Savannah
Slick Cycles lived up to its name. Between the post-modern reception room and the open floor plan of the workshop-slash-garage, Savannah couldn't deny that she felt more than a little bit impressed by the operation.
The receptionist led her out onto the main floor, heels clicking a competent staccato on the oil-stained concrete. Both garage doors were flung wide open, as much to let the midday breeze in as to vent the smell of cleaning chemicals and exhaust. Sunlight filtered down naturally from the trio of skylights above, bathing the floor in luminous golden strips that Savannah and her escort passed through on the way to the back. An old radio blared classic rock on one of the workbenches; the receptionist had to shout to be heard above it.
"Here's where the men do most of their work. If you're interested in browsing some of the models we have for sale, I can give you a tour of the showroom, if you like!" the other woman suggested cheerfully.
Savannah smiled. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm here to see Maxim. He told me he was working today."
"Really?" The receptionist paused as Savannah continued to look around, eyes hunting the room for any sign of life. "He didn't mention he was expecting a visitor."
"I doubt he knew I was coming by today."
The door to the back of the shop pulled open, and in walked Maxim Karev in all his glory. He looked like he hadn't shaved since their interview a few days earlier. He was in the company of another man; they laughed as they traded a water bottle between them, evidently just coming back from a break they had taken outside.
Maxim looked completely at ease, and completely in his element here-it was a marked contrast to the restrained, dangerous man Savannah had first met behind bars a few days previous. Then he had been like a caged predator, lightning in a bottle just waiting to go off. It was obvious that captivity not only fit him like an ill-tailored suit, but stood as a bruise to his ego. She supposed she couldn't blame him for feeling that way, not when he had done the admirable thing and cut ties with his criminal roots years earlier.
Or so he claimed.
Maxim's gaze landed on the two women, and he paused. The other man didn't notice them as quickly; he continued gabbing as Savannah felt the world of the garage close in around her.
Maxim Karev looked so good it almost hurt. Today he was clad in black denim and a work-stained white T-shirt, wearing the thick, worn boots she remembered from the last time they'd met. The dark stubble on his chiseled jaw had worked its way into a full-blown beard. Savannah, who was never one to exactly go in for the clean-shaven look of her male coworkers, was having a hard time not noticing, or privately appreciating, just how well his lapsed hygiene suited him. She was having an even more difficult time reconciling the man standing before her with the one she had read about in the bureau's expansive file on the Karev family.
"This woman is here to see you, Max," the receptionist explained, sharing a conspicuous look with the other man. Savannah didn't understand the meaning of their silent exchange, but she was certain she would learn soon enough.
"Yes? Can I help you?" Maxim asked her. He was being overly formal, likely just using a tactic to throw her off, but she knew the look he was giving her was appreciative. Today she had traded in her usual pant suit for a loose-fitting T-shirt with a wide, oblong collar. She knew she had a good neck for it, and Maxim's eyes on her exposed clavicle told her he knew as well.
"Hey, Max!" Savannah parroted the nickname she had heard the receptionist use and waved eagerly at him, smiling so widely her jaw hurt. "I know you didn't want to wait for that next date, so I figured I'd save you the trouble of tracking me down! Are you on a break?"
"Sure he is," answered the man who had entered beside Maxim. He exchanged another significant look with the receptionist, this time more amused than astonished. "Couldn't wait for another date, huh? Can't say I blame him." The man strode forward and extended his hand, and Savannah noticed the wedding ring on his finger. "Travis Hammersmith. Maybe Maxim told you differently when you guys first met, but I actually own Slick Cycles."
Savannah shook his hand, firm but not too firm. "He mentioned he was in a managerial position on his dating profile," she lied, widening her eyes as Maxim's conspicuously narrowed over Travis' shoulder. "I guess I did assume he was the owner."
"Dating profile?" The receptionist burst out laughing, before quickly raising a hand to cover her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry. I know relationships are much more … digital these days. I'm Rebecca, by the way. Travis is my husband." This time, the woman offered Savannah a beatific smile, genuine in its warmth, and for a moment she looked nothing like the competent professional Savannah had first met seated behind the desk. She looked almost as if she considered the two of them friends already.