“I’d hire her again if I’d hadn’t decided to retire. Tell her hello if you hire her,” he said. “You won’t regret it.”
I didn’t bother to tell him I already had, and I wasn’t so sure on the regret part. Yet. I was pretty damn certain I saw a different side of her than he ever had. At least, I hoped I did.
The morning was busy, and Charly was in and out, and despite what I’d told her last night, she dealt with the customers, taking care of their payments. I tamped down my annoyance at the slightly befuddled expressions many of them wore as they left the office. She seemed to charm them all, which put me a little on edge.
At noon, she brought me a sandwich and a cold soda, leaning against the bumper of the Camry.
“Don’t you work on any motorcycles?”
“Yes.” I chewed and swallowed. “A bunch are coming in this week. Autos are the bread and butter, though.”
“Any restorations?”
“I finished one last month. Shipped it back to the States. It was a beauty.”
“What kind?”
“Vintage Harley. 1977 XLCR100.”
“Nice.”
“I have two others coming—a Ducati and another Harley. One is a partial restoration, the other a complete. I work on those over there.” I indicated the third bay. “Spray booth is behind it.”
“You do it all?”
“Every last bit. I’ve got a reputation for being one of the best. I only take on so many a year, and I handle the whole thing.”
“Paperwork?” she questioned with a lift of her eyebrow.
“All done and paid. I keep all those files separate in the bottom left-hand drawer.”
“Do you keep pictures of the restorations?”
“Actually, yes—not a ton but always before and after. There’s a camera in the drawer I use with a memory card. Each file has my concept sketches as well.”
“Oh, I could use those for the website.”
“So, you really know how to do all that, ah, stuff?”
She waved her hands. “Easy peasy.”
Her use of odd sayings amused me.
“Well, knock yourself out.”
“What’s the most iconic motorcycle you’ve ever worked on?”
I stiffened, then forced myself to relax. She had no idea what she was asking me. I kept my voice neutral.
“An 1952 Indian Chief.”
“Wow. My father loved Indian motorcycles.”
I took a long drink of the cold soda. “They’re classic.”
“Did you ever ride one?”
I almost spat out my answer. “Yes.”
She looked around the shop, changing the subject, which cooled my ire. “Are there any photos from when your dad ran the shop?”
“I think there are some in the storage room.” I scratched my beard, thinking. “Or in the boxes in the barn.”
“Can I look?”
“Like I said—knock yourself out.”
“Holy moly, that’s awesome. Retro is in.” She pushed off the bumper and patted the hood. “I don’t have a work order listing in the computer for this one.”
“There’s no charge.”
“Maxx, you can’t be doing favors for your friends.”
“It’s not for a friend. It’s for you.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then realized what I had said. Her eyes widened. “Me?”
“That was my mom’s car. My dad bought it new. She didn’t drive much, and he kept it in pristine condition. When she had her first stroke, they put it in the barn. I’ve kept it maintained, even planned on selling it at some point, but never did.”
“You’re going to let me drive your mom’s car?”
I wagged my finger. “I expect you to take care of it. It has a lot of sentimental value.” Bending forward, I stroked the still immaculate paint job. “And it’s a great little car. It’ll do the job.”
She blinked at me but didn’t say anything.
“The truck is too big for you, Red. This is compact—like you. It makes sense.” I growled playfully at her. “And I won’t waste my time driving you around.”
As soon as the sentence was out of my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. I barely had time to brace myself before she flung her arms around my neck and kissed me. And as soon as her mouth touched mine, I gave in. I wrapped my arm around her waist, lifting her, palming her ass as we kissed. I slanted my mouth, kissing her harder, deeper, and not caring about my plan. She obviously didn’t care about my tone, and I didn’t care how bad an idea this was. Right now, it was pretty damn great.
She plunged one hand into my hair, tugging and stroking. The other, she used to clasp the back of my neck, holding me tight. I wrapped my free hand around her ponytail and yanked at it, pulling her head back and kissing my way across her throat.
“So sexy in my shirt, aren’t you, Red? Acting all sweet and demure. You got anything on under those tight little yoga pants?”
She rubbed against me, gasping as I licked my way up to her ear. “No.”
“Jesus,” I bit out, eyeing the Camry and wondering if there was enough room to fuck her in the back seat.