* * *
—Take that new hip-hop workout at gym. Maybe it’ll help my complete inability to follow the steps in salsa class. Why is dancing so hard?
* * *
—Figure out why the freaking screen-lock on phone doesn’t work. What kind of self-respecting fix-it woman can restore an engine on a Challenger and not repair a screen-lock? (I’m looking at you, girl!)
* * *
—Don’t check out hot guy at gym. The one with tattoos that look like one Max has on his bicep.
* * *
—Especially since it’s such a sexy tattoo.
6
I’m nearly at the climax.
Of the story.
The one I’m telling Livvy about the Rolls.
“And then she purred when I turned the corner,” I say from my spot in her parlor, sitting on the ornate couch with the carved wooden arms and upholstery that looks as if it comes from Versailles.
Livvy’s slate-gray eyes sparkle. She sits on the other end of the couch. “And?”
This is the cherry on the ice cream sundae. For Livvy, the car isn’t complete until I tell her how it feels to be behind the wheel. “The purr turned to a deep roar when I cranked up the speed for the final mile.”
“And when you parked it?” Livvy is on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped together.
“Like a parachute landing softly on the grass. Perfect.”
“It sounds incredible. I can’t wait to take her for a spin.”
“Don’t wait, then. Go out right now and do it.” In a low voice I chant, “Do it, do it, do it.”
Livvy giggles then fingers the strand of pearls around her neck. “I will soon. I promise. I have another delivery shortly, but then I’ll slide on my leather driving gloves, toss a silk scarf around my neck, and head out for a drive through the country.”
“Don’t forget the Jackie O sunglasses to complete the look.”
“I never forget the shades.” Livvy gestures to the white china teacup on the table. “Can I interest you in another white peony before I have Peter take you back to Manhattan?” she asks, mentioning her chauffeur. He drives a town car, not any of Livvy’s specialized rides.
“I’m all good in the tea department.”
“Don’t leave, then, without taking some treats. Ariel made the most delicious brownies for a party later.”
A petite blond maid in a gray uniform with a lace apron returns to the living room to collect our cups.
“Thank you so much, Ariel,” Livvy says to the young woman. “Would you pack up some brownies for Mr. Summers for the road?”
“Of course, Mrs. Sweetwater. I will take care of that immediately.”
Ariel turns to go, but as she reaches the doorway of the parlor, she casts her gaze back to me and offers a shy, sweet smile. Ariel nibbles on the corner of her lip, her eyes on mine.
The unspoken offer is tempting, especially since I can’t deny I wouldn’t mind playing a little French-maid-with-a-feather-duster game with her. But fucking the client’s help is verboten. I look away from the cute little thing as she spins on her heel and heads off to the rest of the mansion.
“Now, what shall we work on next time? You’ve customized an Aston Martin for me. You’ve put a new engine in my husband’s Mercedes, and now the Rolls.”
I stroke my chin, thinking about what Livvy might crave. “Wouldn’t you say it’s about time we make a sports car for you?”
“Actually,” she says slowly, as if she’s confessing, “I ordered one for my niece for a birthday present.”
“Funny, I didn’t get the work order for that. I must have misplaced it.”
Her shoulders sag. “I used someone else. Please forgive me.”
I pretend to be offended, even though I’m a little bummed to have lost the job. “I’m devastated.”
“I would have used you, but it was a last-minute thing. I wanted you to focus completely on Snow White, but I needed to get this one done, too.”
The unmistakable rumble of a Corvette engine lands on my ears. I snap my head to glance at the living room window. A sporty red car cruises up the long driveway.
Livvy squeals. “It’s here now. I’ll be right back.”
She pops up at the speed of light and race-walks to the car before the driver can even cut the engine.
I whistle under my breath. Damn. That sleek beauty looks better than any Corvette should have a right to look. I don’t even like Corvettes, but this one makes me want to get my hands on it, under it, and inside it.
“I prepared a sandwich for you, too.”
The voice is soft and eager. I tear my gaze away from the window and meet Ariel’s eyes. She crosses the room and hands me a small brown shopping bag—the classy kind, like my sister buys when she gives gifts to her friends.