I laugh as I rub my hand over the back of my neck. “Ah, that’s the Henley I remember. Always quick with a fiery comeback.”
“What did you expect but a true answer? You’re ridiculous if you think having the same client means I’m out to steal your business.”
She rolls her eyes and drags a hand through her chestnut brown hair. Stupidly, I follow her gesture, wondering for a moment what her hair feels like.
Like straw.
Her hair feels like straw.
Her lips taste like wilted lettuce.
Her breath smells like a dog’s.
Shit, I like dogs.
But, I remind myself, I don’t want to kiss dogs, and I definitely don’t want to kiss Henley.
“I think it’s fucking fishy,” I say.
“Look, Summers. Here’s the deal. You were the king of the car business when I worked under you.”
Under you.
Don’t plant those images in my head.
My dick flirts with treason once more.
“Still the king,” I point out.
“And now there’s a queen in town. You’re going to have to deal with the fact that you have some serious competition. I make hotter sports cars than you do. You might be a god at restoring a Rolls, or making an Aston sing, and I’m sure your neon-blue souped-up Ferrari is the baddest ride ever.”
I cock my head. “How’d you know I did that car in blue?”
“I looked you up. You think it’s easy being a woman in this business? It’s not. I need to stay ten steps ahead, and I do it by knowing the business cold. I researched you, studied you, and understood you when I came back to town. You do an amazing job on nearly everything.” I can’t help it—I straighten my shoulders a bit from the compliment, loving it, even from her. “But I happen to be amazing at making sports cars, and Livvy wanted one for her wild niece, so she called this wild girl.” Henley punctuates her speech by tapping her chest.
“Wild,” I say, deadpan. “That sounds right, considering how you got a little wild with a client’s car the last time we worked together, doing things he didn’t ask for.”
The look on her face tells me she’s taken aback. “I thought it was what he wanted,” she says with less intensity and more . . . worry. “I told you that.”
I shake my head. I won’t give in to her. “You did what you wanted. Plain and simple. You nearly cost me business.”
“You nearly cost me a career.”
I fix her with a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding stare. “Your career seems just fine. Speaking of, what’s the name of this shop you opened?”
“I don’t have my own shop yet. I’m the lead builder at John Smith Rides.”
I groan. That name again. First, Sam dates a mechanic there. Now, Henley is on the fucking payroll of my rival, too.
I grab the bottle, and once more I don’t bother with a glass. Nope. I might as well drink the whole thing down. This woman is going to be a thorn in my side.
After fifteen minutes of uncomfortable silence while the car rolls along the highway, Henley turns to me. “How about we try to make this ride enjoyable?”
“Let bygones be bygones? Or did you want to play cards?”
“How about charades?”
I’m walking into something dangerous. But I do it anyway. “What kind of charades?”
“It’s a question I’m asking.”
“All right. Have at it.”
She adopts a perky little smile then leans forward, popping her butt off the seat. I remind myself that it’s not a perfect ass she possesses. Like her straw hair and rubbery lips, her butt is flat and boring, not a round, heart-shaped dream ass ripe for spanking. She waggles a pretend object in her hand, almost as if she’s cleaning. Dusting, perhaps. Next, she clasps her hand to her mouth in a Betty Boop move. “Oops,” she mouths.
“You’re allowed to do that in charades?”
She doesn’t answer. She sits back down on the seat and grabs her phone from a small purse. She points to me and shrugs as if she’s asking a question.
“Did I?” I suggest.
She nods then opens her palm a few times as if she’s grabbing something.
“Grab?”
She shakes her head.
“Get?”
She taps her nose.
“Did I get . . .?”
Henley does the dusting again then points to her phone.
Yep. Walked into it and then some. I drag a hand over my face and shake my head. “No, I did not get the maid’s number. I wouldn’t do that to a client.”
“But she was hot, right?”
I turn and stare at her. “Why are you asking?”
“She was a babe. It’s a fact. I was just curious if you got her number since she sure seemed to like you, too.”