“I’m good,” Mia shouts from the dressing room. “I think I’ll get the turquoise sweater with the strawberry design. My brother approved it.”
The redhead turns to me even though she answers my sister. “That sweater is perfect for you, so he has excellent taste.” Then she lowers her voice and meets my eyes fully. “Is there anything I can get for a guy with great taste?”
Her meaning is 100 percent clear. So’s mine when I say, “Your name and number.”
The saleswoman gives me her digits with a flirty smile and then heads off to take care of another customer.
I save her contact info—her name is Becca—and close out the browser windows from my search. As I tap the last one, Mia appears at my side, the sweater over her arm. “Why are you looking up Henley?”
Quickly, I stuff the phone into the back pocket of my jeans as if she didn’t catch me red-handed. “I’m not.”
She scoffs. “Of course you weren’t. That’s just some other gorgeous, young ex-employee.”
“Can we get that burger?”
“Only if you tell me why you were looking up the woman who used to drive you crazy. Wait.” Mia freezes. “Is she why you’re cranky today?”
I shake my head. “I’m not cranky.”
“You’re so cranky.”
“I’m a natural grouch. It has nothing to do with that woman.”
Mia raises one eyebrow, her eyes blazing with skepticism. “I know you, Max. I know you as well as anyone. You think you’re so tough, but that woman had your number.”
“Burger. Now.”
Mia pays for her sweater, and we head out of the store. On the way to the restaurant, my phone rings. It’s David Winters.
“If it’s business, just take the call,” Mia says, and so I do, talking as we stroll through the Village to my favorite spot. When I’m done, I tell Mia we might be celebrating a potential new client tonight.
Over dinner, I give her the news from David. We toast to the possibilities.
Later that night at my home, I scroll past Becca’s number. No doubt she’d be game for a one-night stand. But I don’t call her. It’s not just because Mia’s still in town.
My mind is elsewhere.
I’m focused only on new business.
And on making sure I shut down all the browser tabs on my phone after I check out the image again of Henley working on the Ferrari. I stare at it for a few minutes.
In my defense, the car is smoking hot.
4
The second the metal music cranks up, I groan. I know what’s coming.
I shake out my hand, cramped from signing checks at the end of the day, and step out of my office in the back of the shop. When Sam and Mike point at me, gangster style, I roll my eyes.
Sam takes a step forward, fixing me with a mean stare, then Mike joins him, going full peacock as he waves his big arms at the gloriously gleaming white car behind them.
“Yo.” Mike adopts his best street-style voice. “Today, we are going to show you what it takes to restore an old Rolls to sick-as-fuck new.”
“Rolls. That’s Royce to you,” Sam adds, his dark eyes forming slits. Then they stalk and glower as the screech of the abominable music grows horrifically louder. I lean against the concrete wall and cross my arms, letting them perform their act for thirty seconds or so, until Mike stabs his thumb on his phone, which has been blasting the music. If you can call it music. Suffice to say, metal and I don’t get along. Give me the Stones, Frank Sinatra, or some kick-ass new indie band, and I’m good to go.
“How’d we do?” Mike strokes his auburn goatee. “Think we can audition for Pimp My Big Ass Peacock Ride with Tricked Out Wheels now?”
“Remind me who carries that show? So I will never watch it,” I say.
Sam and Mike are my main builders. When we’re close to finishing a car, they like to pretend they’re on reality TV, especially since those shows have about as much in common with our daily work here in the shop as medical dramas do with life in the ER. I feel confident in that assessment, since my brother, Chase, tells me that the number of impalements, for instance, he’s seen in his line of work as a doctor is about two, whereas those incidents seem to occur with astonishing regularity on the tube.
Real mechanics are problem solvers. They aren’t preeners who like to carve up metal with big, dangerous shiny objects, wielding chainsaws over their heads as they cackle. I hired Mike straight out of college, and Sam is attending night school classes, trying to finish up his business degree. These guys know how to tackle trouble, and they solved a helluva problem on this old Rolls, restoring it to its former glory under my guidance.