Working for Her Heart (Hard Hat Hotties #10)
Chapter One
Jessa
My jaw aches from how tightly it's clenched. At this point, I’m afraid some of my teeth might shatter. I’m going to kill my mom. I can’t believe she set me up with this douche nozzle. His nasally voice scrapes my eardrums painfully, the same as if it were an actual cheese grater.
If it were just his voice, I might overlook it, but the way Phineus Lionel Buckingham the third (yes this is how he introduced himself—gag) has been droning on and on about how he single-handedly won the recent case for his firm has me plotting all kinds of creative paybacks for the woman who birthed me.
Every snap of his fingers at our waiter, and every ogle of my cleavage—of which there have been too many of each to count—has only upped the level of chaos I plan to inflict on her.
The fingernails of my left hand dig into my fleshy thigh so I can focus on something else and keep from rolling my eyes at the pretentious prick with an overly inflated ego across from me.
I should’ve left the minute he opened his mouth and introduced himself, but I got all dressed up, which I never do, and I’ve heard this restaurant is amazing.
Eating here is not in my budget, nor is it something I’d ever consider doing without an extremely good reason to celebrate, like winning the lottery.
The food was delicious, even if it was hard to appreciate it with the pompous jackass blathering. Thank God, we’re almost done. The minute he snaps for the check I’m out of here.
As if the heavens are finally answering my prayers, our waiter appears beside our table. “Let me clear these plates for you. Will you be having dessert tonight?”
My relief is short lived when the condescending twat across from me locks eyes with my chest and licks his lips. “I think we’ll be having dessert elsewhere.”
I retch, throwing up in my mouth, my skin crawling from his leer. My chair hits the floor I stand so hastily. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. Thanks for dinner and all.”
My date’s jaw tightens as his gaze narrows on me and hisses, “You’re kidding right? You’re going to stick me with the bill and not even put out?”
My head rears back, the fucking audacity of this douche canoe. “You chose the restaurant, and just because you buy a woman dinner doesn’t mean she owes you a damn thing,” I seethe.
Apparently his behavior hasn’t gone unnoticed because the tables around us break out in applause, and the waiter announces, “Not to worry miss. Your dinner is on the house. It’s the least we can do.
Let me escort you out.” He sweeps his arm toward the exit, following me as I stride out, head held high.
I pause at the door. “Thank you so much. I really don’t feel right sticking you with my bill. How much do I owe?”
He shakes his head and winks. “No worries, we have a fund for just this sort of problem.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I kid you not. It actually happens far too often. Rich entitled pricks. Our prices are exorbitantly high so we can afford it. Now, do you need a ride?”
“No, I drove, thank God, and I can’t thank you enough for coming to the rescue.”
“My pleasure. Hope the rest of your night goes better.”
With a wave, I exit the building and hustle to my car. I want to get out of there before the jackwagon leaves as well.
My mood lifts when I slide onto the butter soft leather seat of my baby.
Carla purrs to life with a twist of the key.
I barely restrain myself from peeling out of the parking lot, but as soon as I hit the highway, I put my foot down, shifting through the gears like I’m in the Daytona 500.
The V8 engine roars and the 300 horses run as if they’re in the derby homestretch.
My insides tingle at the rush. Nothing compares to the surge of power you can only get in a beauty of this caliber. Pure classic American muscle. The sun sinking in the sky glints off the metallic blue paint with two white stripes on the hood.
The stress of the disastrous date slips away as if blown elsewhere by the wind while my tires eat up the pavement like a ravenous lion with its captured prey.
I’m a long way from forgiving my mother for putting me in that position to begin with, but the open road does wonders to soothe the searing anger.
The reality is she would never knowingly set me up with someone like him. Her heart was in the right place, trying to get me back out there after Jerome cheated on me. This date just proves that men are not worth the turmoil. I’d rather be alone than deal with this shit.
There’s not a damn thing wrong with a woman not needing a man.
Carla abruptly loses power, slowing even though I haven’t let up on the gas. With a sigh, I pull over on the shoulder, where thankfully there’s plenty of room to get safely off the road. Reaching into the glove box, I fish out the screwdriver, which is in there for just such situations.
My Uncle Jackson, who helped raise me, had me turning wrenches with him as soon as I was old enough to toddle after him in the garage. We restored Carla together when I was in high school. He’s the only father I’ve ever known—my own wanting nothing to do with my mom after she got pregnant.
I climb out, shut the door, and round to the front. Pulling the lever to pop the hood, I lift it up. I tap the handle of the screwdriver on the finicky carburetor to dislodge the float, which occasionally gets stuck.
I glance to the side when the roar of a motorcycle goes by and catch a sleek matte black Harley Fat Boy out of the corner of my eye.
A groan falls from me when it slows, pulling over instead of continuing on.
I’m definitely not in the mood to be mansplained to from some biker who probably is nothing more than a weekend warrior, and doesn’t know a carburetor from a spark plug, but because he has a penis, it makes him an expert on all things.
Arms crossed, I turn toward him, hip cocked, resigned to dealing with yet another douchebag. I’m glad my arms are over my chest, because the rugged, brawny mountain who swings around to face me has my nipples pebbling on sight.