv.org/resources/esv-global-study-bible/copyright-page/

  Table of Contents

  Newsletter Sign-up

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Evangeline Kelly

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  Chapter 1

  3 years ago…

  Tizzy

  “It feels like I’m marrying my brother.” I held the phone close to my ear and closed my eyes as I waited for my friend, Phoebe’s response. Peter would be here any minute to pick me up, so I didn’t really have time for this call, but every muscle in my body wanted to put off the inevitable. This evening was supposed to be special. I should have felt some level of excitement. Instead, all I felt was dread.

  “You don’t have a brother, silly.”

  “You’re missing my point.”

  “No, it’s coming through loud and clear, but I don’t understand. I thought you were attracted to Peter. Did something change?”

  “I never said I was attracted to him.” There was silence on the other end of the phone, and I winced because I’d never admitted that to anyone…not even my parents.

  “Wow. I just assumed… He’s a good-looking guy. There are plenty of women who would give their right arm to be in your position.”

  My position. Peter planned on proposing to me at dinner this evening. I knew that because his parents and mine were essentially forcing us into an arranged marriage. In our day and age, people might balk at that, but it was typical within my conservative church group, Faithful Servants. A man named Ebenezer Windom had written a book about courtship and parental involvement, and my congregation had grabbed onto his principles like a baby clutching a toy, unwilling to let go at any cost. All godly young men and women at Faithful Servants were expected to participate in courtship and arranged marriage—no exceptions. If someone joined the church and their parents didn’t attend, then an elder would make the arrangements.

  I’d read Mr. Windom’s book just as everyone at my church had, and in my opinion, the ideas were rudimentary and outdated. Not wanting to be tarred and feathered anytime soon, I didn’t voice that belief. The parents did the choosing in our church, and the kids married young. I graduated from high school a year ago and still felt like a kid. At nineteen, I was ready for a lot of things but marriage wasn’t one of them.

  “We practically grew up together,” I said. “I don’t feel… I don’t see him the way…” I covered my face with a hand and stiffened. “I don’t want to get married.”

  “Did you tell your mom and dad?” Phoebe cleared her throat, her hesitation coming through in waves. “I mean…maybe you should talk to them.”

  “There’s no point.” Talking to Mom and Dad was like talking to a brick wall. They were unbending in their support for this kind of marriage, and they thought Peter and I were perfect for each other. We both came from similar homes, grew up in the same church, attended the same private school.

  If I defied them…well, that just wasn’t an option.

  “Your parents are tough cookies, but then again, so are mine. But in my case, Andrew and I liked each other from the start so…”

  “Did you ever have cold feet?” I asked, hoping for any words of wisdom to get through this.

  “No. Sorry, Tir.”

  I half-smiled at her use of the nickname. She only used it when we were alone since my mom hated my name being shortened in any way.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t relate,” she said. “I couldn’t wait to get married.”

  I pictured her putting a hand over her large belly as she said that. She was three years older than me, but she was due to have child number four in two months, and she was happy with her life. I was happy for her. I just didn’t want to be her. In other words, I didn’t want the life Mom and Dad had prearranged for me. I wanted something different from their carefully laid out plans. Something that would make me want to get out of bed in the morning. I wasn’t even sure what that was, to be honest.

  Glancing at the clock on my wall, I swallowed. He would be here any second, and I still hadn’t decided what to wear. “I’d better go.”

  “You’ll grow to love him. It will happen over time.”

  “I hope so.” I swallowed again, and my eyes moistened.

  “And just think, in a year or so, I might be giving you a baby shower.”

  Pressure built in my chest, and I gripped the chair next to my desk to remain steady. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but Phoebe wouldn’t understand. We were friends, but we often had trouble relating when it came to marriage and family. I had the desire to get married one day. I truly did. But not like this—not in a manner that was forced by my parents. “Okay, well, talk to you later.”

  “Relax and have fun. The feelings will follow. I promise.”

  Like she could promise something like that. “I hope so.” I said goodbye and then hung up. Sliding my closet door open, I peered at the long line of skirts and blouses I had personally made myself. Most were simple designs, and I’d chosen the soft, muted colors because they wouldn’t draw much attention. Truth be told, I didn’t care how I looked this evening, and that probably wasn’t a good sign.

  I pulled out an ankle-length gray skirt and white blouse at random and put them on. I drew my blonde hair into a tight bun, lightly brushed my bangs, and opened the drawer that held a huge selection of headbands. I hated those things because they made me look like a little girl, but Mom had bought them for me and insisted they looked good. Picking up a gray one, I closed my eyes and bit down on my bottom lip. Tonight would be okay. I would be fine. Phoebe was right. Love would grow—eventually.

  “Tirzah, he’s here.” There was a knock on my bedroom door and Mom opened it and peeked in. “Don’t keep him waiting, honey. This is an important night.”

  I slid the headband on and slipped into a pair of modest black flats. I followed Mom down the hall and into the living room where Peter was shaking Dad’s hand.

  Dad puffed out his chest like a proud Papa—like this was his moment, not mine. “No need for a chaperone tonight.” He gave Pe
ter an exaggerated wink, and I wanted to gag. “Do you have the…?” He trailed off.

  Peter smiled and patted his right pocket. “Yep. Won’t let you down, sir.”

  “Call me Adam,” Dad said. “We’ll be family soon.”

  “Yes, of course.” Peter coughed and covered his mouth with a fist.

  He didn’t seem particularly thrilled about the idea, not that my parents noticed. They were too busy living in a fantasy world where Peter and I were supposedly perfect for each other.

  Peter’s eyes meandered to my side of the room, and he cleared his throat. “Ready, Tirzah?”

  “Yes.” I followed him to the door while Mom trailed behind, throwing a light sweater over my shoulders.

  “It might get chilly.”

  I forced a pained smile and nodded. “Thanks.”

  My parents stood at the doorway, watching us make our way to Peter’s car. I glanced at them over my shoulder, and they both had similar expressions—the kind they should have had when I graduated from high school. A look that said they were proud I had finally reached this milestone. They’d trained me all my life for this moment, and they thought I was ready.

  I wasn’t, and it made me sick to my stomach.

  I wanted to turn around and go back to my room—throw myself on my bed and pull the covers over my head. If only I could do that.

  “You two behave,” Dad said, chuckling. “Remember, the first kiss is set for the wedding day.”

  I cringed. The idea of kissing Peter was no more appealing than kissing a dead fish. Perhaps that was harsh, but there was no chemistry between us, and I wasn’t alone in thinking that. Peter never voiced how he felt, but he didn’t seem very interested when we were together. He smiled and put on a front—but I knew. I saw his eyes wander to the other women at church, and sometimes there was even longing there. He hated this as much as I did.

  Once we were on the road, I folded my hands in my lap and stared straight ahead. We didn’t say a word to each other. We rarely did when we were alone which was hardly ever since a chaperone was expected to be present per Ebenezer Windom’s rules of courtship. Tonight was an exception.

  It had started to drizzle, so Peter turned on the windshield wipers, and they rubbed against the glass, whining as they went back and forth, back and forth.

  “How was your day?” Peter asked, distractedly.

  “It was okay. I didn’t do much. Just cleaned the house and looked at a pattern for a new dress.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “Yeah. How about you?”

  “I told my boss I was getting engaged. Everyone in the lunchroom was happy for me…for us.” His lips turned down a little on one side as he appeared to contemplate an “us” and what that would mean. “They recommended I bring you to a place downtown. Well, my boss did. Everyone else agreed. They said the food is superb, and the ambience is really nice.”

  “I thought we were staying local. It’ll take at least an hour to drive downtown.”

  Peter glanced at me with a frown. “Are you in a hurry to get back or something?”

  I hesitated. “No, of course not.”

  “My boss stressed how great this place is, and I think we should go.”

  “Okay, but it’s not around the picketers is it?”

  All week there had been news of picketers in downtown Philadelphia. The employees of Mitchell Automotive were on strike because there had been talk of cutting back on hourly pay. MA manufactured parts for automobiles, and some had even said they might relocate to another country because the costs were cheaper. A lot of people would lose their jobs if that happened.

  “I’m not really sure,” he said, “but it’ll be fine.”

  “Have you seen the news? Some of the picketers have been hostile.”

  “I’ve been watching, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

  I twisted in my seat to look at him. “I think I’d prefer to stay close to home. Let’s not go that far.”

  “Tirzah…you’re making a big deal out of this.” Peter glanced at me with disapproval. “My boss suggested this place, and that’s where I plan to go.”

  Did he not care how I felt on the matter? This was supposed to be our engagement. Didn’t that mean the outing should be something we both enjoyed? “I just don’t feel safe.”

  “You need to trust me. It won’t be long until we’re married, and you’ll have to get used to submitting to my authority.”

  My stomach twisted, and I resisted the uneasy feeling that swept over me. I really hoped Peter wouldn’t be the kind of man who would lord himself over me. That was wishful thinking considering how his dad treated his mom. “Please…take us back. I don’t want to do this.”

  “Enough, Tirzah. Does your mom talk back to your dad like this? I doubt she does.”

  I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes, counting to ten. Peter waited for a response, and when I remained silent, he pulled over to the side of the road and put the car in park. “Answer me.”

  “No.”

  He drew back in surprise, his expression hardening. “Are you being defiant?”

  “I was answering your question. No, my mother does not talk back to my father.”

  He nodded slowly, relaxing. “Good. Because my parents assured me you were raised correctly.”

  “Peter, we’ve known each other our entire lives. Why are you talking as if you barely know me?”

  “Because sometimes I don’t think I do.”

  I kept my mouth shut. There was no point in replying because he was right. He didn’t know the real me, and something told me he never would.

  We were back on the road within seconds and neither of us said a thing after that. When we finally reached the city, we were stuck in heavy traffic. There was either an accident ahead, or they’d blocked off the streets where the picketers were demonstrating.

  Peter ran a hand through his hair and then slammed his fist on the steering wheel. “This is ridiculous.” When we came to a parking garage, he turned in the driveway. “It’s twenty-five dollars an hour, but we don’t have much choice. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way, or we’ll miss our reservation.”

  “It’s cold and raining. How far away is this place?”

  “A few blocks. It’s barely drizzling, and you’ll warm up once we get going.” He parked the car and got out, and then came around the side of the vehicle and opened my door for me.

  I slid out and hugged my sweater close. “If this is your idea of a romantic evening…it’s just…not.”

  “Get over yourself, Tirzah. I never promised you romance.”

  A spark of anger shot through me so fast my vision blurred for a quick second. If this was what marriage with Peter would look like, I wanted no part of it. I clenched my fists and followed him out of the parking garage and down the street. People were honking their horns as they slowly crawled by. We came to the end of the street and turned down the next one. Light rain settled over my hair and face, and a cold wind whipped through me, making me wish I’d brought a coat. In the distance, I saw the picketers waving their signs and chanting. “Union power, union power.” It grew louder the closer we got.

  I grabbed Peter’s arm in an attempt to stop him. “We can’t go that way. Do you really want to provoke them? Look around. No one else is headed in this direction.”

  “The restaurant is at the end of the street,” he snapped. “There’s no other way to go.”

  Are you stupid? That was what I wanted to say, but I kept my thoughts to myself.

  “Plus, they’re only trying to protect their jobs,” Peter said. “You’d know that if you actually had a job.”

  I drew back. That was a low blow since Mom and Dad had specifically said they didn’t want me to work, and Peter had agreed with that decision. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. I’ve been following the news extensively, and I understand that they don’t want their hourly pay cut. I support that, but this is not your average strike. People are desperate, and
there has already been some violence.” I puffed up my cheeks and blew the air out. “Even good people succumb to mob mentality when they’re upset. Let’s find another restaurant. This is a big city. Surely—”

  “Hold your tongue and follow me.” Peter didn’t wait to see if I would comply. He took off in large strides down the street, leaving me no choice but to stumble after him.

  Lord, please help me. I don’t want to do this.

  A thought came to me. I didn’t have to follow him if I didn’t want to. I was of age and could legally make my own decisions. Peter couldn’t force me to do anything.

  But I knew if I caused a scene it would displease Mom and Dad and only make my life harder in the long run. Not to mention, I didn’t have money for an Uber, and if I called Dad, he’d tell me to listen to Peter. I could ask Phoebe to pick me up, but in her condition, she probably wouldn’t feel up to driving to the city, especially in this kind of weather. Her husband would insist she call Dad, anyway. As bad as this was, I would just have to suck it up and get it over with.

  I walked fast enough to catch up to Peter, looping my arm through his. We’d never had contact like this—it was frowned upon and neither of us had ever felt the inclination. The fact that I was doing it now spoke to my level of fear.

  As we neared the line of picketers, I tried not to look at them, but it was impossible not to. Most were men, and many of them were big and burly and angry.

  “We will win this fight—protect our jobs.” The chanting continued. “Union power bring it on home.”

  A shiver ran down my spine as we passed several characters who stared at us, throwing jeers and derisive comments our way. I tightened my hold on Peter’s arm, and he stiffened.

  “Get out of here, scabs.” A man up ahead with a mean glint in his eyes glared at us, and I felt intense rage radiating off of him.

  “We’re not scabs,” Peter said. “We just want to eat dinner—”

  “Peter!” I tugged at his arm, but he didn’t move. “Don’t engage.”