Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JAKE
The morning sun filters through the workshop’s grimy windows as I lean against Chase’s office doorframe, watching him pace like a caged animal.
His hair’s standing on end from running his hands through it, and there’s a wild look in his eyes I haven’t seen since the time he accidentally ordered the wrong engine for a customer’s Jag and had to tell them the restoration would be delayed by six weeks.
I watch him wear a groove in the concrete, steel-capped boots scraping with each agitated step.
Through the glass partition I can see the workshop humming with its usual Monday energy—José downing his second Red Bull, Asher prepping a panel for paint—the familiar sounds of productivity that have become the soundtrack to my life.
But all I can really focus on is the soft click of Stella’s heels as she moves between workstations, tablet in hand, completely in her element.
She’s wearing the red tartan skirt and white tank top that makes my cock twitch, and every time she bends to examine something or gestures while explaining a procedure, I have to look away before the guys notice me staring like a lovesick idiot.
Fuck, even in the middle of Chase’s crisis, I can’t stop thinking about her.
“When does he want to come in?” I ask, dragging my attention back to the problem.
“This afternoon. Around two.” Chase stops pacing long enough to check his watch, and I can see the panic building in his expression. “Fuck, Jake, it’s already past noon.”
My stomach drops. With Stella’s new full-time schedule, she’s here every day from eight until at least six. The woman’s dedicated as fuck, and while I admire her work ethic, it’s making this situation infinitely more complicated.
“She’s working full-time now,” I point out. “She’s not going to disappear for the arvo without questions. You know how she is about staying on top of everything.”
“I know that!” Chase snaps, then immediately looks apologetic.
He slumps against his desk, suddenly looking older than his twenty years.
“Sorry, mate. I’m just... this is a fucking mess.
We promised Arden and Stella that Doc would only come in when she wasn’t here.
But with her new schedule, she’s here almost every bloody day.
And it’s not like we can tell her to piss off for the afternoon without a good reason. ”
He’s right and we both know it. The promise was crystal clear—Doc’s visits would be scheduled around Stella’s absence to avoid any uncomfortable encounters.
Reasonable at the time, back when she was part-time with predictable days off.
Now she’s indispensable, running operations full-time, and the logistics are a nightmare.
“What if we just tell her?” I suggest, even as the words leave my mouth, I hear how terrible it sounds. “Explain the situation? She’s an adult. She can handle knowing her uncle needs to come in for a consultation.”
Chase gives me a look like I’ve suggested we set the place on fire and dance around the flames. “Jake, you know what Doc means to her. Or rather, what his abandonment means to her. She’s finally found her place here—finally confident and happy. Look at her.”
We both glance through the glass. She’s at José’s bay now, pointing something out on his tablet while he nods attentively.
There’s an authority in her posture that wasn’t there when she started; a confidence that comes from knowing she’s valued and respected.
She wears a small smile as she talks, eyes lighting when she’s in problem-solving mode.
The transformation’s been incredible to witness.
Two months ago she was a hesitant coffee shop worker who doubted her own abilities.
Now she’s our backbone—the person we all turn to when something needs organising or a crisis needs managing.
A big part of that confidence comes from feeling valued and wanted, something she’s never really had, if her past is anything to go by.
“She’s finally found her family,” Chase continues, his voice softer now.
“Us. This place. She belongs here in a way she’s never belonged anywhere else.
I’m not going to be the one to tell her that her estranged uncle—the man who abandoned her when she needed him most—is coming to visit the place where she’s finally found happiness. ”
He’s got a point, and I hate that he’s right.
Her progress is remarkable, but it’s also fragile.
She still has moments of doubt, times she questions whether she deserves the success she’s found.
Having Doc show up unexpectedly could undo weeks of emotional growth, could make her feel like she doesn’t truly belong here after all.
The thought of anything undermining her confidence makes my chest tight with protective anger.
I’ve watched her fight for every bit of respect she’s earned in this male-dominated environment.
I’ve seen her work twice as hard as she needs to just to prove she belongs.
The idea of Doc threatening that makes me want to hit something.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask, crossing my arms and trying to think of solutions. “Fake a gas leak and evacuate the building? Pretend the coffee machine’s broken and send her on a parts run?”
“I wish it were that simple.” Chase drops into his chair, the worn leather creaking. “We need her out for at least two hours, and it has to seem natural. She can’t suspect anything—if she finds out we deliberately got rid of her so Doc could visit, she’ll never trust us again.”
The weight of that sits heavy. Stella’s trust doesn’t come easy—she’s been burned too many times by people who were meant to care. If she discovers we’ve lied, even with good intentions, it could damage things in ways I’m not sure I can fix.
“Right,” I say grimly. “Because lying to my girlfriend about her uncle coming to her workplace is definitely going to end well when she finds out. And she will. The woman notices everything.”
“You got a better idea?”
Before I can answer, a knock on the door makes us both jump like we’ve been caught planning a heist. “Come in,” Chase calls, trying—and failing—to sound casual.
Stella appears in the doorway, looking absolutely stunning.
She’s been extra careful about outfits since the motor oil incident last week, claiming she doesn’t trust the workshop not to find new ways to ruin her clothes.
The memory of her covered head to toe in black oil—furious, magnificent, completely in charge despite her ridiculous situation, makes me smile despite the current mess.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, her voice carrying that professional tone she uses when she’s in full operations manager mode. “But are we expecting any deliveries this afternoon? The client schedule shows the Charger assessment, but there are no details about parts or materials.”
Fuck. Of course she’d catch the discrepancy. The woman has the memory of an elephant and the organisational skills of a military general. She probably has every delivery, appointment, and deadline memorised.
Chase and I trade a look, panic flaring again. This is exactly what we were afraid of—her attention to detail creating problems we hadn’t anticipated.
“Actually,” Chase says, voice a little too high and way too casual, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. The Charger consultation got moved to next week.”
Her brows pinch into that little furrow that appears when something doesn’t add up. “Really? When? I’ll need to update the schedule and notify the client.”
“I’ll handle it. I know them personally,” he blurts—too quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
Her expression shifts, and I can practically see her instincts kicking in. She hates being left out of scheduling changes; it goes against everything she’s built.
“Chase,” she says, a note of steel entering her voice that makes us both straighten, “I’m literally the operations manager. Scheduling changes go through me. That’s the point of having systems.”
“I know, I just?—”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
The question hangs in the air like a challenge, and I can see Chase starting to panic. His face is going red, and he’s doing that thing where he rubs the back of his neck when he’s nervous. If Stella notices—and she will because she notices everything—she’s going to know something’s up.
Time for damage control.
“Actually, darl,” I say, stepping closer and trying to project an air of casual affection rather than desperate deflection, “I was hoping we could grab lunch together. I want to chat about a few workshop improvements—and I’d like to take my girlfriend out.
” I say, turning on the smile I save for her.
She looks at me, and I can see her mentally shifting gears from work mode to girlfriend mode. It’s fascinating to watch the way her shoulders relax slightly, the way her expression softens, and the way her voice changes when she’s talking to me personally rather than professionally.
“Lunch sounds lovely,” she whispers, and for a second I think this might work, “but I’ve got so much to catch up on, and you’re needed here this afternoon. Maybe dinner instead?”
Shit. I need to be more persuasive.
“Come on,” I say, sliding my hands to her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the soft fabric of her dress. “When’s the last time you took an actual lunch break? You’ve been going non-stop since you went full-time. My work can wait.”
“That’s what happens when you’re proving yourself in a new position—and you really need to be here when Mr Clemens comes in to talk about his engine upgrades.”
“Stella,” I say gently, letting some of the genuine concern I feel creep into my voice, “you’ve already proven yourself. Multiple times. The workshop runs better than it has in years. You don’t have anything left to prove.”
She softens at the compliment, and I can see her resolve wavering, but I know it’ll take more than flattery to get her to abandon her work in the middle of the day.