“I assume so.”
She huffed. “I may need to go get a few things.”
Right. We were back to her driving the truck. Not happening. I sighed, thinking over my schedule. “I’ll have something for you to drive tomorrow. Can you make do until then?”
“Sure.”
I pushed off the counter, but she held up her finger. “I need you to sign in to your bank account.”
I stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m going to be contacting people for payment. I want to offer e-transfer, so we need to set it up.”
“Why?”
“So the money comes in faster, Maxx,” she stated patiently.
“I’m not giving you access to the bank accounts.”
She sighed, crossing her arms. “Then how am I supposed to make deposits, pull statements, and balance the accounts?”
“I’ll pull the stuff and give it to you.”
She shut her eyes, and I swore she counted to ten before opening them. “Look, Maxx, obviously you don’t know me. I get it. But how about this. You sit here, open the banking info, I’ll tell you how I am going to set it up, and we will turn on alerts. Every time I send out an invoice, pay a bill, deposit money, your phone will get an alert.”
“Every time?” I asked suspiciously.
“Yes. You can even put a second password on it so you know everything I’m doing.”
Still, I hesitated. She frowned but let me think. In order for her to do her job, I had to offer her some sort of trust. It didn’t come easily to me now, though. She must have sensed my unease, because she made another suggestion.
“How about this,” she suggested. “We’ll set up the e-transfer part and the alerts. We’ll do the rest another time, once you decide you’re more comfortable with the arrangements. We can sit down once a week, and you can sign checks for bills, pull me any statements I need and so forth.”
“Fine.”
“Okay.”
She stood, and I took her seat, signing in to the banking site. She was true to her word and waited to the side until I was signed in. I stood, giving her back the chair and watched as she set things up, explaining as she did.
“How does e-transfer work?”
“Instead of sending in a check or giving you a credit card, they transfer the money directly to the account. I, or you, will get an alert when the payment comes in. Simple and faster. No fees either.”
That made sense. She was right; I needed to get the cash flowing again. One look at the balance and I cringed. I filled my cup and headed to the garage, turning as I paused in the door.
“Thanks.”
She smiled at me. A real, honest smile that almost knocked my socks off. She was breathtaking when she did that.
“You’re welcome.”
“And dinner last night was delicious. Again.”
She leaned back, lifting her arms over her head and locking her hands in place. “Did you like your pie?”
I tried not to notice how high her breasts lifted in the light, frilly blouse she was wearing. How they rippled and pulled at the material as she moved. How the swell of her breasts peeked out from the low vee in her shirt.
I tried to ignore how my dick got hard at the sensual pose and the huskiness of her voice.
My efforts failed.
I swallowed, gripping the edge of the doorframe, almost snarling at her. “Yep. It was good. Really good.”
Then I turned and hurried to the garage, slamming down my mug, frustrated at how easily she could affect me. I needed to think of car engines, parts, oil changes. Not making her purr, stroking her parts, and how slick she would be if I did.
I groaned as I ran a hand over my face.
Today was going to be a long-ass day.
And I had a feeling it was just the start.I thought things would be normal in the garage. I would work on the vehicles, and she would stay out of my way.
I thought wrong.
She wandered in all morning, bringing with her the scent of her skin, the brightness of her smile, and the fucking sexy office girl look. She asked me endless questions. Part numbers, more descriptions on the notes I had for invoices, dollar amounts, phone numbers.
Every customer, every single goddamn one of them, stared at her. They watched her sashay around the place,
“Who the hell is that?” My customer Brian, asked, staring at her retreating figure.
“New assistant.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. “You lucky son of a bitch.” He stroked his chin. “She single?”
“No,” I snapped, having no idea why I said that.
“Damn.”
“Trust me, be grateful. She looks like an angel, but she has a forked tongue.”
“Who said I wanted to listen to her talk?” He quirked his eyebrows, which for some reason enraged me more. “Maybe I’d like that tongue somewhere.”
“Show some respect.”
He held up his hands. “Wow. Sorry.”