Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
STELLA
It’s nearly seven PM on Friday, and I’m still hunched over my desk, surrounded by invoices, supplier contracts, and what feels like a mountain of paperwork that keeps growing despite my best efforts.
I’ve clocked almost fifty hours here this week.
My neck aches from staring at the computer screen, and my feet are killing me in these heels, but I’m determined to get through this pile tonight.
It’s been one hell of a week.
In five days, I’ve managed to send out overdue invoices totalling nearly forty thousand dollars, negotiate payment plans with three suppliers who were threatening to cut off credit, and establish a client communication system that’s already reduced complaint calls by half.
The coffee machine alone has improved morale so much that the guys seem excited to come to work each morning.
But fuck, there’s still so much to do. The filing system is non-existent, and the insurance paperwork was just thrown on top of the pile of papers strewn all over the desk. I’m not even sure if I have them all, but at least, according to the insurance company, everything is okay on their end.
And don’t even get me started on the state of inventory management. It might take longer than I thought to get this place running like a proper business.
The workshop has gone quiet now. Chase left around five-thirty, José and Asher knocked off at six, but I can still hear the occasional clang of tools from Jake’s workstation.
Of course, he’s still here. The man seems to live and breathe cars, and from what I’ve observed this week, he’s brilliant at what he does.
Which makes my attraction to him even more inconvenient.
All week, there’s been this constant undercurrent between us—stolen glances, seemingly innocent touches that linger too long, banter that walks the line between professional and flirtatious.
Every time he calls me ‘darl’ in that low, gravelly voice, my pussy clenches, and I have to remind myself we’re at work.
Tuesday morning, when I showed up early with the coffee machine, the way he pressed up against me while I was making coffee.
.. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell that intoxicating mix of motor oil and masculine scent that seems to follow him everywhere.
For a moment, I thought he might actually kiss me right there in front of everyone.
Wednesday, he brought me lunch—just a sandwich from the café down the street—but the way his fingers brushed mine when he handed it over sent a flashfire shooting up my arm.
When I thanked him, he said, “Anything for you, darl,” and I swear I saw that same flicker of recognition in his eyes that I’ve been trying to ignore all week.
Thursday was the worst. I was trying to reach a file on a high shelf, and suddenly he was behind me, his front pressed against my back as he reached over me to grab it.
His breath was hot against my ear when he said, “Need a hand?” and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from moaning.
When I turned around, we were so close I could count his eyelashes, and for a heartbeat, I thought he was going to kiss me.
Then Chase walked in asking about parts delivery, and the moment was shattered.
But it’s the way he looks at me that really gets to me. Like he’s undressing me with his eyes. Like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, what I want and need. Like he remembers every detail of that night at Grumpy’s just as clearly as I do.
Because I’m almost certain now that it was him. The voice, the hands, the way he touches me—it all fits. But he hasn’t said anything, and neither have I, and this tension is driving me fucking mental.
The smart thing would be to keep it that way.
Whatever happened that night at Grumpy’s should stay buried in the past where it belongs.
We both need these jobs. I’m finally building something real here, proving myself in a world that doesn’t hand opportunities to women easily.
Not to mention, I won’t let Arden down. He’s given me a chance.
And Jake? He’s been here longer than anyone, has the respect of the team, and a reputation built on years of skill and reliability.
Getting involved would complicate everything.
Workplace relationships are messy at the best of times, and when one person is technically the other’s boss?
That’s a recipe for disaster. Better to keep things professional, maintain the boundaries, pretend that the memory of his hands on my body doesn’t make me clench my thighs together every time I look at him.
I lean back in my chair and stretch, rolling my shoulders to try to ease the knots.
Through the glass partition, I can see Jake working.
His coveralls are unzipped to the waist, tied around his hips, leaving him in just a tight black t-shirt that shows off every muscle in his arms and chest. There’s a smudge of grease on his cheek, and his dark hair is dishevelled from running his hands through it.
Except my body doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo about professional boundaries.
He looks up at that moment and catches me staring. A slow smile spreads across his face, and he wipes his hands on a rag before walking toward the office.
No. No. No.
I quickly turn back to my computer, pretending to be absorbed in the spreadsheet on my screen, but I can feel him approaching like a magnetic pull.
“Working late again?” he asks.
“Someone has to sort this mess out,” I answer without glancing up. “And it’s not going to happen during normal business hours.”
“You’ve been at it all week. Don’t you think you deserve a break?”
I finally look at him, and it’s a mistake. Those dark eyes are fixed on me with an intensity that makes my mouth go dry. “I’ll rest when I’m caught up.”
“That could take months.”
“Then I guess I’ll be working late for months.”
He steps into the office, closing the door behind him, and suddenly the space feels so much smaller. “The others have gone home.”
“I noticed.”
“So, it’s just you and me.”
“Apparently.” My breathing turns shallow as he moves closer, coming around to my side of the desk. This is a bad idea. My head and body are clearly in a battle. I should be stronger than whatever is happening between us. I should just tell him to leave, or I will.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about something all week.” His voice drips with seduction, and it takes all I have not to squirm in my chair. All I have to hide the desire, I’m certain, is written all over my face.
“What’s that?” I push back from my desk and swivel my chair to face him. Unable to do the responsible thing and ignore his advance.
“That night at Grumpy’s. The masquerade party.” My heart starts pounding. He knows it was me. I fucking knew it.
“What about it?” I question, trying to fight the impulsive need to move closer to him.
“I keep thinking about this girl I met. Fiery red hair, incredible legs, and a body that should be worshipped. She was wearing a green mask that matched her eyes perfectly. Haven’t been able to get her out of my head since. I wonder why that is.”
I can barely breathe, and God, the last part. It’s like he crawled inside and stole what I’ve been thinking. “Sounds like you had an interesting night.”
“Oh, it was more than interesting. It was fucking unforgettable.” He steps closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. “She let me touch her in ways that still make me hard just thinking about it.”
“Jake...” I whisper.
“Tell me it wasn’t you, Stella. Tell me I’m imagining the way you react every time I call you ‘darl’. Tell me you don’t remember what it felt like to have my hand around your throat while I made you come.”
The words hit me out of nowhere, just like he did, and I can’t control the instant reaction they have on my body.
My nipples pebble and peak, and there’s a throb pounding at my sex that’ll be impossible to ignore until he sates it.
My head is still telling me this is a terrible idea.
We should be professional. But my body is betraying me. It remembers that night.
“I...” I start, but I can’t form words.
“You knew,” he says, and it’s not a question. “You’ve known all week.”
“Not for certain,” I manage. “I suspected, but...”
“But?”
“I needed to be sure, and I didn’t want to complicate things here. I’m only just starting, and I need this job, Jake.”
He nods and reaches out to slowly trail one finger along my jaw. I shiver at the contact. “And now? Now are you sure?”
Instead of answering, I stand up, bringing us even closer together. We’re almost chest to chest, and I can feel the heat radiating off his body.
“What are you doing, Jake?” My head is still telling me to walk away. However, being this close to him, my need is taking over.
“What I’ve been wanting to do all fucking week.”
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb tracing over my bottom lip. “I’ve thought about you every single night since then. Wondered what you’d feel like underneath me. What you’d sound like moaning my name.”
My next breath comes out needy. “This is a terrible idea. I’m technically your boss, and we need to maintain professional boundaries,” I whisper, even as I lean into his touch.
“Probably,” he agrees, but his other hand finds my waist, yanking me against him. “But I don’t give a fuck anymore.”
His mouth comes down on mine, and it’s like a dam breaking.
All the tension, all the words we’ve been swallowing for a week, they detonate in the kiss.
And when his tongue flicks against the seam of my lips, I don’t hesitate.
I open for him like I’ve been waiting my whole damn life for this exact moment.
He tastes like coffee, just like I remember, but this time, it’s so much better.
A gasp tears from my mouth when he fists my hair, angles my head, and kisses me like a man possessed. He drags me forward with zero patience, zero care for consequences.