Chapter 4
SLADE
I loosen the bolts and remove the valve cover.
“New rotors and brakes are done, and the car is back in the lot.” Carson leans up against the side panel.
“Did you text the owner?” I shove the ratchet into my back pocket and pull the cover off.
“Yeah.” He pushes off and turns, but I stop him.
“Can you stay late today? Something is supposed to be dropped off later, and I could use your help to take a quick look.”
“Sure. I’ve gotta run out quick, but I’ll come back. What is it?”
I inspect the seal, avoiding eye contact. “BMW X3.”
“We’re taking on imports now? And after hours?”
I don’t answer, pulling off the seal and reaching for the brake cleaner. I know what’s coming, and I don’t need it. I’m not sure why in the hell I’m making exceptions, but I agreed. Now, I’ll pay for it over the next few hours.
He rests his muscular build against the side panel again. “Who is she?”
I hear the shit-eating grin in his tone.
I don’t react. “Can you help later or not?”
“You can fess up now, or I’ll find out later. I’ll consider taking it easy on you if you just tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Wind stops next to Carson .
These guys like to roll into drama like a pig in shit. They are my employees, my friends, and I’d call them family.
“We’ve got a late arrival. BMW.” Carson crosses his arms over his chest.
“We’re taking imports now?” Wind frowns.
I straighten. “Would you busybodies get back to work? The garage needs to be cleared out.”
Carson’s head cocks to the side. Shit. “She needs the entire garage, too?”
I clench my jaw, knowing he’s just trying to get under my skin.
“She?” Wind holds up his hand. “Wait.” He looks at me. “This is a favor for a woman?”
There’s silence as Trig tunes in from the next stall over.
Wind huffs in disbelief. “You gotta be shitting me.” His hands fall to his hips. “When in the hell did you step out of your emotional isolation long enough to attract a woman? How did I miss this?”
I glare at him. “Emotional isolation?”
Carson grins ear to ear, deeply proud of his ability to stir shit up.
Wind shrugs. “Millie’s diagnosis.”
Millie is a shrink, and I need her to stop psychoanalyzing me.
Wind runs a hand down his beard. “She says that you’re emotionally unavailable because it gives you comfort. You push people away so you don’t have to risk getting hurt.”
I want to punch something. Maybe him. I spent all my emotions years ago, and ever since, maintaining moderate annoyance is all I can handle.
I groan as Trig joins the gossip girls crowding me with their suffocating attention. “You all can shove your head and emotional intelligence up your asses.”
They snicker.
I exhale slowly, gathering patience I don’t have. “She stopped in last night, a few minutes before closing. Kat sent her over. I told her she should take it to the dealer, but she wasn’t fond of my suggestion.”
“Katrina Dunn?” Trig grins with that slick, boyish smile .
I’d like to see Kat chew his flirty young ass up one side and down the other. Just the thought makes me almost smile.
“So . . .” It’s Carson’s dumb voice again. “This is a favor to Kat.” He sounds amusingly skeptical, but he can think whatever he wants.
I wouldn’t call it a favor, but Kat has helped me out a time or two, so I owe her. I’m also smart enough not to be on her shit list.
I cross my arms over my chest, staring these jokers down. “It’s a job, and this is how we do business. Would any of you idiots point to the door if a woman needed help?”
I know the answer, but I want to see them squirm because every one of them would do exactly what I did.
Silence. All eyes are everywhere but on me.
“Damn straight. Now get to work before I fire your asses.”
Trig is the first to depart our little sharing circle. “You won’t fire us. We clear cars out of here faster than anyone else would. Besides, if you have any shot at a date with this woman, you’re gonna need us.”
I hear snorts from Carson and Wind’s throats, holding back laughs.
I let my head fall back toward the ceiling, my eyes rolling with it. They are going to beat this to death and then beat it some more.
That’s all I hear for the rest of the afternoon. The comments and jabs are tossed across the space as they take aim at my preferred relationship status. Single.
Do I date? No. Have I slept with a woman here and there to scratch the itch? Sure, but it’s been a long time. It never ends well, and I don’t have time or any desire for that kind of drama in my life.
Eventually, Wind and Trig head out for the day, and Carson hollers that he’ll be back. The quiet that follows is nice. I print the specs for the BMW and check my watch. 5:10 p.m. Maybe she won’t be back after all.
I take a stack of invoices to my office and lay them on the desk when I hear the door bang closed. There’s shuffling and the click of heels, which tells me it’s her rather than Carson.
I head back out, and the woman stands on the other side of the counter, just inside the door, with her back to me .
“Do you always ignore business hours, or is it just my time you seem to discount?” I mean it as a joke, but she spins, appearing flustered as she blows her long hair out of her eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back.”
She adjusts the large purse draped across her body, and the corner of her mouth twitches. “I seriously contemplated it, but then I realized if my car is broken, I need someone who’ll get. It. Done. You seem just King-of-the-Pride-Lands enough to make it happen.”
She waits for a response, all unease slipping right under the satisfaction of her sarcasm.
I cross my arms over my chest. “King of the Pride Lands?”
She shrugs one shoulder, her chin tipping up slightly. “Felt fitting. You’re. . .a lit-tle liony.”
The sparkle in that one blue eye stirs something within me I can’t quite identify, but I need it to knock the hell off.
I hear noise as I step up to the counter. She twists, dropping down to—
“I have to get your car seat, ok?” she says softly. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
She straightens, and behind her is a little boy, four or five, maybe, sitting in one of the three chairs beside the door. My eyes flick to the carrier beside him, holding a baby dressed in an outfit with pink dinosaurs.
It starts to fuss, and she bends to rock it. “Shhh. I’ll be right back, Love Bug.”
“Do you need help?”
She turns, wobbling on one heel tucked somewhere underneath her high-waisted dress pants. “Uh. . .no. I just need to grab his seat and her base.”
Her phone rings, and she searches her large bag. The little boy stares up at me, his legs gently swinging back and forth. She finds her phone and checks the screen, her lip tucking between her teeth. Her eyes flick to mine and then to the boy.
She swipes and takes five steps away, answering .
No longer able to see her, the baby’s lips curve down and quiver as she starts to cry.
I glance over, and the woman is pacing, her hand on her forehead and whispering in forceful tones. I can’t help but wonder who’s on the other end of the line, getting an earful.
I lift my ball cap and run my hand through my hair as the baby’s cries build. I roll my neck and step out from behind the counter, squatting in front of the boy. The girl’s lower lip juts out further.
Well, shit.
I rock the carrier gently. “What’s your name, partner?”
The boy stares at me, and up close, just like his mother, his eyes are unique. Both are blue, but one has a large brown slice. His eyes run over my face, watching me closely.
“Who’s this guy?” I point to the tattered stuffed animal with bulging eyes, wondering who gives a kid a stuffed toy that looks like a bloated, dead fish. The crying ceases as if the fact that I can speak shocks her into silence.
The boy’s legs swing a little faster, his gaze dropping to the ugly fish and then bouncing back to me.
I glance over my shoulder at his mom, charging one way and then the other, her dress pants flowing around her as if she’s stalking the prey on the other end of the phone.
Her voice is low enough that I can’t hear her, but her face and gritted tone tell me this isn’t a friendly chat that could be postponed.
I continue to push against the edge of the carrier. The baby’s gray eyes track me despite the movement, gripping a raggedy, floppy lamb.
The boy wiggles in his seat, tucking the fish closer to his side.
“Does it have a name?” I point to his companion, and he stares at me, his eyes growing wide.
“You’re not familiar?” The voice comes over my shoulder, and it’s the return of that confident sass I experienced about this time yesterday. She leers over me, arms at her side, looking like she just went three rounds in the ring. “He’s Pout-Pout. ”
My gaze returns to the boy, a slight smile creasing the corners of his mouth. I stand. “Pout-Pout? Interesting name.”
She drops her phone in the great abyss slung at her side, her hands moving to her hips. “Funny, I’d think you’d make great friends. Pout Pout Fish spreads his dreary wearies all over the place.”
I face her and her amusement, but hear a muffled giggle from below.
I definitely won’t get paid enough for this.
“I need your information.” I round the counter and log into the computer, helping this along. “Name.” I keep my eyes trained on the screen, but when she doesn’t immediately reply, I find her staring.
“So, once you verify the issue, you’ll call me before you do anything?”
I straighten, crossing my arms over my chest. “It needs to be repaired. I just don’t know the specifics yet.”
Her head falls to the side slightly, her shoulders rolling back. “If this issue is serious or requires parts, will you send me a quote before proceeding?” She rephrases her question.
This woman and her distrust are grating on my very last nerve.
“Yes. I’ll note not to touch anything without discussing it with you.”
Her eyelids drop a few millimeters. “Thank you. That would be so kind.” She checks her watch as if I’m holding things up.