address—”
“Hello,” a female called from the front of the garage.
“Erica? Erica!” The volume increased and the tone roughened. “My car made it five miles before it broke down!”
No , she silently whimpered on her trip out. That
wasn’t possible. She recognized the voice, knew the GMC had been in peak
condition when it had left. Erica went cold.
“Mrs. Hamon.” Erica greeted the older woman with a smile she
wasn’t feeling. “What happened?”
The woman’s pinched expression didn’t bode well. “I got the
car home. Parked it. And then the next day when I went to the general store,
the damn thing wouldn’t start! I had to have Harold drive me home! I paid you
extra money simply because I heard you did better work than everyone else. This
isn’t better work. This is the worst work I’ve ever had!”
“I’ll come out and fix it—”
“No.” The woman slashed a hand through the air. “Jared is
already working on it. I want a refund.”
Erica ground her teeth to avoid growling aloud.
Of course Jared had jumped in with assistance. He was like
an ambulance chaser. The guy had probably cackled gleefully like an old-timey
bad guy, twirling a handlebar moustache around his finger. Given half the
chance he’d certainly tie her to a train track and run the locomotive over her
himself.
“Of course,” Erica said even though it killed her not to
insist she get a look at what had happened. The car had been perfect
when it left—better even than when it had arrived, because she’d done an extra
flush of the fuel system and hadn’t charged Mrs. Hamon for it.
She asked the woman for the card she’d used to charge the
work. Silently she reversed the charges. There went three hundred dollars she
needed to make ends meet.
Erica slumped against the counter once the woman was out of
sight. Could things get any worse? This was the second complaint she’d
had in a week. And her competition had managed to hear about them all. Jared
would turn up with another offer to buy the garage. No doubt it would be less
than he’d offered the first time and twice as condescending.
“Everything okay?”
Her back stiffened upon finding the blond at the door to the
garage. How much had Drew heard? Did he know she was slowly failing her father?
“Everything is fine,” she lied.
His features crinkled, for what reason she didn’t know.
Rather than ask, she turned her back on him and began the disheartening task of
documenting her failure in the books.
She was lying.
Drew hadn’t known Erica long but he knew enough to work that
much out. That customer had rampaged through the garage, demanding her money
back with absolutely no explanation for why she deserved it. Where was the
broken-down car as proof? Where was the mechanic’s note explaining what Erica
had done wrong?
There was no way everything was fine .
It shouldn’t have bothered him that Erica lied to him. But
when one of the things he’d liked best about her—her
forthrightness—disappeared, it didn’t please him. He certainly shouldn’t have
been irritated that she’d intentionally hid her problems.
By doing so she’d unintentionally admitted she didn’t think
him capable of helping her. And that bothered him.
Drew glanced around her garage, hoping for inspiration on
how to help. He knew fuck-all about cars. But he knew women. And this one
needed help even if she wouldn’t admit it.
He shook himself. Why in the hell should he help her? He
couldn’t help himself.
Yet she’d given him a place on a cot in an air-conditioned
room when he’d done nothing but insult her. She’d only asked him to clean up
after himself. When was the last time anyone had helped him simply to help?
They’d always wanted to get closer to him so they’d have a
better chance of making Adept level from his brother. Or they’d wanted diamonds
and a ticket to a show. There was also the game of seeing who could keep him
interested the longest. His recent
“Hello,” a female called from the front of the garage.
“Erica? Erica!” The volume increased and the tone roughened. “My car made it five miles before it broke down!”
No , she silently whimpered on her trip out. That
wasn’t possible. She recognized the voice, knew the GMC had been in peak
condition when it had left. Erica went cold.
“Mrs. Hamon.” Erica greeted the older woman with a smile she
wasn’t feeling. “What happened?”
The woman’s pinched expression didn’t bode well. “I got the
car home. Parked it. And then the next day when I went to the general store,
the damn thing wouldn’t start! I had to have Harold drive me home! I paid you
extra money simply because I heard you did better work than everyone else. This
isn’t better work. This is the worst work I’ve ever had!”
“I’ll come out and fix it—”
“No.” The woman slashed a hand through the air. “Jared is
already working on it. I want a refund.”
Erica ground her teeth to avoid growling aloud.
Of course Jared had jumped in with assistance. He was like
an ambulance chaser. The guy had probably cackled gleefully like an old-timey
bad guy, twirling a handlebar moustache around his finger. Given half the
chance he’d certainly tie her to a train track and run the locomotive over her
himself.
“Of course,” Erica said even though it killed her not to
insist she get a look at what had happened. The car had been perfect
when it left—better even than when it had arrived, because she’d done an extra
flush of the fuel system and hadn’t charged Mrs. Hamon for it.
She asked the woman for the card she’d used to charge the
work. Silently she reversed the charges. There went three hundred dollars she
needed to make ends meet.
Erica slumped against the counter once the woman was out of
sight. Could things get any worse? This was the second complaint she’d
had in a week. And her competition had managed to hear about them all. Jared
would turn up with another offer to buy the garage. No doubt it would be less
than he’d offered the first time and twice as condescending.
“Everything okay?”
Her back stiffened upon finding the blond at the door to the
garage. How much had Drew heard? Did he know she was slowly failing her father?
“Everything is fine,” she lied.
His features crinkled, for what reason she didn’t know.
Rather than ask, she turned her back on him and began the disheartening task of
documenting her failure in the books.
She was lying.
Drew hadn’t known Erica long but he knew enough to work that
much out. That customer had rampaged through the garage, demanding her money
back with absolutely no explanation for why she deserved it. Where was the
broken-down car as proof? Where was the mechanic’s note explaining what Erica
had done wrong?
There was no way everything was fine .
It shouldn’t have bothered him that Erica lied to him. But
when one of the things he’d liked best about her—her
forthrightness—disappeared, it didn’t please him. He certainly shouldn’t have
been irritated that she’d intentionally hid her problems.
By doing so she’d unintentionally admitted she didn’t think
him capable of helping her. And that bothered him.
Drew glanced around her garage, hoping for inspiration on
how to help. He knew fuck-all about cars. But he knew women. And this one
needed help even if she wouldn’t admit it.
He shook himself. Why in the hell should he help her? He
couldn’t help himself.
Yet she’d given him a place on a cot in an air-conditioned
room when he’d done nothing but insult her. She’d only asked him to clean up
after himself. When was the last time anyone had helped him simply to help?
They’d always wanted to get closer to him so they’d have a
better chance of making Adept level from his brother. Or they’d wanted diamonds
and a ticket to a show. There was also the game of seeing who could keep him
interested the longest. His recent
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