Chapter 2 #2
“Not sure I’ve been called that before.” She surveys the space. “Although I seem to recall a relatively recent low-class bitch reference.”
Her amused gaze spears mine, and even across the space, I force myself not to react—her eyes: one brown and one blue. My gaze flicks between them, subconsciously examining the shocking difference and wondering if it’s natural.
She stares at me, her arms folding across her chest.
“Umm, I thought . . . Sorry, we’re closed.”
Her eyes drop to her watch. “You’re closed?”
I think it’s a question. “We wrap up at five.”
Her arm drops to her side, her shoulders rolling back. “It’s two ‘til.”
I rest my hands on my hips. “Not much we do here can be solved in two minutes.”
Her head falls to the side an inch. “Great.” She pushes out a breath as her eyes roam around the space again, and then she turns for the door.
“Did you need something?”
She twists back, the look on her face telling me she’s debating reiterating my statement about being closed, but decides to forgo it. “My car has a whirring sound, like a garbage disposal. Katrina Dunn said you all were the best.”
Stiff posture, confident stare, and a large, expensive bag. Lawyer.
I’ve seen Kat Dunn in action. She’s not someone I’d ever want to oppose in a verbal sparring match. If my instincts can be trusted, I’d venture this woman might be the same.
“A garbage disposal?”
Her shoulders roll back, and her arms cross over her body again. “Yes. I need it looked at to be sure it’s nothing significant.”
Shit.
I’d like to tell her to come back tomorrow, but she won’t be back, and that’s not the way we do business here. Even when it comes to lawyers.
“What make and model?” I grab a clipboard and a pen. I have a distinct feeling I’m going to regret this.
When she doesn’t respond, I find her staring at me.
I raise an eyebrow. “Do you just want to show me?”
“2021 BMW X3.” It rolls right off her tongue .
I lower the clipboard. “I don’t carry parts for imports.”
Her shoulders ease down. . .barely. “So, you can’t help me?”
Can I help? Yes. Is it most efficient? No. Does this information allow me a huge excuse and save me from dealing with this woman, who most likely thinks the rest of us are all just minions? Hell yeah.
“I send all imports to the dealer.”
Her hand grips her purse strap, and her hip juts out to the side. “Just take it to the dealer?”
She needs to stop asking me questions and making it sound like I’m incompetent and incapable.
“Dealers have direct connections to suppliers. If you need parts, they’ll get them faster.”
“You can’t get parts if they’re needed?” One thin eyebrow raises, waiting for my answer.
I inhale and let it out slowly, knowing I’ll want to punch myself in the face for being baited, but I think that’s exactly what’s happening.
I shove the pen into the clipboard and grab my keys. “Do you have an issue letting me hear this ‘whirring’ sound?”
She doesn’t move, but I feel her watching me.
“Go for a drive? With you?” Her confident tone downshifts into something a touch softer.
I turn to her. “Yes.”
Those eyes run over me for a long, silent moment. “Uh. Sure.”
I step around her, reaching for the door, and she hurries out. I follow, her heels clicking against the pavement as we cross to her BMW. I might be wrong, but it looks like she’s limping.
She climbs in while I press the button to move the seat back.
She drops her bag in the back, keeping a grip on her phone while she watches me work to fold myself into the small space. It smells like sunshine, and just registering that has me wanting to plug my nose.
Instead of starting the car, she swipes her phone, her fingers flying over the screen.
“What are you doing?” I don’t have time to sit here while she conducts business or whatever the hell it is.
Her brown eye peeks at me from the corner.
“Texting someone. I don’t make a habit of getting into a car with borderline rude men.
” She glances at me, a slight smirk pulling at her lips, all self-assurance returning.
“If I end up on an episode of Unsolved Mysteries, at least they can’t caption it with ‘It was her own damn fault she’ll never be found. ’”
She misses my eye roll. “Borderline?”
She smiles and finishes tapping out her message with a little shrug. “The scale is fluid. We’ll see how our cozy little test ride goes.”
She sets her phone in the door handle and starts the car.
I exhale, already completely sassed out, and I need this to be quick. “When do you hear the noise? All the time?”
She backs out of the spot. “I’m not sure. It seems to occur when I’m slowing to turn or accelerating from a stop.”
She stops before exiting the parking lot.
“How long ago did you first notice it?”
She turns right. “A few weeks ago, maybe, but it’s becoming more frequent.”
I point. “Take a right here, and two blocks down we’ll try a couple of things.”
“Yes, sir.” She flexes her hands on the steering wheel, and my gaze skirts over the space where no ring resides.
I want to jab my eyes out for unconsciously noticing, but I grunt instead.
“Forgive me, I’m having anxiety-provoking flashbacks of my driver’s test.” She slows through a two-way stop.
“Trouble passing?”
“No, I had this scary old dude who barked orders and sucked his teeth so hard I started to panic one might come loose and pop out on the dash.”
I glance at her, wondering if this is some kind of tactic she uses to defuse situations or if she’s for real. Her eyes remain focused, dead ahead .
She follows directions, taking us to the quiet streets behind the garage.
“Come to a full stop up here, and then accelerate slowly,” I direct.
She brakes, bringing the car to a halt. I listen, watching the odometer as she presses the gas. When the needle just passes the twenty-mile-per-hour mark, I hear what she might describe as the grind of a garbage disposal.
I hold my hand out. “Stop, and do it again.”
“Did you hear it?” Her tone holds a hint of excitement, as if she were doubting herself, which I find incredibly interesting.
“Maybe.” I’m not confirming anything, but I definitely heard it.
She pulls to a stop again. “What is it?”
“Shhhh.” I hold out my hand as she eases off the brake. I lean over the center console, squeezing between the seats toward the back to hear better. My chest bumps her shoulder, and she shifts closer to the door, giving me room.
I listen for the sound, but my dumbass senses identify that the smell of flowers and coconuts is her. Rather than being suffocating, it’s light and nice, but definitely not what I should be taking note of.
There’s a distinct grinding, and it sounds like her left back tire might roll right off.
“That’s it. Did you hear it?”
I resituated myself beside her. “Yeah. Go right here, and it’ll take us back to the garage.”
“What is it?”
I run a hand over my short beard. “I’ll have to get it up on the lift to be sure, but it sounds like the wheel bearing.”
Silence carries us back to the garage, and she follows me inside.
I set the clipboard down next to the computer, waking it.
“Sooooo, what does that mean if it’s a wheel bearing?” She stands on the other side of the counter, watching me.
I pull up the vehicle specs. “I need to look at it, but that’s what it sounds like. Could be a rotor getting stuck, but— ”
“What does that mean? What will it take to fix it?” The questions fly at me with a hint of frustration.
I cross my arms. “You’ll have to leave it, and let me take a look to see what parts are needed. Then, I’ll be able to give you a timeline.”
Her gaze turns to the truck sitting over the pit. “A timeline? So, you’re saying this will take a few days?”
“If you’re lucky.”
She nods slowly. “And how much will this cost?”
I pull up our schedule.
“Not sure. I need a parts list before I can tell you that, but you’ll need an appointment for me to look at it first.”
She swipes at her phone, her fingers tapping away, then stops as she scrolls and reads. She presses her finger to her lips, then scrolls some more and stops to read.
Is she googling it? Shit, she’s probably researching the process to install a new bearing.
I brace my arms on the counter. “What are you doing?”
Those eyes peek up at me from underneath her dark eyelashes, and I have to be careful not to stare awkwardly.
Her gaze moves back to her screen. “I need a few minutes.”
“The shop closed at five.”
She ignores me, slowly scrolling and zeroing in on whatever she’s investigating.
“How long will this take? You fact-checking me?” That gets her attention, and her head comes up to meet my stare.
“If I want to rip you off, I’ll break five other things in the process of just fixing the one.
At some point, you’re gonna have to trust me, or you can take it to the dealer and see if you like their answer better. ”
The hand with her mini research engine falls to her side, and her eyelids droop. It’s clear that trusting me isn’t something she’s inclined to do.
“Thank you for your time. What do I owe for the listen?” She reaches into her massive purse, digging inside .
Why the hell do women need to carry around suitcases? How much shit can they possibly need? All. The. Damn. Time?
“You shouldn’t be driving it. It’s not safe.”
Her hand stalls, and her eyes spear mine. “Yeah, well, I appreciate your time, but—”
“The wheel could fall off while you’re driving. You can’t drive it like that.”
I see her chest expand and then slowly retract, like she’s seeking patience, which makes two of us.
“I need a car.”
“Get a rental. It’s what most folks do.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Just get a rental,” she mumbles, her lips curling into a vague smile.
She starts to sway back and forth, her lips pushed to the side, thinking. “What’s the percentage chance of my wheel actually falling off?”
I scratch my beard. I know this woman isn’t dumb. “Is that something you’re really willing to gamble on?”
She presses her eyes closed and runs her fingers over her forehead.
I have no idea what I’m doing, except I think of Krissy and how I’d hope someone would help her. “You leave it, and I’ll see if I can fit it in tomorrow. I can let you know what I find.”
She stops rocking. “I can’t. . .just leave it.” She wraps her arms around herself, her eyes falling away. She pushes out a long breath. “Is it possible to drop it off tomorrow before you close?”
I don’t even have to look to know the schedule is completely full. I also don’t know what it is about this woman that has me considering exceptions.
“Fine. We close at five. If it’s after that, you can drop the keys in the drop box.”
She watches me for only a second before nodding. “All right, I’ll have it here tomorrow.” Her weight shifts to her other foot, and her brow furrows, but then it’s gone .
“Ok.”
She turns, and I definitely see her limp as she tugs the door open. I wonder what happened.
It bangs closed, and I run a hand over my face. What in the hell is wrong with me? I shake my head, knowing the guys will give me nothing but shit for this when they find out.
I log off the computer and lock up, ready to get to the gym to burn off the flustered annoyance running through me. It’s uncomfortable and irritating as hell.
I don’t make exceptions and push other jobs aside.
I don’t like lawyers.
I shove out a breath as I climb into my truck and start it. I have a feeling I just agreed to something I’m really going to wish I hadn’t.