Miss Mechanic

“I’ll need to see your qualifications.”

“You’ll have to find the certification in the mess you made of my resume,” I ground out.

He grunted and turned on the balls of his feet, going back to the reception area.

Screw this. Never mind me being a woman—this man was insufferable. He was beyond sexist and prejudiced. I’d never met anyone quite like it.

What I should have done was told him thanks, but no thanks.

What I wanted to do was prove him wrong.

I joined him in the reception with one last, longing glance into the garage. He’d picked up all the sheets of paper and was sorting them on the desk.

“Did you find them?” I asked.

He grunted again.

Oh, boy. I’d found proof that cavemen did still exist.

I held out my hand for the resume.

Bright blue eyes found mine, and he handed it over. “I’m gonna level with you, Ms. Bell—”

“Jamie.”

“—This isn’t going to work. It’s not because you’re not qualified. You are. But honestly, I’m not comfortable working with a woman in my garage.”

My lips pursed as he continued speaking.

“While you’re suitably qualified, I question whether or not you’re strong enough for most of the tasks required.”

Don’t speak, Jamie. Take it and leave.

“I’m sorry, but thank you for coming in anyway.”

Then, the jerk had the audacity to smile at me.

Fucking smile.

“See, all I heard there was a bunch of excuses about why you can’t have a woman in your garage.” The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

Dex faltered, his smile dropping. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t believe you at all.” I leaned against the counter. “I think you’re afraid I’ll go back there and prove you and your stupid, outdated ideas wrong. I think you’re worried I’ll be a better mechanic than you are.”

His eyebrows shot up. Amusement flashed in his eyes, but it was the wry curve of his lips as they formed a smirk that said I’d hit a home run with that. “Very astute, Jamie. And completely incorrect.”

“So, why not hire me? If you’re not afraid of being proven wrong, what do you have to lose? Apart from a bit of an apparently over-sized ego, of course.”

He laughed and folded his muscular arms. He leaned against the doorframe, the ghost of the laugh on his lips, and studied me. “Are you really trying to argue your way into this job?”

“No. I’m trying to get to the root of the real reason you don’t want a woman in your workshop, and all I’ve got is that you’re genuinely afraid that I’ll be too damn good.”

All right. I was totally tooting my own horn, but damn it. I was damn good at my job. I’d learned from the best, from two generations of mechanics, and I wasn’t going to allow him to demean me just because I made him uncomfortable.

Dex rubbed his hand over his chin. His stare was intense, but I held his gaze. I wasn’t going to back down.

If he thought I was, he was very much mistaken.

“All right.” He dropped his arms and walked over to me. “I’ll make you deal, darlin’.”

I waited.

His lips quirked. “Since you’re so insistent, I’ll give you three weeks. If, at the end of three weeks, you’ve proven me wrong and you can hack it, I’ll give you a permanent job.”

When he paused, I said, “What’s the catch?”

Resting his forearms on the counter, he leaned forward, smirk still in place. “If I don’t think you’ve done enough, your job will be on reception.”

I glared at him.

“Of course,” he said, standing up with a shit-eatingly smug glint in his eye, “If you don’t think you can prove how good you are in three weeks, you don’t have to accept.”

The bastard had taken my words, flipped them, and thrown them right back at me.

Chapter Three – Dex

Jamie Bell stepped toward the counter. With her stunningly bright blue eyes fixed on mine, she said, “I won’t need three weeks.”

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.