by B. B. Hamel
“He owns a lot of cars.” I shake my head and start walking away.
“Wait,” she says, catching up. “How many cars?”
I give her a look and just sigh.
9
Maggie
“I thought he said he owned a garage.” I frown and look around, my gaze landing on the only building in sight. “That’s not a garage.”
Josh closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. “No, it’s not,” he says, letting it out.
“Josh.”
He looks at me. “Maggie.”
“How many cars does he own?”
“I don’t know how many exactly,” he says, approaching the building. “But it’s a lot.”
“Josh,” I say, not moving. “Is this place full of cars?”
“Probably.” He fiddles with the door then looks around. “He said there’s a key around here somewhere.”
“That’s a warehouse,” I say. “That probably has… hundreds of cars in it.”
“Probably,” he agrees. He bends over and pushes aside a large rock then laughs. “Here we go.” He holds up a single silver key before using it to unlock the door. “There’s probably a few million dollars’ worth of cars in this place and he keeps the freaking key under a rock. I mean, who the hell does that?”
He steps inside and leaves me in the parking lot.
We drove for forty-five minutes to find this place tucked in a little wooded area behind a residential development. It’s two stories tall and long enough that I can’t see the end of it. It’s made of stone painted white, but it’s gone gray from age. The windows are all large and on the second story, and from the outside, it looks like any other warehouse.
Except this apparently holds a few million dollars’ worth of cars.
I follow Josh in through the front door. At first, it’s almost too dark to see. I get a vague impression of shapes in front of me, and I take one hesitant step forward. “Josh?” I call out.
“One second.” He’s nearby, but I can’t see him. Light trickles in from the windows, but it’s muted, like something’s been pasted in front of the glass. The light from the door only illuminates a few feet ahead of me as my eyes start to adjust. The floor is concrete and I can smell oil, rubber, and paint.
“Here. Lights.”
Suddenly the whole place blasts bright. I blink, surprised, as I stare into a wide-open space packed full of cars.
They’re in all different shapes and sizes. Some are old classics and some are brand new sports cars. I recognize a few, like Mustangs and Porsches and BMWs, but there are a few exotics that I’ve never seen before.
I take a tentative step forward. “Oh my god,” I say.
“I know.” I look over and spot Josh standing near a bank of light switches, his arms crossed. “It’s insane, right?”
“There’s no way we can do them all.”
“We definitely can. It’ll just take all day.” He sighs, shaking his head.
“Seriously. This is insane.”
“I know.” He walks off toward a little room built into the near corner of the building. He fiddles with the door and gets it open. “Oh, hey, cleaning stuff in here.” He flips on another light and I walk over, joining him in the supply closet.
There are car parts, some still in the plastic, and a myriad of other car stuff. There’s even a little bucket full of air fresheners. Josh grabs a bucket, some sponges, some cleaning products, and carries it back out into the main room. “Now we just need water.”
“Josh,” I say.
He frowns. “What?”
“We’re not really doing this.”
“Of course we are.” He rolls up his sleeves. “We need his vote.”
“There are probably hundreds of cars in here.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. Want to count?”
“Not at all.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll count as we clean.”
“Josh.”
He sighs and walks over to me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and stares into my eyes. “Listen to me. This is going to be the easiest part of this whole thing. All we need to do is clean these cars. We don’t even have to do a good job, there’s no way he’ll double-check them all. We’ll do the best we can, get them all washed, and move on from there. Okay?”
I clench my jaw. I want to get out of there. The idea of washing this crazy man’s cars all day drives me insane with anger.
But Josh is right. This is what we have to do, and so we’ll do it. No more messing around, no more holding back. We’re washing some cars.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s get it done.”
“Atta girl.” He laughs and walks off. “Now help me find a hose.”
It takes a few minutes but we find a hose tucked in the far corner. Once we get that turned on, the rest goes pretty easy. We start with the closest car, some classic truck, and start washing. He hoses while I scrub, then he joins in scrubbing until it’s finished, then I hose it off while he dries. There are drains in the floor, so clearly this was all thought out ahead of time.
We switch jobs as we go. The first few cars are annoying because we don’t have a rhythm down yet, but soon enough we’re washing and drying like old pros, whipping from car to car like it’s nothing. I count ten cars before we’re even on to the next row.
“There has to be at least a hundred and fifty,” I say.
“I know. It’s insane. I bet he’s been collecting for years.”
“And they just sit there? Out in some random suburb?”
He laughs, scrubbing away at the hood of a bright red spots car. “I know. Imagine if someone broke in here.”
“I bet they have. What would you even do? Open the big doors and drive one out?”
“Good point.” He sighs and grabs the hose, cleaning off the tires. “You know, I’ve been wondering something.”
“Yeah?”
“About your dad.” He looks at me. “Are you guys close?”
“I guess,” I say, cleaning away. I’m wet and my arms are starting to get tired, and we’re not even halfway through. This is going to be a miserable day.
“What does that mean?”
“Well, my mom died,” I say. “I was six when it happened. I still remember her but it’s a little… fuzzy.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like growing up without a parent.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Dad was pretty broken up about it at first but then he sort of… threw himself into our relationship.”
“Yeah? That’s good, right?”
“Wrong.” I laugh a little. “He overdid it, you know? Got a little too clingy. It was nice when I was a little girl, but then I became a teenager and he was a little overprotective. He brought me into work and showed me the ropes a little bit, even paid me for some stuff, but good luck bringing home a boy.”
He laughed. “You bring home a lot of boys?”
“Nope. Dad would’ve chased them all off. Anyway, I wasn’t very attractive when I was younger.”
“I doubt that. Look at you now.”
“I wasn’t always so stunning.”
He laughs. “I know you’re joking, but you are stunning. And I bet you were back then, too. You just didn’t notice.”
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. But either way, my dad was really into being my dad. We fought as I got older and that sort of screwed things up.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He frowns at me. “For what it’s worth, it sounds like he meant well.”
“He did,” I say. “Just went about it wrong. We’re good now though. Just back then, it was tough. He wasn’t happy when I went to college, I think he thought I was going right into the family business.”
“Ah.” He laughs. “I can empathize, although I had the opposite problem. I wanted to go into the family business right from high school and my dad said he wouldn’t hire a guy without a college degree normally, so why would he do it for
me?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Harsh.”
“Yep. That was my dad.”
“Were you two close?”
“Sometimes,” he says as we moved on to the next car. “He was a good dad, really engaged with what I did, but he worked long hours. I didn’t see a lot of him growing up.”
“Really the opposite of my experience then.”
He laughs. “Exactly.”
“Did you always know you’d take over the company when your father passed?” I ask.
“No, that was a surprise, actually,” he admits. “There were other names floated around, but my father specified it in the will and the board just sort of… accepted it. I think the board decided they were getting out the moment my dad passed.”
I shake my head. “God, what assholes.”
“Maybe, I don’t know. I can’t blame them. My father was the real power behind Cork from the start, I mean, when he took it over, he turned it into something much bigger than it ever could’ve been on its own. When he died, they probably felt that Cork was effectively over.”
“But then you came along.”
“I’ve been able to keep the ship going for a little bit, but this whole merger thing is really a last-ditch effort to keep it all alive.”
I bite my lip and look at him. “You really love the company, don’t you?”
“It’s my family,” he says, shrugging. “I have to keep it alive if I can. I mean, my father made it better than it was, so what will I be if I can’t do the same?”
I pause for a second and watch him work. His muscular arms rub the sponge along the side of the black sedan. His shirt is wet all along the chest and I have to admit, he has an incredible body. I admire him for a long moment before shaking my sponge at him.
Sudsy water hits him and he looks up at me. “You don’t want to start a water fight,” he says. “You’ll end up losing.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe even losing would mean I’d win.”
He laughs. “You got a bikini on under that shirt? That’s the only thing that’ll make this any better.”
“Unfortunately for you.” I tilt my head and squeeze some water out on the hood. “Did you ever consider just… letting the company die?”
He goes quiet for a second, watching me. His eyes stare down at my body then back up to my face and he shakes his head once.
“No,” he says.
“You could, you know. Nobody would blame you. They’d blame the markets, the changing times, all that. You could just cash out like the rest of the board.”
“And where would that leave you?”
I shrug. “Divorced. With a dick ex-husband.”
He smiles but doesn’t laugh. “No, I couldn’t do that.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s what I like about you.”
We lapse into silent cleaning again. We fall into a rhythm, moving from one car to the next. I count twenty, thirty, forty cars. We hit fifty, take a short break, and get at it again.
We don’t talk. We barely look at each other. My arms hurt, my feet hurt, my back hurts. We just keep going, keep cleaning.
He sprays the car and wipes it down. We finish number sixty-seven before he looks up at me as we move on to another red sports cars, this one squat and strange-looking with wide doors and sweeping angles, probably some kind of weird European prototype.
“Why do you think our dads hated each other?” he asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Business, I guess.”
“It can’t just be that,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. I mean, there are other competitors in this business, right? Big and little. We compete with them all. But my dad really only hated your dad, as far as I can tell.”
“You think it’s personal,” I say.
“I really do.”
“Huh.” I frown a little. “I never thought about it.”
“You should ask him, next time you’re together.”
“I will. I mean, I guess I’d like to know, too. It just seems so strange. I’ve never known my dad to hate anyone really.”
“My dad was tough, he was mean sometimes, but I don’t think he ever hated someone like he hated your dad.”
We lapse into silence again. I keep looking at my husband, keep wondering what we’re doing right now. If our fathers hated each other so much, and his board hates my father just as much, then it seems like what we’re doing is doomed to failure.
And yet we’re trying anyway. I think that’s what I like so much about him. Even though it’s not very likely, he’s still going to give it his best and try. He doesn’t have to, he could just let the company get bought up by a larger player. He’d probably make a lot more money in the long run that way.
But he can’t do it. Maybe that’s pride, maybe that’s something else. Either way, I admire him more than I realized.
We hit seventy, eighty, ninety. After one hundred, we take another break. The sun’s sinking down and I think I might cry from exhaustion.
“Twenty-two,” he says, sitting down next to me.
“Is that how old you were when you lost your virginity?” I ask.
He grins at me. “Yeah, right. No, we have twenty-two more cars.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Really. Which means…”
“There are 122 total cars in this god-forsaken place.”
“Right. Can you imagine how much money’s in here?”
“I can’t. And I really don’t care.”
He laughs. “Go home. I’ll finish the last ones.”
I frown and cock my head. “No, you don’t have to do that.”
“I mean it. Go home, take a bath. Then start dinner.”
I sigh. “You’re not being altruistic. You just want me to cook for you.”
“Well, yes, and no. You’re not a good cook.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I can tell.”
“I should be offended.”
He leans closer, eyes playful. “Am I wrong?”
I glare at him. “No.”
“Exactly. But cook for me anyway.”
“Fine.” I push myself to my feet. “That’s a fair exchange.”
He laughs. “I’ll probably need another hour, maybe two. So take your time.”
“I’ll call an Uber, so you can have the car.”
“Are you sure? It’s not a big deal.”
“I’m sure. I’ll have dinner on the table when you get home, sweetie.”
He winks and blows a kiss. “You’re a doll.”
I linger there for a moment as he gets to his feet. He’s just as tired as I am, but I can tell he’s doing this just to give me a break. And really, I appreciate him for it. I can barely lift my arms and the idea of washing another twenty-two cars makes me want to die.
So I head back to the main entrance. I call for an Uber on my way and hang out in the parking lot while I wait.
I keep thinking about his body as he cleaned, about his face when he talked about keeping the company alive. This is about much more than just money to him.
This is pride. This is family. This is all about being the best man he can possible be, and really, I can appreciate that more than anything.
I’m tempted to go back and finish helping… but heck, I’m tired. So when my Uber pulls up, I get in, and I let it take me back to our little house.
And once I’m there, I pick out ingredients and start on dinner.
At the very least, I’ll make sure my man’s well fed.
10
Josh
The next morning, I wake up early, make coffee, and sit in the kitchen staring at the wall for a long time.
I’m drained. Cleaning 122 cars isn’t fun, not even remotely fun at all. But we did it, despite the struggling, despite the insanity.
I make some breakfast, and as I’m clearing the dishes, I get an email from Rupert Guava’s assistant, just a little note from the man himself. Cars look good. I’m on bo
ard. Good luck. RG
That’s a heavy relief. I’m tempted to go wake Maggie up to tell her we got Guava’s backing, but decide to let her sleep. She looked exhausted when I got home, like cooking dinner was as hard as cleaning twenty-two more cars.
I head into the office and get myself set up. The workday goes like any other, and even though the company is on the precipice of failure at all times, the work never ends. The machinery still has to function no matter what.
Halfway through the afternoon, there’s a knock at my door, and Maeve steps into the room. She shuts the door behind her. “Well,” she says.
“Well,” I say. “How’s it going?”
“I heard about Rupert.” She walks over and sits down.
I frown at her. “What?”
“I heard about what you did.”
“How?”
She shrugs. “Assistants talk to each other.”
“Well, shit. Does everyone know now?”
“Pretty much.” She laughs. “You really cleaned every one of his cars?”
“I really did. A few of them looked like they’d never been washed.”
“I bet. How many were there? I hear it was like five hundred.”
“One hundred and twenty-two,” I say. “And I swear, I’m never washing another car again.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe, but it had to be done. I’m making this deal happen, Maeve. No matter what I have to do.”
“That much is clear.” She frowns a little bit and settles back into her chair. “You know this is a bad thing though, right?”
I hesitate, head tilted to the side. “How? I got Rupert’s backing. That was important.”
“True. But now that everyone’s talking about it, they know you want something from the board. They don’t know what yet, but when you arrive and ask the question, they’ll know you’re desperate.”
I frown at her for a long moment. The truth of what she’s saying hits me like a truck. “I just made my life harder,” I say.
“Exactly. They’ll ask anything of you now, just because they can.”
“Shit,” I whisper.
“It’s not so bad. Most of them, they don’t want something as demeaning as washing a hundred sports cars.”
