Chapter 1
The sound of a hundred empty tin cans being dragged across the asphalt along with a resounding backfire echoed inside his auto garage. James Foley couldn’t help but look up from the order form he was going over with a customer to see the piece-of-shit car that sat clicking away outside one of the open bay doors.
It was a maroon Honda Accord. It was rusty and loud. And from what James could see, it should have been put through the incinerator years ago.
Returning his attention to his customer, who was tapping furiously on his smartphone, James continued going over all the services one of his guys had just finished up on a one-year-old Mercedes S-Class.
“Per your request, we replaced the entire ignition system, consisting of spark plugs, plug wires, coils, and other electrical components.” James turned the page on the order form. “Again, per your request, we replaced the oil, fuel, and air filters, and the cabin air filter. We replaced all belts and hoses and topped off your coolant, brake fluid, transmission fluid, and power steering fluid. And we changed the oil and replaced all four tires, as you requested.”
The young executive nodded, not bothering to look up from his phone. “Sounds good.”
“That’ll be two thousand, one hundred and twenty-five dollars.”
The guy didn’t even balk at the completely outrageous and absolutely unnecessary price tag. The car was only a year old, for Christ’s sake.
After a minute of furious clicking with his thumbs, the customer finally put his smartphone in his back pocket and got his wallet out. “Okay. Here,” he said, handing over his American Express.
James processed the card, thinking how his clientele had changed dramatically over the past fifteen years. It had shifted from blue-collar to white-collar. The cars shifted from American muscle to foreign speed. All the imported cars meant big expense for the customer and longer labor times for his employees. They’d become more familiar with the foreign-brand engines, but it had taken some time. Now his guys could change out the alternator on a BMW just as quickly as they could on a Ford or Chevy.
He’d started working at the auto shop as a teenager and bought it from his father, Abel, when he got out of high school. His dad had loved working on cars but had hated dealing with the customers. Abel had offered him a pretty good deal on the place. A fat down payment was sent to the bank, the shop’s title was transferred to James, and that was the end of the story. Abel had continued to work at the garage until he’d finally retired about six years ago.
After finishing up with his customer and clearing off the reception desk, James was just about ready to head to his office in the back when he heard high heels clacking against the tiled floor of the front office.
“Hello,” came a quiet, feminine voice behind him.
He turned and recognized the woman standing across the desk: Megan Dempsey.
She was married to one of the most prominent commercial real estate executives in Chicago. In fact, his whole family was real estate royalty. Mrs. Dempsey was also about five feet, nine inches of long, lovely legs, flowing blond hair, a pert pink mouth, and dreamy, hooded, bedroom eyes that always looked as if she’d just been thoroughly fucked.
As usual, she was dressed impeccably in a pair of navy trousers, a white silky tank top, and a long navy cardigan, which was pretty fucking ridiculous because it was August in Chicago.
Still, she’d make any red-blooded man pitch a tent in his pants…even though she was a complete ice princess.
He and his guys called all the wives of their rich and famous clients that. They usually dealt with the husbands, but occasionally the wives would stop in to drop off or pick up their Mercs, BMWs, or Audis, and they all acted like just being inside an auto garage might permanently stain their precious designer shoes forever.
It was a shame the ethereal blond beauty in front of him was married to such an asshole like Niall Dempsey. James had only met her once before, so he probably shouldn’t be too hasty to judge her. But from his experience, all these Stepford types were the same: ice-cold and pretentious.
“Hi,” he said. “How can I help you?”
She smiled timidly. “I just bought a new car, and I’d like you to take a look at it for me. I think it needs some repairs.”
What? The windows weren’t tinted enough for her? The hum of her Porsche didn’t sound hummy enough?
He looked out into the parking lot but didn’t see a new car.
“Umm.” She sounded embarrassed. “I think it needs a lot of repairs, actually.”
James followed Mrs. Dempsey’s gaze to the maroon tin can sitting outside the bay door. “That’s your car?”
She looked him directly in the eye. “Yes.”
Her expression dared him to say something about the car as she held her gaze steady and composed. He was curious as to why she was driving that piece of shit, but instead of asking her about it, he just nodded.
“Okay. Let me get some information from you.” He turned around and grabbed a new car form off the back wall. “Do you know the year of the car?”
She dug a piece of paper out of her purse and scanned it. “It’s a 1994 Honda Accord EX.”
“How many miles?”
“Ah.” She looked over the page. “It says 222,044 miles. Well, 222,045 if you count the one I put on it driving it here from the dealership.”
James noticed that she forced an awkward smile at him from across the desk.
“All right.” He ticked off some boxes on the form. “I’m assuming it’s front-wheel drive, a 2.2L engine. Is it manual or automatic?”
“Automatic.”
James nodded. He moved over to the giant scheduling book that his receptionist, Janie, kept so tidy for him. “Can you leave it here for a couple days? Depending on the extent of the repairs, I’ll probably be able to get it back to you by the end of the week.”
“Sure, that sounds fine. Thank you.”
He could see her smile slip a little. She probably knew her car was pretty beat up, but she hadn’t put much thought behind how long it would take to make it drivable.
“Do you have a number I can reach you at, Mrs. Dempsey?”
She looked like she was about to say something before quickly shutting her mouth. Instead, she gave him her cell phone number and added, “And please call me Megan.”
“All right, Megan. We’ll give you a call when she’s all done.”
“Great.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but it was still fucking gorgeous. “Thanks again.”
James watched the tall, leggy blonde leave the shop. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses and looked at her watch before walking toward Jackson Boulevard. Even over the pungent odor of oil and grease that permeated his garage, he could smell the light note of her perfume in the front office. He looked down at her paperwork and then outside at the sad maroon Accord, which had caught the interest of a couple of his guys. They were currently giving it a 360-degree review.
There had to be a story behind why Megan Dempsey was driving a car like that. He sure was glad she was loaded and could handle the immense amount of work it would require to fix it.
Hell, he was going to work a miracle to have it ready in two days. But something told him she might be able to use a little miracle at the moment.
###
Megan hurried quickly along the sidewalk, wary that she was walking over Interstate 90. It wasn’t the thunderous noise from the traffic below or the strong, whirling wind that blew against her. All it would take was another stroke of bad luck and the bridge might buckle, sending her plummeting to her death toward the hundreds of speeding vehicles zooming underneath.
Normally, she wouldn’t think about something so unlikely. But with the way her life had been going lately, she wouldn’t rule anything out.
God, the way the man at the auto shop had looked at her after he’d realized she’d dropped off the beater car made her want to crawl somewhere dark and just die. Her new ride was just one more reminder of her swan dive from grace.
Megan knew nothing about cars, and Foley’s Auto Shop was the only place she was familiar with. The man at the garage probably remembered her driving a white pearlescent Porsche Cayenne or her sleek two-door Audi A5.
When he’d called her by her married name, she didn’t bother to correct him. She’d legally changed her last name back to McKenna after her divorce was finalized a few weeks ago.
She didn’t run into too many people who knew her in this part of the city. But when she did and they called her by her old last name, she only corrected them if it really mattered, like at the bank or the DMV.
Everyone knew who her husband was. Or her ex-husband, rather.
Niall Dempsey was an up-and-coming real estate executive. In summary, he was a selfish, lying, cheating, no-good, small-dicked, rat-bastard, motherfucking pissant.
She’d put off buying a car until she absolutely needed to. Niall had magnanimously allowed her to stay in their house in Kenilworth while he stayed at their penthouse downtown for a few months until the divorce was finalized. As soon as they’d signed the papers, she’d had a week to get out. And considering he’d cleaned her out in their divorce settlement, she didn’t have that much stuff to take with her.
She still didn’t understand how he’d been able to get pretty much everything. His infidelity was the reason they were divorcing in the first place. But he knew everyone worth knowing in Chicago. Good for him, the selfish prick.
Megan really should have paid more attention to the prenup his parents had demanded that she sign before she and Niall got married.
Staying in a hotel for the past several days had gobbled up what little money Megan had in her bank account. She’d toured a few apartments, but so far she hadn’t found anything that she felt comfortable with that was in her budget.
Megan safely made it over the interstate without dying and was within four blocks of her new place of employment. In the aftermath of her ugly divorce, she’d managed to find a teaching position in Chicago’s Near West Side. School started in less than a month, and her new boss, Principal Diaz, had permitted her to get into her second-grade classroom.
Teaching at a private prep institution was bound to have quite a few differences from a public middle school. But apparently, teaching at a private prep institution was also contingent upon marriage to an influential asshole. Regardless, she was excited to have a peek at her new school. Getting back into the classroom again was just what Megan needed at this point. It was familiar and structured.
And kids were kids no matter how much money their parents made.
Megan loved teaching and couldn’t picture herself doing anything else. She was one of those lucky people who’d found her calling.
Well, that wasn’t altogether true. She knew with every fiber of her being that her one true purpose in life was to be a mother. She would have given up her teaching career in a heartbeat to be a stay-at-home mom. Dreams of having a family had consumed her for the last three years of their seven-year marriage. But that was yet another dream that had been crushed by her divorce.
She knew women were having babies well into their late thirties and early forties. She knew there was still time for that dream to come true since she was only thirty years old. But she had a difficult time envisioning that sort of happiness in her future.
Hurrying across another crosswalk, Megan took a deep breath of warm, balmy air. She tried to remind herself not to get weighed down by all the negatives. Instead, she thought about how excited she was to meet her new students in a few weeks and how her new job was going to gradually refill her bank account.
Just as she was about to step into the intersection, her phone rang. She stopped and dug for her cell in her purse, silently cursing because she was going to miss the crosswalk light. She finally found it on the fourth ring before answering. “Hello?”
“Hi, is this Megan McKenna?”
Funny how her maiden name sounded so odd even though she’d had it for the first twenty-three years of her life.
“Yes, this is Megan.”
“Hi, Megan, my name is Calli Tomlin. I’m calling you back about the apartment in Greektown.”
It took Megan a moment, but she remembered the online listing.
“Oh. Hi. Thanks for your call, Calli.”
“Sure. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back with you. If you’re still interested in seeing it, I can show it to you this evening. Say around ten o’clock?”
That was a little later than Megan had expected, but she really needed a place to stay.
“That’s great. I’m definitely still interested. I’ll be there at ten o’clock.”
“Rad. See you then!”
Megan dropped the phone back into her purse, pondering the word rad. Who in this day and age still said rad? Apparently, Calli Tomlin in Greektown did. She sounded nice enough. Definitely young for a landlord, but Megan didn’t really care about that. She just wanted a nice place in a safe neighborhood that was close to her school. And if she remembered correctly from the online listing, this apartment was all that plus it was in her price range.
Maybe things were finally looking up.