Miss Mechanic Page 3

  Her confidence was astounding. She was just shy of arrogant. She had the kind of confidence that made you stop and stare, just in case she really was as good as she said she was.

  Was she?

  A part of me wanted her to accept my offer.

  A part of me wanted to see if her confidence wasn’t unfounded—if it had a real basis.

  A part of me wanted her to say yes just so I could stare at her a little fucking longer.

  When I’d said I didn’t know women were mechanics—it was a lie. I meant women like her weren’t mechanics. Women with eyelashes that were so curved they tickled her skin weren’t. Women who had full lips that would be attractive with or without lipstick weren’t.

  The women I knew who were mechanics didn’t wear high heels and dresses that hugged every motherfucking sinful curve of their body.

  I only knew two women, but my point remained.

  Jamie Bell was a fucking enigma. One I wanted in my garage and the fuck away from it. I couldn’t compute this…siren…with one who would be comfortable wearing sneakers and overalls. This woman who had perfectly fixed make-up and had her face surrounded by slightly frizzy hair wouldn’t fit if she were covered in oil.

  But, fuck. Between her mouth—that sassy, unfiltered mouth that called me on the most pathetic excuses of my life—and her body, I was intrigued.

  She was hot as fuck. And no doubt a force to be reckoned with if you pushed her hard enough.

  And call me a fucking sadist, but I wanted to push her.

  I wanted to push her to the limit. Find her breaking point. Make her push and push until she snapped on me.

  She laid her hand on the top of the counter. Her gaze never wavered.

  The girl had balls.

  “You’ve got a deal, Dexter Ryne,” she said firmly. “And I’m gonna make you eat your words.”

  I leaned forward, right over the counter until there was mere inches between us. “I look forward to you eating your own, darlin’.”

  “I don’t eat my words.” She straightened. “I eat the souls of sexist asses like you.”

  “Careful.” My lips twitched. “As of right now, I’m your boss.”

  She stared at me, a flat, hard stare that would have made a lesser man shiver.

  Instead, my lips broke into a full-fledged smirk. “Monday morning. Be here at seven-thirty. In…more suitable attire.” I ran my gaze up and down her curvaceous body, just to make my point clear.

  She tugged her purse strap up over her shoulder. “I’ll see you then.”

  Then, she turned on her heel and left, leaving the door to swing shut after it. It slammed back into the frame, the sound echoing through the empty reception, and I let go of a low chuckle.

  Man, she was a fucking firecracker.

  I wasn’t worried she’d prove me wrong. Fuck no—I wasn’t worried at all. I wanted her to prove me damn wrong.

  She just didn’t look like the kind of girl who could hack it. And her resume stating that she worked for her father for her entire life didn’t exactly lend credence to her ability to do this jo.

  For all I knew, Jamie Bell had had it easy for her entire life.

  That was about to change.

  Even if, at the start, I had to treat her like the idiot she assumed I thought she was.

  I couldn’t fucking wait.

  ***

  “You hired someone yet?” Pops slammed his half-empty coffee mug down on the table and used his walking stick to sit himself on the sofa.

  “Just today,” I replied, not looking up from my phone.

  He reached over and snatched it out of my hands. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to ya, boy.”

  I took a deep breath and turned to face him. “Just today,” I repeated.

  “Tell me about him,” he demanded gruffly. “And pass me that damn coffee.”

  I hid my smile as I picked up the mug and handed it to him.

  He was brash and harsh, but beneath that demeanor, he was a big old fucking softie. Not that I ever told him that—that was only permitted on birthdays.

  “Thanks.” He sipped, then set the mug on his knee. “Well? Tell me about your new hire.”

  “It’s a woman.”

  Pops froze, then slowly slid his gaze over to meet mine with the tiniest jerk of his head. “You hired a woman?”

  I held my hands up. “She challenged me. It pissed me off. I challenged her right back.”

  Letting go of his stick, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is business, Dex. Not a means to get yourself laid.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “She’s hot, but sleeping with her would give me a headache. She runs her mouth far too much for that.”

  Pops snorted. “So did your grandma. Then I married her.”

  “Well, I’m not that stupid.”

  Another snort. “Tell me about her. She qualified? She tell you where to stick your stupid-ass opinions?”

  My lips thinned. “You think I’d hire someone if she wasn’t qualified?”

  “If it got you laid, I think you’d consider it. In fact, I know you would.”

  “I don’t need to hire some mouthy, overconfident chick to get laid.”

  Pops chuckled. “She told you where to stick it.”

  “A few times,” I admitted. Begrudgingly. “You know how I feel about women out the back. The last time we tried to hire one she couldn’t pick up a goddamn tire.”

  “And that’s because you were more interested in screwing her than anything else.” He waved his wrinkled finger in my face. “She wasn’t qualified. Tell me about this new lady.”

  He was so fucking polite. Sometimes.

  “She’s more than qualified.” I grabbed my beer from the table and settled back, my eyes staring in the direction of the TV and the car restoration show I’d been watching. Unfocused on it, I continued. “She worked weekends as a teen, picked up an apprenticeship the day after she graduated, and worked full-time ever since. Stopped a year ago when her dad was forced to sell the family garage.”

  “So, what’s your damn problem?” Pops snapped. “She paint her nails?”

  I shot him a dark look. “Overconfident. She thinks she’s better than she is.”

  “You hired her off a challenge. She obviously thinks she’s better than you.”

  “She’s wrong.”

  “And you criticize her for being overconfident.” He laughed.

  “Criticize who?” my great aunt, Greta, asked as she hobbled into the room, clutching a vase in her hands. Her bright blue gaze darted between the two of us. “Well? Spit it out, boy.”

  I fucking hated it when they called me that, but they were creatures of habit. Really fucking old ones.

  “His new employee,” Pops said, watching the TV. “They’re doing that wrong.” He waved his finger.

  “That took you long enough,” Greta said. “Where’d you find ‘em?”

  “She walked into reception this morning,” I answered.

  “Then proceeded to shut his ass up,” Pops chuckled. “I’m gonna need the CCTV of that.”

  I gave him another dark look.

  “Ooooh,” Greta trilled. She set down the vase and pointed at me. “She under your skin, boy.”

  “I don’t know her,” I shot back. “But if by ‘her’ you mean her hideous confidence and sassy attitude, then sure, she is.”

  She laughed. Loud and long. “Oh, look. You metcha match.”

  I wished she would talk like a normal person.

  “Don’t go there,” I warned.

  “Hideous confidence and sassy attitude,” she mused, stroking her chin. “Gosh, Eddie, do we know anyone like that?”

  Pops smirked, looking at me. “Sure don’t, Gretie.”

  They were referring to my sister. The only woman who’d ever been able to kick me in the balls and keep the damn things tucked up in my stomach until she’d left.

  I leaned back on the sofa and swigged my beer. “I don’t know why I come here f
or dinner.”

  “’Cause you can’t cook,” Greta said, wiping her hands on her apron. “And you secretly like it when I torture you.”

  Well, she was right on the first.

  The second… Not so much.

  Chapter Four – Jamie

  “That,” Haley said, hand clasped around a bottle of water, “Is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “What did you expect me to do? Kow-tow to his fucked up sexism?”

  “Politely thank him for his time and leave!”

  I shook my head. “No. Honestly, Hales, I’ve never met such a fucking asshole in my life. He wasn’t worried about me being strong enough to do the job. He’s worried I’d show him up.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that your confidence could be mistaken for arrogance?”

  “Yes. You. All the time.” I huffed and hit the button on the treadmill to take the incline up a level. I wasn’t a runner, so I walked practically a ninety-degree angle to make up for it. “Seriously, it was all over him. Let’s face it—I’m more than qualified, and he’s so ass-backwards in his belief of where I belong as a poor little woman that it was unbearable.”

  “So, your fix to that is to work with him? With your temper?” She raised her eyebrow and moved to a slow jog. “Do you really think it’s a good idea?”

  “I never claimed it was a good idea,” I retorted. “I think it’s a terrible idea, but I have this insatiable need to prove him wrong.”

  “Since when did you ever care about proving someone—much less a man—wrong?”

  She had a point. “Well, yesterday morning.”

  Haley rolled her eyes and took a sip of her water. “You don’t want this job, James. You’ve walked away from these interviews a hundred times before. This is ridiculous.”

  I wished she’d stop talking sense. She was making me start to regret my choice.

  “I know it’s ridiculous. You don’t have to keep telling me.” I huffed and swigged my water. “I just… There’s something about him that tells me he needs his smugness smacking off his face.”

  “So, punch him instead of work for him.”

  “No. It’ll be far more satisfying when I show him I’m not a delicate fucking flower.”

  “Ah, yes. Let me send that to whoever is heading up the feminist movement these days. Sounds like you just gave them a new slogan.”

  I shot her a withering look. “You’re such an asshole. Honestly, you should take your car into the garage and talk to him. I bet you’d see exactly what I mean.”

  She slowed the treadmill to a walk. “Why would I take my car in there? You’re going on like he’s your sworn enemy, and now you’re telling me to take my custom to him!”

  “You twist my words, Haley Allen.”

  Her grin stretched across her entire face. “I know. I’m trying to catch you out. You’re really going to work with a guy you hate?”

  “I don’t hate Dex. I don’t know enough about him to hate him, but from the first impression, he’s probably going to be a permanent addition to my shit list.”

  “Oooh, your shit list. What are you going to do?”

  “Bitch and whine every night to some unlucky soul who gets to call herself my best friend.”

  “Oh boy,” she said dryly. “I didn’t pull the short straw at all.”

  I turned to look at her. “You know, I forget. Who made me apply for this job in the first place?”

  She said nothing. She simply flipped me the bird, looking straight ahead, and put her earbuds in her ears.

  I laughed to myself.

  She was such a tool.

  ***

  Monday morning rolled around all too quickly. After having the weekend to sleep on things and several messages from Haley about how stupid I was, all my six a.m. alarm did was wake me to the reality that I was about to work for a total asshole.

  What was I doing?

  I valued myself more than this.

  I was worth more than proving myself to an egotistical little man because he didn’t think I was worth it.

  But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t tear myself away from the need to do this.

  Was it because, on the surface, I was attracted to him? Or because he just made me want to wipe that stupid, sexy, smug smirk off his goddamn face?

  Jesus, I didn’t even know. Holy shit. I was in trouble.

  I wasn’t doing this because I wanted to. I was doing it because I felt like I had to. I had to be the one to smash his stupid little ideals into pieces.

  What was wrong with me?

  I decided not to answer that and headed for the shower instead. I hadn’t exactly slept well last night, but the hot water beat down on me and washed away a lot of the aches that plagued my shoulders.

  Ten minutes later, I emerged from my bathroom wrapped in towels and headed back into my room. I’d laid out a simple tank top and shorts set the night before. I didn’t particularly care about either item, and actually, I was sure the shorts had an oil stain on the butt pocket.

  I changed, carefully balancing the towel on my hair. My unruly, frizzy curls were currently jailed in it, and I wanted to keep it that way as long as possible.

  Another ten minutes passed while I dressed and applied minimal make-up. Judging by our initial meeting, I expected to be thrown onto reception and customer service within hours of me starting today. If that was the case, I needed to look somewhat presentable, no matter what Dex said about make-up and shit.

  I even put on the goddamn red lipstick.

  Just to prove I could fix cars while wearing it.

  God, now I was point-scoring.

  I shook my head at myself and released my mop of hair from the towel. It was a hot mess as it tumbled in wet curls over my shoulders, and I had to grit my teeth to get through the knotty mess it was.

  Thank god for the wide-toothed comb. It made its way through the fluff until I was able to whisk it all into a messy bun on top of my head.

  Then, I looked in the mirror, and let out a long, heavy breath.

  I was ready for this. I was ready to drive to Ryne Garages and begin the task of proving Dex wrong.

  Was I?

  I’d been so determined—until Haley had told me how stupid the idea was. How my self-worth had never been defined by anyone else until I saw him.

  She was right.

  It was stupid.

  My self-worth was defined by nobody other than me—and that wouldn’t change. Whether or not Dexter Ryne believed I was good enough to be a mechanic in his garage was nothing more than his opinion, and since opinions were usually closer to assholes than anything else, I didn’t care what he thought.

  I just cared that, for a second, I made him think something else.

  And I didn’t know why I cared. I had no reason to care. His prejudice would not change just because I, one person, proved him wrong.

  Still. I’d never claimed to be this generation’s Einstein.

  I grabbed all my things together and headed out of the door and to my car. She rumbled to life when I turned the key in the ignition, and I took a deep breath and pulled away from my house.

  Stones crunched beneath the tires as I followed the long, makeshift drive that connected the path to my house to the main one to my parents’. As soon as I turned onto the main drive, it was mere seconds until I was out onto the main road and driving in the direction of the garage.

  I’d driven it so many times I didn’t pay any attention. I knew the stores I’d pass. I knew what the trees on Main Street looked like as they turned to fall colors and wilted all over the sidewalk. I knew what it looked like to pass the bigger houses on the opposite side of town.

  What it looked like to roll just slightly off the beaten track to where the garage sat.

  I pulled into the same spot I did for my interview and parked. Everything inside shut off with one turn of the key, and I stayed still for a moment.

  I had to get myself together.

>   Now.

  I grabbed my stuff from the passenger side and got out before I turned into a huge chicken. Locking my car, I stuffed the keys into my purse and walked toward the garage.

  There were no lights. I tried the front door, but it was locked, and I pursed my lips.

  “Jamie?”

  I jumped, clutching my purse close to me.

  A low chuckle sounded. “Round the back.”

  Slowly, I edged back toward my car and where the back door to the garage was. Why didn’t I think of that? That was always how we’d entered. I guessed my uncertainty had gotten the better of me.

  I’d forgotten that entrance ever existed.

  The silhouette of Dex filled the doorway until my eyes adjusted to the dim light of the fall morning and I could make him out.

  Boy, I was not looking forward to daylight savings next week.

  “Dex?”

  “Did I scare you?”

  “Like a lamb scares a lion,” I replied, walking toward him.

  He didn’t step out of the door—he only flattened himself against the frame, meaning I had to turn sideways to slide past him. Barely a breath of air would have been able to go between us, but at least we didn’t touch.

  “You’re early,” he noted.

  “Would you prefer if I were late?” I shot over my shoulder, walking into the staff area and dumping my purse on the sofa.

  “I’d prefer you be on time.”

  Now, he was taking the piss.

  “I’ll take that into consideration. If I’m ever late, know that it was because I was doing my best to get here exactly on time.”

  “We’re beginning this trial on good terms, I see.”

  I turned, ready to shoot him down, but all I saw was a wolfish grin that glinted in his eyes. “It’s first thing on a Monday. You’ll learn that I don’t do sarcasm this early.”

  “Ironic, considering the snark you just sent my way.”

  “I’m sorry—I meant to say I don’t take sarcasm from other people on a Monday unless they have a murder wish.”

  Dex burst into laughter and locked the door I’d just walked through. “Just on a Monday? I admit to having limited experience in your presence, but I’d consider you a potential murderer any day of the week.”