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Payton

 

I readjust the thin straps on my red sundress and dab a bit of clear gloss on my lips. Don't want to overdo it on my first day. Working for my father should be easy. How hard is ordering parts? My heels click against the tile floor of my apartment to grab my purse, and then I head down to the shop.

I breathe in the fresh Long Island summer air and smile. My new home that I’ve lived in for about a month or so. This tiny New York town is perfect for me. After living on the west coast most of my life, it’s a long overdue change.

 

When I arrive at the shop, the smell of oil and sweat greets me. I glance around for the man I saw last night when I dropped my car off to be fixed. Not expecting to see that when I came to the shop. At all. Who does that? Wonder what my father would think to know his employees are busy getting favors from his clients. But, I’d never say a word. Nope my lips are sealed. To each his own.

My dad looks up from behind the counter and frowns. “Payton, you should've worn jeans.”

I shake my head and walk over to kiss his cheek. “I think there's enough testosterone in here.”

“It's a garage not a fashion show,” he says, leading me down a hallway to the office.

“Well this place could use a woman’s touch,” I tell him. I already know that customer service counter needs some fresh flowers. It's boring and drab.

“Fire up the computer,” he says, shaking his head. “I'll be back in a few to get you started.”

The leather chair let's out a squeak when I sit down. I survey the office. How do people work like this? It's four white walls, one with a time clock, a desk, two leather chairs and a trash can. This room needs some life if I'm going to be spending eight hours a day here. I pull the daisy covered pen holder from my purse and set it on the oak desk. It's a start.

As I’m booting up the computer, the door creaks open.

“Who are you?” a husky voice asks.

I swivel around. “Payton.” I look up and my heart slams against my chest. It’s him—blowjob guy. He seems taller, but maybe that's because he's not hunched over shoving his dick down someone's throat. He's hot; I'll give him that. Brown hair all over the place, green eyes full of mischief, and a body that clearly shows he visits the gym often.

Unable to stop it, my cheeks warm.

“You work here?” he asks.

“Yes.” We both gawk at each other while the air in this stuffy office fills with awkwardness. “My dad owns the place.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Oh fuck,” he mumbles under his breath. “About last night, I don’t normally do that at work.”

“It’s fine.” I want the conversation to end. How uncomfortable. I squeeze my thighs together at the thought of it. Cause if I'm being honest, it turned me on.

And I’m not that type of girl. It’s like something else took over, and I stood frozen in place, watching.

The man in my office takes a deep breath. “The name’s Asher.”

I don’t care, do I?

“Nice to meet you. I’m Payton,” I say in a tiny voice. Why am I nervous?

His eyes rake over my body, heating it up. Actually, it’s like it sets it on fire or something.

I shake my head, regaining control of this situation.

“You know what, don’t let it happen again, or I’ll tell my father,” I say. God, I sound like a narc or a goody-goody.

His lip lifts at the one corner. “You wouldn’t want that to happen again with anyone else, would you? Just you, right?”

I sit up straighter in my chair. “Uh, no, that’s not what I meant.”

He nods, moving closer. “I think it’s exactly what you meant.”

Asshole. I wish he’d leave. I need a moment of silence to think about all of these raging emotions I have...well, raging.

“Can you please get back to work?” I tap at the keys of the computer, letting him know this conversation is over.

His steel-toe boots step closer, and he leans in close to my ear. “I won’t let anyone near my dick unless she’s got lips like yours.”

Now that’s done it. My insides burst into flames. I don’t know if it’s from anger or arousal. Either way, he needs to get the hell out of here. So arrogant.

I look up at him. “Are you always this...cocky?”

“Asher, I see you met my daughter,” my father’s loud voice barks out.

The way he says daughter makes me cringe, like an elementary teacher’s notes they’d send home.

Asher snaps his head to my father, before whipping it back to me, searching my face. He narrows his eyes at me and steps away. “Yes, we’re just getting to know each other,” he says, patting my father’s shoulder on his way out.

“Payton, come here,” my father motions. “Let me introduce you around.” We walk into the garage where guys are busy under the hood of a car or under a car on the lift and he stops, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “Guys, this is my daughter, Payton. She’ll be working in the office, so no reason to bother her,” my dad says.

The whir of tools and clatter of all things mechanic stops. I don’t want to look around because I know he's in this group of men staring at me. If I could keep my focus on the oil stained concrete floor, that would be great, but it’s impossible. My eyes immediately crash into the green eyes of Asher.

He lifts one side of his mouth in a grin, and I ignore him and give a little wave to the guys. After a few minutes, I turn to go as my dad continues to talk.

The morning flies by as my dad teaches me his way of doing things. Answering the phone, filing, ordering parts, it’s all so boring, which is something I’m not used to. I like a challenge, but I know I’m not going to find that here.

“Pizza’s in the back room. Go take your break,” my dad says, reading over some paperwork as he walks past me.

Walking into the back room, I’m relieved that it’s empty. And when I say empty, I mean empty. There is a table with four blue backed chairs, a fridge, and a microwave. A counter runs along the wall beside the fridge and it's empty. No cookie jar, no basket for silverware, just a few paper napkins. I'll have to fix that.

I grab a slice of pepperoni pizza and sit down at the small, metal table. Taking a bite, I moan at how good New York pizza is. When my parents divorced, I’d spend the summers with my father. One of my favorite things in the world is when he would take me into Manhattan to get a pie. Once I hit my teens, my trips here grew further and further apart. I forgot how much I missed being here. Being around him.

“Sounds familiar,” a deep voice says.

Swallowing a few times to wet my suddenly dry throat, I take a breath.

“Your weekend must’ve sucked if that’s what you remember,” I say, biting into my pizza.

He sits down across from me, grinning. “Such a smartass, I like that. But the sucking was only the beginning of my weekend.”

“From what I saw, it doesn’t look like you’re too picky about what you like or how bad it sucked,” I say, lifting my shoulders.

He laughs. “Sweetheart, you enjoyed watching so much I’m willing to bet you haven’t been fucked in a long time.”

What a jerk. A muscular, sexy as fuck, asshole, who is absolutely right. Flipping my brown hair over my shoulder, I put my elbow on the table and rest my chin on my hand. “I’m not your sweetheart, and my sex life is none of your business.”

“What the fuck?” my father booms out. “Asher, I assumed you liked your job.”

He closes his bright eyes briefly as my father moves closer to the metal table.

“Dad, relax. We were talking about a movie, quoting lines from it. Stop jumping to conclusions, Asher has been nothing but a gentleman,” I say, smiling at Asher when I’m finished.

He stands and slaps my dad on the back. “I respect you too much to screw you over, Robert.” Turning his head, he gives me a grin. “I’ll think of a better movie to talk about tomorrow, Payton.”

Sitting in the chair Asher just vacated, my dad sighs, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “Payton, don’t let these guys try and sweet talk you.” He looks at me over the rim of his black bifocals. “The ones who aren’t married, sleep around and don’t care about women. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you be a notch in their bed post.”

“Nothing to worry about. I’m not here for that.” Getting up I kiss his cheek. “Besides, I can handle myself better than you think.”

The rest of the day passes in a whirl of mundane tasks. At six o’clock, I grab my handbag and get ready to go home. Well, my temporary home. As soon as I’m ready, I can move on. Walking through the garage, I smile to the guys still working. This isn't so bad, I made it through my first day. I’m almost out the door when a hand wraps around my wrist. Instinct kicks in, and I toss back an elbow, connecting right to his ribcage.

“Fuck, relax,” Asher grunts.

Closing my eyes briefly, I blow out a breath and spin around. “Sorry, self-defense classes are paying off,” I joke, trying to make light of the situation.

“Apparently,” he says, releasing my arm. “Thanks for that bullshit story earlier. You know, I’m originally from California. Seems we might have a bit more in common than you think.”

Grabbing my keys out of my purse, I shrug. “I doubt that, but no problem about the story. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Asher.”

He nods and goes back to cleaning up his tools. Before I turn and walk outside, I take a second to admire the way his ass looks in his torn jeans.

As I hop inside the old, little beater car my father lent me, I take another glance as Asher bends over to pick up a wrench off the ground. I’m not used to a man like him. A take no prisoner kind of attitude. My stomach swims with butterflies as I think about him on my way home.