by Shey Stahl
I couldn’t meet his eyes for some strange reason. They scared me right then. As did my own thoughts.
Or maybe it was the woman next to him who scared me. I didn’t want to say anything stupid in fear that that was his grandma. I wasn’t exactly sure it was his grandmother but I assumed it had to be.
He had this strange intense look on his face like he wanted to say something while his grandmother beamed at me.
He went to say something and then his cheeks flushed. Was the engine builder blushing?
“This pretty girl here is Grandma, Nancy.” He ruffled her hair playfully. “Grammy, this is Hayden. She’s Tate’s niece.”
“Nice to me you, Hayden.”
Despite my nerves, I shook her hand and then had this rush to just get the fuck out of there in fear I would say something dirty to him in front of his grandmother. I couldn’t have that. No way.
I suddenly felt stupid because I couldn’t form a response to save my ass nor could I break away from his eyes.
With my eyes on my feet, I mumbled, “Okay, see you.” And walked out before I could say anything else.
Only problem was I fell flat on my face.
Immediately I jumped up, trying to save myself the humiliation. Casten was there right away helping me up. “Are you okay?”
I started laughing, like hysterical giggles that this would happen to me right then.
“I’m good.” I said, picking up my bag of food that thankfully didn’t get squished and ran to my car.
Of all the days to trip!
Scraped knees and a raw toe later, I was back inside my apartment eating my food and reflecting on the last hour where I made a complete fool of myself.
“You should probably quit,” I told myself after my fourth chicken tender smothered in garlic sauce.
“Nah, because then how else will I afford this luxury lifestyle.” Again, I said this to myself.
I moved out four months ago when my parents told me I needed to grow up. Maybe growing up, or being responsible, didn’t include searching Craigslist for a roommate but in my opinion, I liked to think it was resourceful. It probably wasn’t responsible that I lived off my college savings from my grandparents either.
Mine and Adam’s apartment was in a part of town where bars on your windows and doors should have been required. It had a security system but a lot of good that did since it was broken.
When you walked inside, dingy white walls reminded you of the heavy smokers who once lived there before us.
When you walked in, an old burnt orange couch Adam’s mom gave us sat pushed against the wall. It was our only seating.
Straight ahead was the kitchen where neither of us cooked unless it came from a box or could be made in the microwave. Off the kitchen was a balcony that I jumped off two weeks ago and sprained my ankle trying to avoid the landlord looking for rent money.
Down the hall was two bedrooms and one bathroom that you literally had to turn sideways in to close the door. Then when you did, your knees slammed against the door.
It wasn’t a great place, but I was on my own and that felt good.
Now, if I could keep from embarrassing myself at work, or getting fired, I would be okay.
I didn’t quit my job. Instead, I went back on Wednesday, believe it or not. And I hadn’t been fired yet. Part of me thought after last night Casten might have told his dad he needed to get rid of the harebrained lunatic who keeps staring at him.
Apparently he hadn’t done that yet.
That morning there was someone waiting for me at my desk wearing capris jean and a JAR Racing tank top that looked about two sizes too small. Not that she was a huge woman, just maybe not small tank wearing material.
She had a photograph of me and Anna I placed on my desk last night in her hand, scrutinizing me already. You always know when someone is judging you. She was judging me.
“Can I … uh … help you?” I asked, eyeing her cautiously.
“I’m not sure if you can,” she smiled matter-of-factly, leaning against the partition to my cubicle that was right at leaning height. “Are you the new girl?”
“Yeah … and you are?”
“I’m Casten’s mother.”
Holy shit on a motherfucking shingle. That can’t be right. Did she really gain that much weight? Not that this lady was overly large but if you saw the picture on Jameson’s desk of his wife in a bikini, well, this was like two of her.
Not that I minded. I still wanted to cuddle with her, and look at her now, she was perfect for cuddles. Even better for me.
“Sway?” I asked in a voice that isn’t very audible, it was more of a timid whisper combined with scared shitless and little bit of bite your fucking tongue.
I was meeting Sway Riley? Like, the Sway Riley? Casten’s mother?
Oh my God.
“I’m Hayden Harris.” I managed to say after she looked at me as if something was mentally haywire in my brain.
I couldn’t really blame her at this point for looking at me like that. I was never good at meeting people, especially parents. Look what happened when I met Casten’s grandmother. I fell on my face.
Moving past her, I sat down at my desk to make sure I didn’t fall.
“Well,” she smiled softly tipping her head casually as though she was completely comfortable around me. “I must go see about a boy.”
And then she left.
Without saying another word.
I watched her walk away, her head tipped high, her brown hair knotted up in what looked to be a two-day-slept-on-ponytail and bright pink running shoes.
I didn’t see her again and believe me I was waiting. It was like the president was here or something and I was afraid the secret service was going to come get me.
Around noon, I saw Casten again. So far my day had been hopelessly watching him below, hard at work and never looking up.
He came upstairs with a Burger King bag and dropped a Whopper Jr. on my desk. “Hungry?”
I dug into that burger as if I’d never eaten before. I was starving.
He laughed but sat down on my desk near the window that overlooked the parking lot. “I see you’re still alive. I was a little worried I’d have to follow you home and make sure you could drive after that fall.”
“Yeah …” was all I said with a mouthful of burger.
He swallowed, his laughter only held back by his own mouthful of burger.
“I met your mom …”
Casten’s head flinched toward mine, shocked. “My mom is in Washington right now with my sister. How’d you meet her?”
“Oh … uh …” I was so confused and I think he sensed it. “She came in and said she was your mom when I asked her why she was here.”
He laughed holding his stomach. “You must’ve met Rosa. She’s been trying to convince people for years she’s my mom.”
This fucking family was going to be the death of me.
By the time Friday rolled around of my first week, I was planning on getting pretty drunk if I could help it. This working shit was difficult.
“Morning, Hayden,” Bailey called out as she walked by. “We have a meeting before the guys leave.”
She kept walking and I gathered immediately, by her beckoning finger at me, that I was meant to attend this meeting.
As I followed, it was then I took in how beautiful Bailey was. Long dark black hair, stunning legs, I could literally go on for days about how naturally beautiful she was. I doubted she even wore make-up. No wonder she was married to Lane.
This week I had learned a lot about the Riley family. Lane used to be a dirt bike rider and let me tell you, he was hot. And, by hot, I mean the guy could probably set fire to your skin when he looked at you with his piercing baby blues. All the Rileys had blue eyes aside from Casten and Jameson. And though I hadn’t met them yet, apparently his brother and sister had them as well as did his real mom, not Rosa.
Back to Lane and Bailey. To complete this knock out couple, they h
ad this little girl Abigale who was probably the cutest child I’d ever seen. Though I haven’t actually seen her yet, just pictures.
When we got to the conference room at the end of the hall, I followed Bailey in and took a seat next to her. Olivia was in there talking with another guy I gathered was Dave Richie, a fabrication specialist.
Dave looked to be in his thirties, on the taller side and confident in his stance. Dark brown hair that he kept short gave me the impression he was conscious of his appearance. He did have a full dark beard though, as did a lot of men around here. Personally, I loved beards on men. I only wished Casten’s light scruff was a little longer.
I wonder if I could convince him to do that.
I really didn’t understand meetings or their purpose and I doubted I ever would. It just wasn’t for me. Someone who is borderline alcoholic, had a caffeine addiction, and never stopped moving was not meant to be in meetings where you had to sit still and pretend to listen. It was like being in detention all over again.
Here’s the thing, and I learned this fairly quickly that morning, no one with this company actually accomplished anything at these meetings.
Apparently, and though I completely disagree, the meeting was necessary.
Bailey and Olivia went over schedules with Charlie’s mom, Emma, who’d I’d already met back in high school. I loved her. She was like my very own fairy princess doll. On more than one occasion, while drunk, I’ve tried looking for her wings. Emma always got a laugh out of it.
Alley, who I had yet to meet, but understood was Lane’s mom, yelled at Jameson (who walked in twenty minutes later) and just about everyone else. She demanded that they stop fucking around and figure out why the engines had been failing.
Alley seemed to be the type of woman who was in control of every situation and if things weren’t getting done, she stepped up.
You could tell a lot about this family at that meeting.
Most of the time was spent with Jameson making fun of Alley and mimicking her demanding motions behind her rousing a laugh out of everyone. Alley wasn’t so impressed by him.
And though it was wildly entertaining, I still had no desire to attend any more meetings.
I wasn’t exactly sure if I was supposed to be writing anything down but it was a good thing no one looked over at my notepad during the meeting and saw me drawing their faces while I stabbed my pen through their eyes.
It also would have made it interesting if the engine builders attended this meeting but no, they didn’t have to. Lucky sons of bitches. The only one who attended was some guy named Rusty who did their research and development.
After the meeting, I didn’t get much of a break with helping over at JAR Racing. Since they were all leaving today for California, they had equipment to load and the merchandise trailers had to get inventoried and then re-stocked.
When I did manage to get a break, I enjoyed my iced coffee until I heard someone sigh.
Peter, the Sales and Marketing Rep for CST Engines, was standing there hovering. I hated when people hovered over me.
Unless, of course, we were in bed.
But then how disgusting was that image right then? Peter was not someone I wanted to ever imagine hovering over me.
I wanted to say, “Dude, cool it on the donuts already! You’re going to explode into a sugary poof of bullshit.” I did not say this though. Which if you knew me at all, you would realize this was a goddamn miracle.
No seriously, this guy looked as though he was nine months pregnant with twins but that wasn’t the weirdest part, it was his freakishly long arms. I’m not shitting you. They hung down past his fucking knees.
Maybe he was a hybrid, mutated version of those Hobbits in The Lord of the Rings?
For this reason, I referred to him as Long Arm.
I know, not real original, but it worked.
So, Long Arm, came to me about two that day.
His peppered hair is scattered all over the place, his black CST Engines shirt covered in both dandruff and his donut from this morning.
He asked, “Am I on the list today?”
My list? Buddy you were there the first time you ate a croissant in my cubicle and didn’t have the goddamn decency to pick up your flakes.
“What list?” I kept my stare on his face and not his arms.
“The list to get my invoices processed,” he said with a particular edge I didn’t like.
I said nothing because honestly, I wasn’t sure what to say to him right then. I wanted to give him some advice on his diet, but evidently, I wasn’t much of an advocate in this department with a large mocha on my desk and a half eaten bag of Cool Ranch Doritos right next to it.
“Did you get the invoice ready for Jameson to sign?” he pressed impatiently as I slurped my coffee as loud as I could. When I finished it, I shook the ice in the bottom around.
In my not so good peripheral vision, I could see Jameson smirking in his office watching the interaction. Sometimes, like right now, I didn’t like that my desk was right outside his office.
Peter pressed on once again. “I need to get those two engines shipped to Indianapolis by Wednesday.”
“As a matter of fact, Peter,” I pronounced his name as though I was suddenly a French descendent. He quirked a questionable, but totally justifiable, eyebrow at me. “I have those invoices ready.” My hand reached out to an invoice, and flashed it in front of him quickly so he couldn’t see that it wasn’t his. “He’ll sign it this afternoon before he leaves.”
Long Arms seemed satisfied and walked away leaving Jameson to stand in front of my desk. He peered down at the invoice and chuckled, softly. “Since when are those engines for Brenner Motorsports going to…” he looked closer squinting to interpret my chicken scratches. “Jacksonville?”
“You get back in your office,” I told him smiling and flicking my computer screen so it woke the fuck up. If I couldn’t sleep, neither could this lazy piece of technologic plastic.
He did, but laughed the entire ten feet.
Olivia stopped by after that. God forbid I get a moment to myself today. I didn’t mind Olivia as much because she had some of the same addictions I had – dick and drinking. I thought for sure with all the tattoos she sported she was a good time. Anyone that inked their body the way she did was surely in for a wild night from time-to-time.
“Have you done the supply orders yet?”
“What are supply orders?” I asked concerned.
I knew, from her training, that I was the one to order all the supplies. Along with being their grunt and performing every task they didn’t want to. I wondered if I had to clean the bathrooms, too.
Please, God, don’t say that. Bathroom toilets freaked me out. Even when I had to vomit, I would prefer to do so in a garbage can.
“Well, we have a list of office supplies we need. Things like toner, pens, tape…that sort of thing. And then the engine builders have their own. Casten prepares the list but you need to get it from him and then see if they need anything else. Usually they’ll need parts, of course, and then you’ll need to order oil, transmission fluid, filters, towels … those types of things.” She tossed a thick black binder on my desk that was filled with manufacturers’ ordering catalogs. “It’ll take some time. Casten is usually too busy to actually get the ordering done so I suggest you start soon.” Olivia rolled her eyes. “It won’t get done and Jameson gets pissed off when that happens. First rule, don’t piss off Jameson.”
“Noted,” I looked up at her. “What do you mean Casten’s too busy?”
I was suddenly very interested in his schedule.
“He’s the lead engine builder. He comes in at like four in the morning sometimes and usually doesn’t leave until after eight at night, except for Tuesdays. In between that time he’s either building engines or on the phone with manufacturers and suppliers. He barely has time to sleep, let alone order parts.”
“Why don’t they have someone do that for him?” The thought
seemed logical to me.
“They do,” Olivia laughed pushing the binder at me again, “that’s you.”
Just one person I’m shackled to. Oh great, bring back the pornographic images.
Damn, I should have brought extra panties today.
“So I should go down there now?” I drew in a deep breath trying to calm my nerves.
Olivia winked. “Yes, go down there.”
I didn’t like the way she said down. It was as though she knew I wanted to go down on Casten.
Christ Almighty, it’s hot in here.
After a pep talk, a trip to the bathroom to make sure I didn’t have anything in my teeth, I made my way down under. With my note pad tucked under my arm, Jameson smirked as I stood and walked toward the door. I swear all he did was smirk. I glared at him, his smile just got wider.
What professional gesture did I offer this racing legend?
I flipped him off.
How many people can honestly say they’ve flipped their boss off during their first week of work?
Well, now I can mark that off my bucket list.
As I walked downstairs, my steps were not steady, I may have tripped and smacked my knee on the railing but eventually I made my way down to take orders.
The music was blaring what I knew was The Beastie Boys and “Brass Monkey.”
“Great song,” I said to myself, mostly.
Charlie was the first bay. I dumped my coffee in his stall as I walked by. He didn’t really notice me but did shake his head, not entirely surprised I did that but kept his focus on the engine bobbing his head to whatever beat was blaring through his iPod. More than likely Britney Spears or Justin Bieber.
Noah had his back turned focused on whatever he was doing to the engine on the table in front of him.
I didn’t see Casten so I asked Lane, who was near the shop doors loading an engine into the JAR Racing hauler backed up to the doors.
Lane grinned with those sparkly bright blue eyes and pointed to the opposite end of the shop towards the last stall near three large windows that looked out to the parking lot.
