5. When You Can’t Apologize, Bring Donuts
”YOU’RE HERE EARLY.” Nancy stands at the open door of my office, a gray eyebrow raised in question. “Everything okay?”
I take another draw of the coffee I”m hoping will pump some life into my veins. ”Needed to finish the invoices I started Friday so I can get them sent out.” I tip my head in the direction of the break room. ”I brought donuts.”
Nancy lingers, studying me a little too closely. She”s old enough to be my mom, and regularly acts like it. I”ve never minded. Actually, I kinda like it. No one’s ever fussed over me the way she does, and it’s nice.
Usually. This morning I”m worried she might see too much. Might read into my uncharacteristic behavior and suss out the truth of what I’ve done.
And then judge me accordingly.
”Are they from the good doughnut place or the shitty one?” She peers at me through her glasses. ”And you better say they’re from the good donut place or I’m gonna be real disappointed in you.”
I slowly exhale, relieved that she doesn”t seem suspicious, but also knowing donuts are the least of what I’ve done that will disappoint her. ”You guys made it pretty fucking clear every one of you would quit if I ever brought the shitty donuts again, so I drove the extra fifteen minutes to get the good ones.” I set down my coffee cup and scan the neat stacks of invoices and quotes lining my desk. ”Because we’re so busy I can”t afford to lose a single one of you over some fried dough.”
Nancy shakes her head and blows out a long breath. ”I know that”s right. Speaking of, ” she thumbs over one shoulder, ”you need to start looking for somebody else for the paint shop. Those girls are covered up. They can’t keep up. Especially now that we’ve taken on those insurance jobs.”
“I’d help if I could, but my paint skills are decent at best.” When I started my business, I stuck with what I knew, which was mechanics. As my business grew—and Simon, Christian, and I fine-tuned our process for helping women like Myra and her friends—I decided to expand. Both so I could provide more employment opportunities to the women we crossed paths with, and to line my own pockets.
I grew up poor. Poorer than poor. Seeing the struggle it caused made me swear to myself that would never happen to me. I would never have to choose between food or shelter. Heat or medical care.
As a result, I became somewhat of a hoarder. Not of things, but of money.
I”m not stingy—I pay my employees the highest rate around. Plus, they get paid vacations and bonuses and healthcare.
But I sock away nearly every penny I make. That”s part of the reason my house looks the way it does. To fix it up would mean digging into my savings. And as long as I see that money sitting there, I have proof I”m nothing like my father.
Nancy gives me a wink. ”Don”t act like that”s the only reason you don”t want to lose any of us.” Her attention swivels away from me and she leans back, peering down the hall. ”Hey, Piper. Boss man brought us breakfast. There”s donuts in the breakroom.”
It takes everything in me not to react. Not to show my hand. Grabbing my coffee, I down the rest hoping the action will hide the guilt and need warring it out inside me. I must be successful, because Nancy vacates my door without asking any more questions or giving me any more lingering looks. I pretend like I go back to work, but every three seconds my attention strays, drifting to the hall outside. I can”t stop myself from watching for her. Waiting for my first hit of the day.
It’s fucking ludicrous.
I spin away, turning to the line of filing cabinets behind me, hoping that if I simply remove the temptation, the overwhelming desire to see her will go away.
After taking a few minutes to sift through everything that needs to be filed, I spend a few more putting the items where they belong. Restoring order always makes me feel better. Following a routine offers the same comfort. By the time I”m done, my shoulders have relaxed and my jaw has unclenched, leaving me feeling capable of handling the day as I turn back to my desk.
And come face-to-face with the bane of my existence.
Piper”s expression is uncertain, almost hesitant. She holds out a paper plate. ”I thought you might want one of these before they were all gone.” She settles the chocolate cake donut in front of me. ”The girls are circling those boxes like vultures and this was the only one left.” She lifts her shoulder and lets it drop, like this is no big deal. ”I figured you might as well get one you like since you bought them.”
I stare at her because I don”t know what the fuck to say to that.
”Unless you don”t want it, and in that case—” She reaches for the plate like she”s going to take it from me.
And I snatch it away, rolling back to put a little more distance between us. I”m not hungry. I eat the same breakfast every morning, slurping down instant oatmeal with a plastic spoon while I wait for the coffee to brew.
But I want this goddamned donut.
”I”ll take it.” My eyes find their way back to her, like they always do. ”How”s your ankle?”
She shrugs again. ”They were hoping putting me in a walking cast at the end would give me time to build my strength back up, but I still feel weak.” The last word carries a bitter edge.
I start to tell her it will get better. That if anyone can figure out how to be strong again, it”s her. But our conversations aren’t usually this calm, and it”s throwing me off.
Before I can get my shit together, Nancy strides in and deposits a fresh cup of coffee on my desk. ”Donuts were a hit.” She gives me a wink. ”You sure know the way to a woman”s heart.” She loops one arm through Piper’s, spinning her away from me. ”How are you this morning, honey? Is it nice having that cast off your foot?”
I can”t hear Piper”s answer because Nancy leads her out of my office and the chatter from the rest of my employees in the breakroom a couple doors down drowns out her words.
I was hoping the weekend would give me time to reset. Time to put some much-needed distance between Piper and me. I stayed in my house and did my best to pretend she wasn’t right next door. But instead of feeling better two days of not seeing her has left me starved. Hungry for the sound of her voice. For the fight she always puts up. Her sarcasm and her wit. I”ve always been drawn to her, but now that I”ve had my hands on her—and my cock inside her—I can’t get enough. And it’s driving me up a wall.
”Hey, Tate.” Nancy pokes her head into my office. ”Brittany called in. Her little boy is sick, so she”s not gonna make it in today.”
Thank fucking God. I”m not happy that Brittany”s kid is sick, but her absence has just offered me a reprieve.
I”m up from my desk immediately, rounding the edge, knowing I need to move fast before I end up giving myself away. ”I’ll work in the back today. Make sure we don”t fall behind.” I go straight past Nancy and turn down the hall, keeping my eyes in front of me to avoid letting them catch on the hellion of a brunette making me question the ethics I thought I”d found.
I spend the rest of the day in the back, working side-by-side with the women who are as much my family as the men I call my brothers.
That”s what makes this gnawing ache I feel toward Piper so fucking awful. I should be treating her like everyone else here. Should be able to easily keep our interactions professional. I”ve never had a problem like this. Never seen a woman who works for me as anything more than an employee and friend. And I don’t know what to do. How to change it.
Thankfully, the shop is busy as hell today, so between the never-ending stream of cars we’re trying to get through, and the lingering summer heat making the shop sweltering, I’m finally able to get my mind off of Piper. When five o”clock hits, I decide to make sure that streak continues, puttering around cleaning up and straightening tools to make sure we don’t cross paths.
Once everything is quiet, I make my way back toward my office, collecting my keys so I can head home to hide out and once again pretend Piper isn”t right next door. After flipping off the lights, I make my way to the side exit leading to the employee lot. As I round the corner, I collide with someone rushing inside. The soft body pressed into mine is as familiar as the sweet scent of cherries and vanilla.
Piper”s eyes widen and she swings to look back out the glass door. ”I thought you were gone. Your Jeep’s not in the lot.”
I shake my head. ”Not gone. I parked in the back this morning.” I didn”t want to take the closest spots away from my employees. But more than that, I didn”t necessarily want them all to know I was the first one here, rolling in before dawn because sleep eluded me. ”Why are you still here?”
Piper shifts on her feet, and I”m not really sure if it”s because her injured ankle is bothering her, or if it”s because she”s nervous. The way she”s chewing her lower lip has me thinking it”s the latter.
”I just didn”t want to stand outside and wait for Lydia to come get me.” She lifts up her cell phone. ”I”m getting ready to call her now.”
I”m trying to follow her explanation, but it”s not making sense. ”Why is Lydia coming to get you?”
Piper’s lips press together, like she doesn”t want to tell me. I wait her out. I know she can”t resist the need to open her mouth for long. It’s not even five seconds before she blows out a breath and rolls her eyes. ”My car won”t start. It”s been weird for a couple days, and I”m sure it”s nothing, but—”
”Are you fucking kidding me?” I”m pissed. Pissed at her ridiculousness. Pissed at myself for making her be this fucking ridiculous. ”Why the hell would you call Lydia when I”m right fucking here?”
Piper”s eyes widen on a glare. ”I didn”t know you were right here, dick.” Her chin tips as she continues staring me down. ”And why would I call you? You obviously don”t want to be anywhere near me.”
If she only knew.
”Why wouldn’t I want to be near you?” It”s a solid question. One I hope she answers, because I would love some solid reasons to stay away from her.
But instead of offering them up, Piper’s skin flushes. Her pupils dilate and her lips part, and the reaction does everything but make me want to stay away.
She blinks, shaking her head a little like she”s coming back to her senses after getting lost in the memory of what happened between us a few short days ago. ”You hid in your house all weekend and then you spent all day today in the back.” She glazes right over my question and instead explains her evidence of my avoidance.
And she”s not wrong. I did hide in my house all weekend. It was fucking miserable knowing she was so goddamn close and that I had to stay away, but I made it through. The same way I made it through today.
And the same way I’ll have to make it through tomorrow.
Piper sighs, the sound ending on a groan. ”You know what? I”m just gonna call Lydia. I don’t feel like dealing with you.”
I snatch her phone away. ”Absofuckinglutely not.” I hold out my other hand. ”Give me your keys.”
Instead of passing them over, Piper shoves me in the center of my chest. ”Don”t tell me what to do, ass.”
I know she thinks she”s giving me shit, but all she”s doing is making me want her more. Every time she comes at me—every jab and eye roll she sends my way—shoots straight to my dick.
”Fine.” My palm is still upturned, waiting. ”Can I please have your keys?”
The change in my tone has her eyes narrowing, watching me warily. ”Why?”
”I don”t know if you realize this, but I”m a fucking mechanic, and I”d like to figure out what”s wrong with your fucking car.” I let the sarcasm weave through my answer because she likes the way we fight just as much as I do. It feeds her like it feeds me. Nourishes her fucked-up parts the same as it does mine.
And I”m willing to bet those fucked-up parts are connected to the same person who made her believe some people need killing.
”Fine.” Piper slaps her keys into my hand.
I hold up the jumbled mess, taking in the collection of random keychains, eyes lingering on a fluffy, hot pink ball before tipping my head to meet her gaze.
”Is there a problem?” She crosses her arms, daring me to point out the bizarreness of what I”m holding.
Oddly, I kinda like it. The mass of rainbows, a fake chicken nugget, and pepper spray reminds me of her. Chaotic. All over the place. A contradiction of colors and textures and materials that are all connected. ”Let”s go check out your car.”
With her keys in my hand, I lead Piper outside, dropping into her driver”s seat before attempting to turn over the engine. Her car’s old enough that it has an actual key for the ignition, but still in good shape, so I”m not expecting it to be anything major. I pay attention to the sounds it makes as she comes and goes every day, so I would have noticed if something serious was wrong.
The single click when I turn the key tells me everything I need to know, and I get back out, reaching under the dash to pop her hood before moving to the front bumper.
Piper chases behind me, staring at the side of my head as I lift the hood and prop in place. ”What are you doing?”
”I”m gonna fix your car.” For some reason, I finally feel settled. I spent the day uneasy and irritable, and now, even though I”m still technically working, I’m more relaxed than I”ve been in days.
”I don”t need you to fix my car. I can take care of this myself.” She grabs her keys from where I shoved them in my front pocket, the overflow making them easy to retrieve. ”Give me my phone. I”ll call Lydia to come get me and then tomorrow I can have one of the girls fix whatever”s wrong.”
Her voice is a little wobbly, and it has me turning her way. There”s a panicked look in her eyes, and I don”t fucking like it.
”Why don”t you want me to help you, Piper?” My question isn’t accusatory, just curious. Why does the thought of me replacing a simple battery have her skin pale and her breathing sharp?
”Because I can take care of myself. I don”t need someone else to do it for me.” She holds her hand out. ”Now give me my phone.”
I study her for a minute, taking the tiny fragments of what she”s offered and fitting them together as best I can. It doesn”t give me much, but there”s enough there for me to understand Piper doesn”t want to rely on anyone. It”s a sentiment I appreciate an unfortunate amount.
”Okay.” I lean against the front of her car as an idea forms. ”Then how about I teach you to fix this? That way when it happens again, you”ll know what to do.”