It was Garret’s day to handle the shop, so I sat behind the counter and put in the order shipment. We didn’t have much to send off. Our inventory had stayed well-stocked over the past few months. That was the one good thing about business being slow. I finished the order in less than an hour.

I sat behind the counter for a few minutes before boredom overwhelmed me. As I got to my feet, thinking I would help Garret in the shop, the bell over the front door chimed. I looked over to see an older gentleman walk in with a polite smile on his face.

“Good morning.” I smiled and stepped back behind the counter. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got a Harley out there,” he said. “She’s not running like she used to. I fiddled around with her myself, but it’s beyond my knowledge. Need someone to help me out.”

“Easy enough,” I said. “I’m Alex. Let’s walk outside, and I’ll take a quick look. Then we can—”

“You?” The man frowned.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ll look at the bike?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“What about that gentleman in the garage?” he asked. “I thought I saw someone working out there when I walked up.”

“That’s Garret,” I said with a nod. “He’s right in the middle of something, though, so I can give you a quick evaluation myself.”

“That’s okay,” the man said evasively. “I can wait for Garret to finish up.”

“That’s not necessary,” I said slowly. “I would hate to make you wait around.”

“I really don’t mind.”

I narrowed my eyes and took a small step back. Everything was beginning to click into place. I’d encountered men like this before.

“What was your name, sir?” I asked

“Hank,” he said.

“Hank.” I smiled. “Well, Hank, I assure you I’m perfectly capable of evaluating your bike. I’ve worked on Harleys for over a decade now. I know what I’m doing. And I promise I won’t do anything to your bike without your say so. All right?”

“Really, darling,” he said. “I don’t mind waiting for Garret.”

“Garret’s busy,” I said firmly. “It’s me, or it’s nobody.”

Hank dropped his polite manner. His body tensed, and he stared me down with dark grey eyes.

“No woman works on my bike,” he said. “It’s as simple as that.”

“Why?” I demanded.

“Girls don’t know shit about motorcycles,” he said as if it were obvious. “If I couldn’t figure out what’s wrong with that bike, then you sure as hell won’t be able to either.”

“How long have you worked on motorcycles, Hank?” I asked.

“Since I bought my first one,” he said proudly. “I was fifteen.”

“Funny, that’s the same age I was when my dad started letting me fly solo.”

“What?” Hank frowned.

“My father,” I said slowly. “Henry Tanner. The man who owned this shop right up until he died. He taught me everything he knew. I started helping him when I was three years old. At fifteen, he let me work alone. Now, I run the damn place. You get it yet?”

“I don’t see how any of that—”

“I’m good at what I do, Hank,” I snapped.

“My answer is still the same,” Hank said. His face flushed with anger. “I’ll wait for Garret to finish up if you don’t mind.”

He turned around as if the conversation were over. I felt my annoyance turn to anger as I watched him plop down onto a chair and focus his stare at the wall.

“I do mind,” I said. I stepped around the counter and stood right in front of him. “You need to leave.”

“Excuse me?” Hank asked, clearly affronted.

“Go,” I said simply. “If you aren’t interested in my help, then there’s no point in hanging around.”

“I’ll wait for Garret,” he said again.

“Garret doesn’t own this place,” I snapped. “I do. Now, leave.”

“You’re going to turn away business?” Hank asked. “Just because I asked for a more experienced mechanic?”

“More experienced.” I laughed. “My ass. You just said you wanted a man. Don’t try to backtrack now.”

“I know what I said,” Hank began.

“Are you changing your mind?” I asked. “If you are, I’ll walk outside and look at your bike right now. If you aren’t, then get out.”

Hank stared at me in shock. His eyes were wide. He moved his lips as if he were searching for the right words to express his outrage.

“This is exactly what’s wrong with women,” he said under his breath.

He stood up and stormed out of the office, letting the door slam shut behind him. I followed quickly, making sure he left my property without any more fuss. My stomach rolled with anger as he sped out of the parking lot. I was still seething when I went back inside to find Garret standing behind the counter with a confused look on his face.

“What the hell was that about?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I snapped. “How’s it going with the Suzuki?”

“Fine,” Garret said. “I’ll be done by the end of the day.”

“Great.”

I knew it wasn’t Garret’s fault, but my anger extended beyond Hank. It was like all men had insulted me, and Garret was getting the brunt of that. Even as I stormed around the office, I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn’t help it.

“Are you going to fill me in?” Garret asked.

“On what?”

“On what just happened with that guy?” he asked.

“He thought he wanted our help,” I said. “He was wrong.”

“Okay,” Garret trailed off, waiting for me to elaborate.

“He wanted someone to look at the bike,” I said. “Said he’d been trying to figure it out himself, but he couldn’t.”

“I hate when they do that,” Garret said. “Just bring it in right away. Why mess things up even more?”

“I agree,” I said.

“So, where’d he go?”

“Decided to take his business elsewhere.”

Garret sucked in a breath. I knew he understood what happened without any further explanation. We were no stranger to the sexist customer.

“What was the excuse this time?” Garret asked.

“Didn’t even bother to give one,” I said. “He flat-out said a woman couldn’t possibly fix a motorcycle.”

“He said that?” Garret’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Then, he tried to feed me some bullshit line about wanting a more experienced mechanic. Total fuckwad.”

“Sounds like it,” Garret said. “You kick him out?”

I nodded. Garret sighed and patted my back gently. He knew my feelings didn’t end at anger. I was hurt, and honestly, I felt a little betrayed. I’d been working on motorcycles my entire life. I trusted my own experience and knowledge. Why couldn’t other people?

“You’re the best mechanic I know,” Garret said. “Even when I give you a hard time, I never doubt that.”

“I know,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“Your dad would be proud of you,” he said. “And not just for kicking that son of a bitch out of here. He’d be proud of how well you’re doing with the shop.”

“You know things aren’t great,” I said. “You’ve seen the books.”

“I have.” Garret nodded. “But, I know you, and I know you’ll find a way to sort things out. You always do. You’ve been running this place for years, Alex. Even before your dad died.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Running it into the ground.”

“Stop it.” Garret’s voice was rough, firm. “Enough of the damn pity party. Get your shit together, Alex. We have work to do.”

From the outside, it seemed like Garret was annoyed with me. I knew better. If I needed him to, he would have stayed in the office all day and held me while I cried. I knew because he’d done it before. After my dad’s funeral.

But, that wasn’t what I needed after my encounter with Hank. Garret knew when to push me and when not to.

“Can you man the office?” I asked. “I don’t think I can handle another dickhead today.”

Garret snorted. “Sure,” he said. “I got it.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll finish up the Suzuki.”

“Please do,” Garret said. “I’m tired of that thing hanging around here. It’s been a month, and frankly, I hate pretty boy bikes.”

“It hasn’t been a month,” I said. “Three weeks at the most.”

“Same thing,” Garret said. “I hate long projects.”

“They bring in cash,” I said. “Besides, you’ve barely done anything with it. I’m the one busting my ass out there.”

“Which is exactly why that jackass was wrong,” Garret said. “Like I said before, you’re the best mechanic I know.”

“Better than Dad was?” I asked with a grin.

“Don’t push your luck, kid.”

I smiled and left him standing behind the counter. My mood had already improved by the time I went to work on the Suzuki. Garret just about had it finished, but I’d been working on it for weeks already. A few more adjustments and it would be good as new.

I got my tools set up and grabbed a grease rag from the back of the shop. The messy part of the job never bothered me, but I’d ruined enough clothes to learn my lesson. I tossed the grease rag on the ground by the bike and shuffled my tools until I found the wrench I needed.

My long hair fell over my face as I bent over the bike. Garret’s work was flawless, but I was glad I got to finish the Suzuki myself. This project had been my baby. It had been trashed when the guy brought it in. I practically rebuilt it from the ground up. Even Travis’s bike had been in better shape than this one.

The wrench in my hand was drenched in my sweat within seconds. I couldn’t seem to get a good grip on it. I wiped my hands on my jeans and got back to work. I gripped the wrench as tightly as I could and yanked with all my strength. No matter how much I tried to get the bolt loose, it wouldn’t budge.

I heard Hank’s voice in my head as I struggled with the bolt. The idea that women couldn’t work on bikes was an old one. I’d dealt with sexist customers all my life. When I was little, people thought it was adorable that my dad had me in the shop. When I got older, the guys started hitting on me. Now, I got a mixture. Some guys hit on me. Others insulted my abilities. Both pissed me off.

With a surge of strength, I got the first bolt loose. I grinned and tossed the bolt in the air before tucking it away in my pocket. There was another bolt left, but my success was enough to rebuild my confidence. Hank’s words faded from my mind.

I looked up just in time to see two men walking toward the office. With a glance behind them, I noticed a nice-looking truck in the parking lot but no motorcycle. I frowned. What were they doing here without a bike?

Part of me wanted to head inside and find out, but I meant what I’d said to Garret. I couldn’t handle any more dickheads. The last thing I needed was yet another man tearing me down.

I watched the men as they reached the front door of the shop. One had short black hair that was cut in a military style. He was muscular and tall. I couldn’t see his face. He disappeared inside too quickly.

The other guy was just as tall, but he was a little smaller. Less built. His hair was lighter and longer, and his face was clean-shaven. He was the definition of a pretty boy. I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to the bike. Whoever these guys were, Garret would have to deal with him.