by Lily Vixen
This grease monkey was probably not what she expected the owner of anywhere to look like, even if it was a repair shop.
She looked like someone had dunked her in the river. Blake glanced past her — rain streamed in a pale, shimmering curtain outside the garage’s open door.
“The issue,” the woman said, tugging absently at the damp lapel of her beige business suit, “is that there were unauthorized repairs carried out on my car. I was expecting a substantially lower bill.” Her voice dropped at ‘substantially’ and Blake saw what he thought might have been the precursor to tears.
Dear God, don’t let the woman start crying. The last thing he needed on a Friday afternoon was a crying customer. He didn’t get them often — he did good work — but he did get them. Especially when it turned out that ‘clank’ they kept hearing was something more serious than a damaged CV joint. And it was almost closing time—
Blake turned his wrist, glancing down at his watch.
“We’re closed, lady.” Blake’s eyes darted up, catching Fred trying to sneak into the back. “We’re closed, Fred!” It was probably a little harsher than the poor mechanic needed, but it did the job. Fred threw him a dramatic shrug and scampered into the locker room, leaving Blake and the woman alone.
Her foot had started to tap.
Blake stared down at it, irritation slowly blooming inside him. She wore beige heels — slightly muddy — that almost perfectly matched her wet, beige suit. The only splash of color was a pink ruffled shirt that peeked out between those colorless lapels of hers.
That, and her eyes. A luminous, sapphire blue. Her makeup had smudged, what with the rain and possibly some earlier crying.
“Look, lady—”
“Elle,” she cut in with a sniff.
“Look, ma’am.” Blake crossed his arms over his chest. “We authorize all additional repairs. We would have spoken—”
“No one called me.” Her voice was starting to shake again, those eyes beginning to brim. “You said it would be fifteen-hundred for the service. So I brought fifteen-hundred—”
“We’ve got a card machine.” Blake turned and headed for his office. “If you’ll follow me?”
There was a murmured protest, and then the clack of heels following him. Blake glanced around as he made his way through the workshop; seemed the rest of the staff had all left. He caught a glimpse of Fred stealing out the workshop’s open garage door; he was the only mechanic that stayed late.
“Hang on a sec, ma’am.” Blake detoured, ignoring the bleated, “Elle” that followed him.
He slapped his palm over the garage door’s mechanism, and watched to make sure it was starting to close before turning back. And almost walking into Elle.
“What are you doing?” Those blue eyes of hers were wide and frightened.
“Don’t want someone looting the place while we’re busy.”
“Busy?”
Blake stared at her with a frown. “Busy paying, ma—” He cleared his throat. “Elle. Busy paying. My office is upstairs.”
He led her up the rattling stairs, glancing back in time to see her hurriedly avert her eyes from his back. Jesus, he looked rough, sure, but the chick didn’t have to stare like she’d never seen a man before.
The familiar smell of stale cigarettes and cheap coffee met him as he elbowed open his office door and stepped aside so the woman could enter. She blinked at him, seeming caught off guard by his chivalry before stepping inside and glancing around like a trapped rabbit hunting for an exit.
“Would you like a towel?”
“A… what?” Elle snapped her eyes away from the overflowing ashtray on his desk. Blake stepped in front of it, ripping a towel off the nearby basin’s rail. He’d converted the office from a kitchen, breaking down the wall between it and a small storage room when he’d moved premises a few years ago. It was still pokey, but it did the job.
“Towel.” Blake enunciated the word carefully, in case the woman had gone deaf. “You’re dripping on my floor.”
“Probably the closest thing to a clean this place has ever seen,” the woman mumbled.
Blake narrowed his eyes at her, and she had the decency at least to blush a little. He turned and began hunting around his table.
“Last name?”
“Georgia.”
“So E. Georgia?”
There was a pause. He glanced over his shoulder at her. She was hesitantly touching the edge of the towel to her hair as if scared she’d catch an infectious disease from it. It was clean, the prissy bitch.
“No… S. Georgia.”
“S?”
“My… ex-husband.”
Blake let out a low whistle. “How’d you swing that, your ex paying for your car repairs?”
Elle hesitated, the hand holding the towel dropping to her side.
“He’s not paying for it. I am.” She grabbed her handbag and maneuvered it in front of her, drawing out a purse. “Except… I’m a little short.” Her voice became unsteady again. “I was expecting to pay fifteen-hundred.”
“Told you we’ve got a card machine.” Blake held out his hand.
Elle paused, wallet gripped in a white-knuckled hand. “That… wouldn’t make a difference. He’s cut me off.”
“Sorry?” Blake dropped his hand, pushed a file out of the way, and sank onto the edge of the table. “What do you mean, he cut you off?”
“My…” She shook her head. “Sam. My ex-husband.” Her voice did that thing again, dipping and wavering, and she pressed her palm over her breastbone as if trying to still her heart. “Could… would you… could I—do you have coffee?”
Blake glanced surreptitiously at the woman over his shoulder as he made them both a cup of coffee. She had a death-grip on herself, hugging her arms tight, and her pointed stare at the far — okay, not that far — wall made it obvious she was desperately trying to keep her shit together.
What shit though?
Her clothes were obviously something too expensive for him to even wrap his head around. She drove an S-Class for fuck’s sake. This woman was rolling in it, and she was trying to get out of a few hundred bucks?
He came back with the coffee. Elle seemed reluctant to release the grip she had on herself to take it, but wavered a second later. Their fingers brushed when he handed her the cup, and she twitched as if he’d shocked her. He hadn’t… at least, that tiny tingle couldn’t have been static discharge — not with her that wet and the complete lack of carpeting anywhere in this joint.
“Wanna sit?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.” She blew over the coffee, her eyes meeting his for an instant before darting away. Taking a careful sip, she gave a small nod. “Good.”
It wasn’t. But it was hot. And, from the tiny shiver she gave, it was obvious warmth was something she desperately needed.
“Look, lady—”
“Elle.”
Blake let out a slow breath. “Elle. Why don’t you come back on Monday? We can go through the file. I’ll show you the call log—”
“No. Now. Today.” Her wide eyes found his, fixed him with a persistent stare. “I have to get my car today.”
“Then you’ll need to pay. Today.” Blake shrugged. “We take Diner’s Club too.”
Elle lifted her chin, taking a defiant slug of coffee. “I’ll pay the fifteen-hundred today and the rest next week.”
“Full payment, or you don’t get the car.”
They had a brief staring contest. Blake won.
Elle’s gaze fluttered away as she stepped up to him. For a moment, he thought was going to hit him or throw the coffee in his face. But instead, her lips twisted and she hurriedly set the cup down with a shaking hand.
“Asshole,” she whispered. “That motherfucking—”
“Excuse me?” Blake dipped his head, eyebrows lifting as he tried to look into her eyes. She kept them downcast, her mouth squirming as if had to rally another valiant defense against her tears.
“Sam. Th
at asshole cut me off. My credit cards. My bank account. Everything.”
And now a tear did come — small, crystalline — and he watched it in deep fascination as it trailed down her cheek and slid into her mouth. She didn’t seem to notice.
Elle hadn’t stepped away — she was close enough for him to grab, if he wanted. He pushed the thought away, chastising himself for its inappropriateness.
“He’s the one that slept around, not me.” Her eyes darted up to Blake’s, daring him to argue. “I was going to leave him. But he beat me to it. Had it all planned out. That mother—”
“Hey, okay. Whoa, Elle?” Blake set his coffee down beside hers. “We seem to have gotten derailed—”
“I woke up this morning,” Elle went on as if she hadn’t even heard him, “and I had nothing. He’d changed the locks. My bank pin. My passwords, everything. Told the security at our building not to let me in.”
She washed a hand down herself. “This is it. This is all I have. That and—” her wallet clicked open “—this. Fourteen-hundred-fifty.” Elle waved a handful of bills in his face. “Take it.”
Blake lifted his hands in surrender. “Look, lady—”
“It’s Elle!”
“Elle…” Blake tried for a calm voice, and failed. “Look, it sucks. I get it. But I’m running a business here. If you don’t have the money, you come back Monday.”
Her hand trembled. She shoved the notes back in her wallet and shoved that back in her handbag. Turning her back to him, she went to the basin and began scrubbing her hands at the sink.
“I understand. This is a business. I get it.” But then, under her breath. “Fucking motherfuck.”
He suppressed a smile, took a slug of coffee, and let his eyes slide over Elle’s bent back.
Her suit clung to her — courtesy of the downpour outside. Her hair, those strands that had escaped her bun, were slicked against her head and throat. She had wide hips, but with breasts and things to balance them out. And her ass—
“I’ll just have to pay you in installments.” Her voice had returned to the willful, entitled tone of before.
Blake pulled his gaze up, meeting her eyes. God, no wonder her husband—
He immediately stomped on the thought. No woman deserved to be cheated on. Even one as obviously annoying and belittling as this one.
“Company policy, Elle. If I made an exception for you, I’d have to—”
“You’re the owner of the company.” Her voice was deadpan now. “I’m sure there’s some wiggle room—”
“There’s none. Either you pay and take your car, or I keep it until you do.”
God, if his dad could see him now. Arguing with a customer at half-past-five on a Friday. He’d never seen his dad argue with a customer. All it had taken was a smile, a calm explanation of fact, perhaps a cup of coffee — better than this one, of course — and the customer would be paying with a smile. Why hadn’t some of that charm rubbed off on him? He’d spent enough time with the old man before—
Blake pushed away from his desk and swept a hand toward the door. Elle stared at him as if he’d grown horns. Then she slowly set the towel down on the side of the basin, paused, and began working at the single button holding the front of her suit closed.
Blake frowned. “What are you…”
“I’m sure—” she cleared her throat and dropped her eyes. “There must be something that I could…”
Realization dawned. And, with it, a sense of incredulity so vast that Blake barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. Elle’s eyes snapped up, the fiery blue of a welding torch.
“I’m sorry…” He lifted a hand. “Are you seriously—”
Those eyes narrowed. “I need my car.” Her jaw clenched, her words emerging muffled. “And I need it today.”
“Whoa, lady. Listen—” he stepped forward, hand still up “—I don’t know why you’re so—”
“Today!” Elle stamped her foot.
Blake slowly folded his arms over his chest. Had she seriously just stomped her foot at him?
His Lucky Night
Elle’s fingers tightened around the button. The man that had been casually leaning against his desk had stiffened. She forced a swallow, trying desperately to remove her fingers but failing.
“Did you just…” the man pushed away from the desk with his butt and took a slow, menacing step toward her. “Did you just stamp your fucking foot at me?”
Shit, she had, hadn’t she? Where the hell had that come from? One second she’d been in charge and unstoppable, and the next she’d somehow reverted to the thirteen-year-old version of herself.
Ha, in charge?
She’d never been in charge of this situation. The man — she still didn’t know his damn name — hadn’t given an inch of ground since he’d interrupted her harangue of the mechanic downstairs.
And now, here he stood, less than two feet away from her, exuding wave upon wave of that same quiet, dominating air as before. It made her want to cringe and back away into the corner.
But, it was also what had made her start to work at that button in the first place. Because somewhere around the time he’d handed her the cup of coffee and their fingers had brushed, a tiny electric thrill had been working through her. And now, minutes later, it had gone and lodged itself deep in her belly where it flickered, flickered, flickered.
“Well then, lady,” the man said. “Looks like we have ourselves a standoff.”
Elle’s hand trembled. She forced it to stop. Swallowed. And popped open her button.
The man’s eyes darted down, and then raced up to her face again.
“I’m sure we could…” God, why on earth was this so difficult?” “…could come to some sort of… arrangement?”
The man shrugged. It was a tiny, almost insignificant movement, but it made the muscles on his arms and shoulders move in a very meaningful way.
It wasn’t even that he was that good looking. Sure, his brown eyes were warm and considerate-looking. His face — except for the scar crossing his chin — comely enough. But he had a streak of grease on his upper arm. His vest hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in days. And she’d smelled sweat and coffee and cigarettes on him when he’d held the door open for her.
When last had someone done that?
Right — the restaurant. Last night, when Sam had told her he was leaving her. How had it all gotten so turned around? One second she’d been steeling herself to tell her husband of thirteen years that she knew he was having an affair, and that she was no longer going to hang around waiting for him to start loving her again.
And then she’d been alone. Broke. Devastated.
The man smiled at her. “Lady, you don’t have it in you.”
Elle took a deep breath that brought another heady miasma of the man’s scent to her.
“What’s your name?” she asked, her voice sounding strained.
The man frowned. Ran a suddenly self-conscious hand through his hair. “Blake.”
“Well, Blake.” She took a step forward and lifted her chin at him. “I’ve had just about enough of men telling me I don’t have it in me. Guess it’s your lucky night.”
Blake’s eyebrow twitched. He took a step back when she advanced on him, his butt crashing into the side of the table. He caught her wrists, holding her a foot away from him and studying her with a bemused smirk on his face.
“No offense, Elle,” Blake said. “But you’re not my type.”
“Oh? Really?” She could hear the annoying cadence of her voice, but her heart was pounding so hard that thought was an almost impossible thing. “Well, guess what, buster? Neither are you.”
She tore her arms free, and tugged off her coat. Blake’s eyebrows shot up, his lips parting as she yanked at the slim belt around her waist.
“Hey, whoa. Just—” Blake caught her wrists again. “Easy there, tiger. I get it; you’ve had a rough day. A rough week, by the sounds of things.”
He straig
htened, his eyes almost on a level with hers despite her heels. Not that she was freakishly tall or anything, but Sam had always preferred she wear flats when she went out with him. She’d never even stood up last night… he’d never even known that small defiance she’d shown — arriving with heels. So many small defiances over the past few months… none of which he’d ever noticed.
Elle opened her mouth, but the guy spoke right over her. “Let me try putting this in terms you’ll understand…”
Another step, his body now brushing hers. Heat came off him — maybe he just ran a few degrees hotter than most, or maybe she’d pissed him off. Either way, it made her skin begin to itch.
And not in a bad way.
“You’re not getting your car without paying me. And I’m not taking your ass as payment. Now get out of here, before I throw you out.” His voice shook slightly, as did the grip around her wrists.
If it hadn’t been for that, that slight wavering, then she’d have left. If she hadn’t caught a flicker of the man steeling himself, she’d have left.
Instead, she arched her back a little — just enough so that her hips brushed his.
Blake flinched as if she’d slapped him across the face.
“You know what I think?” Elle hesitated, and then pressed into him hard enough to feel his muscles stiffen as he resisted that pressure. “I don’t think you want me to go.”
Where the hell was this coming from? Why the hell wasn’t she halfway out the door like he’d already told her to be?
Because she didn’t want to leave, either.
Somehow… for some indefinable reason that she knew would keep her awake at night for weeks, she wanted this gruff man with his stained shirt to grab her. Hold her. Kiss her. Do… well, whatever the hell he wanted with her.
Her heart was slamming into her chest. If he pushed her away again, now, after what she’d said? She would leave crying, for one. For another… she didn’t know if she’d ever have the mental fortitude to drag back the last remnants of her dignity. She’d have to leave them here, scattered on the floor in this tiny office.
