Jacked Up (Hard n' Dirty)

by Jane Henry

  “Sit,” I half-growl. This girl is pushing her damn luck.

  She glares at me, looks at the door, then bites her lip and flounces back on the loveseat. She knows she’s screwed. And it was sort of a dickhead thing to say. Still, she needs to grow the fuck up.

  “Continue,” I order, folding my arms on my chest and watching her.

  She takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “So I told him not to take the car out, and he found the key anyway. It was the easiest car to get out, since it’s at the very front of the row of cars, and before I knew what was happening…” she cringes and buries her head in her hands.

  “Dumbass ex crashes the car.” I shake my head. “And he couldn’t man the fuck up and get it repaired himself why?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she squeaks from behind her hands.

  “Because he’s a fuckin’ douchebag, that’s why,” I supply for her.

  She peeks out from around her hands. “You curse a lot,” she notes.

  I feel my brows shoot up. I cross my arms on my chest and give her a withering look. “Need to wash my mouth out with soap?”

  Her cheeks flush a beautiful shade of pink. The shade of pink I’d see paint her chest when I made her come. The same color I’d turn her little ass over my knee.

  I’ve got a pile of work that needs to be done before the next show and taking this work on will mean late nights. “And now you need this shit sorted before daddy gets home?”

  She takes her hands away from her face and nods, her eyes pleading with me. And damn it if it doesn’t make me want to help her. I can’t say no. I must have some kinda fucking damsel in distress complex. A girl looks at me like that, and I have to say yes.

  She opens her bag and pulls out three gold credit cards. “I have the money,” she says. “Whatever you charge. I can even get you cash if you need it, just please, help me.”

  I frown at the cards. And then I read the emblazoned name on the front.

  Tanya Hayes.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  She’s heir to fucking royalty.

  I take in a deep breath and stare at her. “Give me your real name, Felicia,” I say, keeping my voice steady with effort. I want to hear her confirm that she really is Tanya Hayes, daughter of millionaire and Manhattan’s classic car tycoon Reginald Hayes.

  And she wants me to fix his goddamned car? I’m practically ready to have her sign a non-disclosure agreement. If Hayes ever gets wind I laid a finger on his car… my mind wanders when I look her over.

  Not sure which would make him blow a gasket sooner, touching his car or his daughter.

  She swallows. “Tanya Hayes,” she says, meeting my eyes, but wincing. She must see recognition written across my features. God.

  “I know your father,” I mutter.

  “Of course you do,” she groans. “Everyone does. But God, I can’t let him know I came to you. Please.”

  I look away and think over my options. Hayes is a competitor, and he’s got fucking millions. He’s got a reputation of getting whatever the fuck he wants whenever the fuck he wants it. He’s ruthless and greedy, and I want nothing to do with him.

  Where else is she gonna go, though? There are no classic car repair shops anywhere near here.

  I don’t want her money, though.

  What the fuck am I doing? But I know I’m gonna go ahead with it anyway. And I’m a sick fucking bastard, so I don’t want her money. She’ll pay in other ways.

  “Alright,” I agree. “Let’s talk over how I can help.”

  On impulse, she squeals and throws her arms around my neck. Jesus Christ. She smells so damn good she sends a bolt of electricity straight through me. What the hell is this? She’s fucking electric. She’s small and vulnerable in my arms and her skin feels like satin, silky and smooth. I pull away because my dick’s starting to get ideas.

  “Alright,” I say, pulling her arms off me with difficulty and holding by the forearms so she’s got to look up at me. I give her the sternest look I can. “But I don’t want your money.”

  I’m such a fucking dick.

  Her face falls, and she swallows. “What do you want?” she asks, and I know she’s thinking sex because there's betrayal in her eyes. But no.

  She won’t have to whore herself to me.

  It’s much better if she wants this.

  “I need office help,” I tell her, like I’m not totally planning on corrupting her. “I can’t take money from Hayes in good conscience.”

  She frowns and tries to tug her arms away, but I hold fast. “It isn’t my father’s money. It’s my money,” she says with a glare. “Money I earned myself.”

  “Either way, I’m not touching Hayes money.”

  “Then what do you want?” she asks in a little voice, and for a second I feel bad for the girl. It can’t be easy coming in here like this, all nervous as shit and wondering if some guy’s gonna take advantage of you.

  When I let go of her, she keeps her arms suspended in mid-air as if frozen.

  “You work for me. Someone needs to tidy this damn place up, answer calls, and keep people happy. I’m doing good business because I’m the only one who offers this work for miles, but the place needs…a feminine touch.”

  Her eyes narrow. “How long do I work for you?”

  “Well, let’s see,” I say. I get up, walk to the desk, and pull over the large calculator I keep there. “Work costs about this much,” I say, punching in an estimate. “Let’s say if you work… hmmm…” I factor some numbers in and look at the results. “Two weeks, full time, should do it.”

  Her jaw drops. “Two weeks?” she asks.

  “Yep. Take it or leave it. You got any other work?”

  Her cheeks flush. “Well, yeah, I do,” she says, not meeting my eyes. “But it’s flexible work, and I can do it anytime I want to.” I want to know what that flexible work is she does, and why it makes her blush. I’ll get it from her.

  “Alright. You start tomorrow. Be here at 7 a.m. sharp. People who work for me are treated well, but I expect you to be here on time and to do your work. Got it?”

  “Yes, of course,” she says, getting to her feet and looking around the shop. “Just…show up here at seven?”

  I nod. “On the dot.”

  She smiles. “Yes, sir. Done.”

  Sir.

  Yeah. I like that.

  “Just so you know, I have rules for my employees.” I let her feel the impact of my sharpened tone. I want her to hear this loud and clear.

  “Especially for you.” I smile at her. “We’ll go over that tomorrow.”

  She nods tentatively. “Tomorrow,” she repeats.

  She’ll see exactly what I have in mind.

  Chapter Three

  Tanya

  This may be the biggest mistake of my damn life. What am I thinking? At the first possible opportunity, I’m going to kill Leon. Kill him dead. Deader than dead. Maybe I can afford a hitman or something.

  God. I can afford to have my ex-boyfriend murdered, but I can’t use my money to fix the car? What kind of cruel joke is this?

  I look over my wardrobe. What does one wear to a dirty auto body shop? Jeans and a t-shirt? Yeah, hell no. I want to look good for Levi. I finally settle on a plum-colored mini skirt and a cream-colored peplum top, the little Gucci handbag I bought in Italy, and a pair of spiky purple platforms. My calves look damn good in high heels, and I can’t imagine I’ll be on my feet for that long. I’ll probably be answering phones and stuff all day.

  I get to the shop at 6:55 on the nose, Starbucks venti with skim milk in hand. No time for breakfast, though, but coffee is a must. The window into the shop looks dark, as if no one else is there yet, but he told me to be here at seven, so here I am.

  I get out of my car, slide my phone into my purse, adjust the strap of my purse over my shoulder, and head to the entrance. I try the door, but it’s locked. I knock, and ring a little bell next to it, but no response. I glance at my p
hone. It’s now exactly seven on the nose.

  Just when I’m about to head back to my car, I hear a rumble in the parking lot, and turn to see Levi pulling in in the most beautiful pale blue vintage car I’ve ever laid eyes on. I’m guessing this isn’t one he drives regularly, and it’s one he’s brought in to work on, because it’s chugging thick smoke from the exhaust and he drives it gingerly. But God, it’s beautiful, all shiny and chrome, and the smell of diesel fills the air. I wave and he gives me a chin lift, then comes out of this car to meet me.

  “Nice to see you’re prompt,” he says, as he takes out a large keychain. He unlocks the door and holds it open for me.

  I enter the shop, and he flicks on the lights. “Today, I’ll have you start with some dusting and window cleaning,” he explains, snapping open shades and turning on lights. “But first, make us some coffee and take down the messages that were left overnight.”

  Wait a minute. Window cleaning? Dusting?

  “Make us some coffee?”

  “You want me to clean?” I ask, staring with chagrin at my beautiful outfit. His eyes look down my body appreciatively. A responding warmth hits my belly and my cheeks flush when his gaze rakes over me like he likes what he sees. He swallows.

  “Yeah. I said that yesterday, remember? Not sure you’re dressed for the occasion, princess.”

  “Didn’t know there was a dress code,” I mutter, bristling at the damn princess.

  Frowning, he goes under the desk and pulls out a ratty roll of paper towels that’s somewhat discolored, and a huge bottle of glass cleaner that looks like it’s been here for about twenty years.

  “This will be a good start,” he says. He hands me the bottle, gives one passing glance at my cleavage, then leaves and enters the shop. I sigh, my stomach rolling with hunger. I should’ve gotten the damn scone.

  I spend a full hour cleaning the display cases. They’re encased in dust, and it’s no easy job to remove everything before I clean it. I make a note to myself to get some fresh paper towels and frickin gloves. My poor hands are red and chafed from the abrasive cleaner.

  The door swings open with a jingle, and a guy I haven’t met yet comes in. He whistles a cat call, and I bristle. The scent of cigars meets my nose and I wrinkle it in disgust. Yuck.

  What the hell?

  “Well helllooo,” he says.

  I smile through gritted teeth.

  “Hello.”

  “And what have we here?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows. He’s shorter than Levi and slighter, with a shaved head and neatly-trimmed goatee. He’s got the Jacked Up logo on his jacket, and the name Spade emblazoned on the front. Gah-Reat. He works here?

  I place the window cleaner down and extend my hand. “Tanya,” I tell him. After Levi’s reaction, I don’t want him knowing who I am but I don’t want to work a fake name here either.

  He takes my hand and kisses the back. “Pleasure to meet you, Tanya,” he says. I yank my hand away, creeped out. He makes my skin crawl and I’m not sure why, but I don’t really care. There’s nothing in my job description about this.

  “Yeah, me too,” I say, and turn my back to him. I continue cleaning, but he hasn’t left me alone.

  “And what brings you here?” he asks.

  “Levi hired me,” I respond shortly, cleaning away. The way he looks at me makes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My stomach rolls, and I’m not sure it’s from hunger this time.

  “Did he now? You know, you look really familiar.”

  God. What a classic pick-up line.

  “Mmm,” I say. “Not sure why.” I flash him a plasticized grin and shrug my shoulders. “First office job. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  The door to the shop jangles and Levi enters the room. For some weird reason, my belly swoops and I feel a clear sense of relief. I hardly know the guy, but he’s safer than this creep.

  “Spade, did you meet our new hiree?”

  “Yes, sir, I sure did,” Spade says. “Was just thinking about asking her out for a drink when she told me she works here. We still have that no-dating company policy?” he asks with a chuckle.

  Levi surprises me with his response. “We sure as fuck do,” he says, shooting me an angry glare. What the hell is that about? Like I asked this dipshit to hit on me? He should be glaring at the loser guy.

  “Seriously?” Spade asks, the humor gone from his face.

  Levi just shoots him a level glare, which pleases me because at least Levi is an equal opportunity glarer. “Yep. I want you to go take a look at that paint job on the ’66 Ferrari and get started on it. It’ll take a while, and I promised to have it back in record time.”

  “Shouldn’t rush a paint job,” Spade says with a frown.

  Levi frowns back. “I’m asking you to do your job, and I cleared everything else off your schedule. You clock in, do your job, and let me worry about how long it takes to do it. “ He jerks his chin at the door, dismissing the douchebag. “Now go.”

  Oddly, that gives me a little bit of a tingle. He’s so damn bossy, and him telling other people what to do is weirdly hot.

  Mumbling to himself, Spade takes his leave. I sigh audibly, but then draw in a breath and face Levi.

  “All your employees so pleasant?” I ask, as I pull out coffee and stare at the machine. I’ve never seen anything like this in my life. We have the little pod coffeemaker things, and this is some sorta old fashioned coffee pot. Maybe even vintage. There’s a pot and a button you push to turn it on, a reservoir for water, and a little plastic basket thing. I look sideways at Levi, hoping he can’t see I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

  I open the lid and pick up the can of coffee. I peel back the top. The aroma fills the room and my stomach rumbles again. I take the scoop and level it out, then lean over the pot. I have some sort of basic idea that I’m supposed to dump the coffee in this part so the water goes through it…I think. I’d google it but Levi is here, and he’s watching me.

  “So,” I say, trying to make small talk. “How many people do you have working for you?”

  “Twenty-five total,” he says. “Though some are my West Coast connections that deal with shipping things across the country, and a few are my sales and marketing team.”

  I look at him in surprise. “You have a sales and marketing team?” I expected him to say he had, like, four other guys here.

  He shrugs and a corner of his lip quirks up. “Yeah.”

  Wow. I’m not sure why, but that impresses me. Just before I dump the grounds in the little plastic thing, he stops me with a loud, “Stop.”

  I jump. I turn to him wide-eyed, still holding the coffee scoop in my hand. “What the hell?”

  He’s frowning at me, and he points to the coffee pot. “You have any idea how the fuck to make coffee?”

  I worry my lip. “Well. Not really, no,” I admit, looking away. I can’t bear to see scorn in his eyes. It’s so embarrassing.

  “You have to put a filter in there, or you’re gonna make a huge mess.” He breathes in as if he’s trying to be patient, then opens a cabinet above the coffee maker and takes out a white thing with frilled edges. He leans over me, his arm brushing mine, and a little shiver thrills through me. God, apparently I have some kinda badass blue collar fantasy or something, because just being near him’s got my nerves zinging. I swallow, trying not to wobble on my heels, and watch what he does. He takes the paper thing and shoves it into the top of the coffee pot. He smells surprisingly good, strong and masculine and clean.

  “Filter here,” he growls. Then he takes out a spoon from a little drawer and begins measuring coffee. “Like this.” He reaches across me again, his arm brushing mine, shuts the lid and hits an on button. The coffee pot starts sizzling and gurgling. I smile, as if I actually had something to do with it.

  “Thank you,” I say. He steps away, and my heart sinks. I like him close to me. He’s so damn different from the other guys I’ve known. But he’s my boss no
w, and I need to keep it together.

  He nods, but he’s still frowning. The man frowns more than he smiles. I make it my mission in life to get him to smile more and not be so damn grumpy.

  “You know,” I say, eyeing him. “You want to improve your ratings in the shop, you might want to smile more. It’d be a good start.” His frown deepens and his eyes cloud over, and suddenly I’m not so sure that was a smart thing to say. Definitely not safe. Being around Levi is dangerous.

  The door to the shop dings and a beautiful blonde woman walks in. She’s wearing designer jeans and a fitted t-shirt, and a pair of sunglasses she pushes on top of her head.

  “Hi, Levi,” she says, fluttering her manicured nails at him. The door to the shop shuts, and the peppery, floral smell of Caron Poivre fills the small interior. I know that perfume well. My younger sister begged for it for Christmas one year, and it reeked up her room like a French whorehouse. It cost like $500 a squirt.

  I pretend to be tidying things behind the desk, but I’m really watching their interaction.

  “Mandy,” Levi says with a jerk of his head. She smiles at him, but he doesn’t return the smile. He smiles at, like, no one, so this isn’t impressive, but it makes me happy.

  It surprises me that I care. Why the hell do I care?

  They have a hushed conversation, and I try to ignore it, but can’t help but notice how she jerks her head at me. I catch the word “help,” and my cheeks flame. To say this job is beneath me is an understatement. He says a few things in a low voice I can’t hear. By the time Barbie leaves the shop, I’ve managed to convince myself he’s mocking me, and not only that? It’s the only reason he hired me to begin with. To mock me, so he could poke fun at the spoiled Hayes princess.

  It was a mistake coming here. I have no idea what else I’ll do, but I need to figure it out.

  “Okay,” Levi says, standing behind the desk. “Slow day today and I’ve got two men working on projects now, so that gives us some time to go over the phones.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” I don’t like the way he gossiped about me with the blonde, so I don’t see any real need to be polite. At least that’s what I think, until one of his dark eyebrows shoots up and he fixes me with that stern glare that disintegrates my panties.