I didn’t really have time for this. I was already getting antsy. We’d wasted hours.
“Fine. Martin!” he shouted toward the girl at the desk. She nodded and pressed a button.
A man in blue coveralls came out.
“Martin, can you check out these vehicles for me.”
“Yes, sir,” Martin answered.
Twenty minutes later and Martin returned with a thumbs up, saving Bridge and me from ridiculous small talk with the car salesman. “SLS needs some realigning, but other than that they’re perfection.”
“My office?” Jeff asked.
I nodded and followed him back before sitting before him.
“And you have the titles?” he asked.
“In my pocket.”
“Why do you want to sell?” he asked.
“Unnecessary,” I answered. “Are you interested or not?”
“I’ll take them for one.”
“Not in a million years,” I challenged, sliding deeper into my chair, my right hand casually resting on the side of my face. “I’ve offered one-point-two. It’s more than fair. They’re in almost perfect condition, and their commercial resale is close to one-point-seven. You know it. I know it. But if you feel like you need to win here, how about we meet in the middle?”
“I’m listening,” he said.
Fifteen minutes later, Bridge and I walked out the sliding front door and stood, another check next to the one I already had, and our bags at our feet.
“Where to?” she asked.
“We walk,” I said pointing to a dealership half a mile south, “to that truck dealership.”
“I can’t walk that far carrying these bags. I’ll stay here and you can come get me when you’re done,” she said.
“I’ll carry the bags,” I said.
“You can’t carry all these bags, Spence. I’ll stay.”
“You don’t understand. When Dad finds out we sold the cars, he’s going to ask around and these guys won’t forget buying two luxury sports cars in one day, especially when they see what the guy who sold them to them picked you up in. You have to come.”
“Fine,” she pouted.
I gathered as many bags as possible and pushed on toward the dealership.
“I can’t believe you can carry all that shit. You’re not even breaking a sweat,” Bridge commented halfway there. “I can’t even keep up.”
“Yeah, well, I have to do this kind of training for rowing at school. Upper body strength is number one for that team.”
“Damn, that must suck.”
“Tell me about it,” I laughed, spearing her with a look.
She laughed. “Sorry.”
I took a deep breath. “Although, it doesn’t suck when we race at parties.”
“I’m afraid to even ask.”
“We toss a girl on each shoulder and race down the street with them.”
She rolled her eyes.
“The girls love it.”
“Anyone in particular?” she asked.
“Does it matter now?” I quipped.
“I suppose not, asshole.”
“Sorry,” I said, realizing I was taking my frustrations out on her. “I’m still getting over Soph,” I said, referring to my old prep school friend.
Sophie Price was the most beautiful girl you’d ever met. Seriously. Take it from someone who’s met Bar Refaeli in person. Soph was even more stunning. Especially since she’d had a personality makeover. I’d never regret anything as much as not making her fall in love with me.
“You can’t make anyone fall, Spence. Either they do or they don’t.”
“I said that out loud?”
“Duh, and it’s been two years, Spencer. You seriously need to get over her. She’s with that Ian guy anyway, right?”
“Right.”
“That hot South African guy named Ian,” she concluded.
“Thanks.”
“That hot Saffy named Ian who gives his life to mutilated Ugandan orphans and worships the ground Sophie walks on.”
I stopped and glared at her. “That’ll do, Bridge.”
She pretended to zip her mouth closed and we kept walking.
I’d researched the truck dealership beforehand and knew exactly which vehicle I wanted. A black Ford F150 crew cab.
“You’re kidding me,” Bridge deadpanned when she saw it.
“I’m not,” I said. “We’re moving to a ranch. In Montana. I’m not kidding.”
I started to fill the bed with our bags as a salesman came barreling toward us.
“How you doing, folks?”
“I’m going to make your life easy,” I told him, settling in the last bag. “This is the truck we want. I’m willing to pay fifteen hundred below asking price and in cash.”