50
The great thing about being the so-called king of the Manhattan custom car business—sorry, John, it’s not you—is that your suppliers will take calls on a Sunday evening. They’ll open their warehouses in New Jersey and meet you after hours. They’ll do deals after hours.
And since I’ve got my black sports car, it doesn’t take me long to drive out to Jersey, grab what I need, and lug it back into the city. After a few pit stops and a sweaty run up the service elevator in my building, I snag a smaller version of my gift and order an Uber. The driver takes me to Henley’s block and I call her another time. It rings and rings and rings. No answer. Seems she’s turned on her phone, but now she’s ignoring me. That doesn’t bode well, especially considering I’m dragging fifty extra pounds for her right now.
But I won’t back down easily.
And maybe I won’t have to back down at all, since my phone buzzes with a text.
Henley: Missed the call! My arms were full of cheese! Dinner will be late tonight. But I promise it’ll be delicious. Does 9 p.m. work?
I glance at the time. It’s eight. Little does she know I’d wait all night for her.
Max: I’ll be here.
I park myself on her stoop.
Five minutes later, a beautiful brunette walks toward me, a grocery bag on her shoulder, jeans on her legs, combat boots on her feet. My heart speeds up, and it’s such a strange sensation, but one I’m going to have to get used to. I stand, swallow, and wait.
Nighttime casts shadows on her, but even though she freshened up, I can tell she wasn’t lying when she said she’d spend the day in tears. As she passes under a streetlamp, her face is illuminated. Her eyes are red. I walk down the street, and when her gaze meets mine, she flinches as if she’s surprised to see me. A well of nerves rises inside me. But screw that. I’m not nervous. I know this is right. I’m 100 percent confident I can help. My job is solving problems, and I know how to fix this one.
Then her expression shifts to something else. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but maybe it’s relief. Her lips part softly, like she’s simply glad I’m here.
I stop when I reach her. I cup her cheek. I press a soft kiss on one eyelid then the other. Her breath flutters as I touch her, and I’m grateful that I can make her start to feel better.
I step back and take the bag off her shoulder. She lets me.
“Did you spend the whole afternoon crying?”
She nods.
“Do you need to cry some more?”
She shakes her head, and then she fixes on a smile. “I’m tough.”
I run my knuckles over her cheek. “Truer words were never spoken.” I gesture to the bag of food. “Let me help you make the mac and cheese.”
Her stomach rumbles. “I’m pretty hungry. Might need to order in. I don’t know if I can wait for mac and cheese, which is kind of shocking, considering I tunneled my way through a whole pint of ice cream today.”
“I have a solution for you.”
She arches an eyebrow and regards me skeptically. “To the ingestion of too much ice cream?”
“To the job situation.”
She drags a hand through her hair and shakes her head as we walk toward her building. “Max, you can’t solve this for me.”
“You’re right,” I say when we reach her steps.
She points to the shiny red metal box on the landing. “Did you put that there?”
I set down her groceries and meet her gaze. “First, I’m sorry I wasn’t honest about Creswell. That was shitty. I shouldn’t go around thinking you’re trying to steal business from me. That’s not who you are, and that’s not how I want to be. I don’t have an excuse, but I want a chance to do better. This kind of thing”—I point from her to me and back—“it’s all new to me. And I’m probably going to fuck up a few basic things. But I hope you’ll forgive me.”
She lifts her chin. “This thing you mention. What is this thing of which you speak?”
“Does that mean I’m forgiven for lying about the conversations with Creswell?”
She shoves my chest. “Yes, idiot. Just don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.”
“So this thing. Does it have a name?”
I quirk the corner of my lips. “It does have a name.” I tap my chin, like I’m trying to remember. Then I hold up my finger as if I’ve finally got it. “Yes. It does. This thing—I’m pretty damn sure it’s called love.”
Her brown eyes are a fireworks show. They twinkle. They spark. They’re so fucking gorgeous.
I grab her waist and pull her close to me. “I’m not just crazy for you. I’m in love with you, tiger. I’m madly in love with you.”
I don’t even give her a chance to answer. I dip my mouth to hers and kiss her, and I find her answer in the way she kisses me back, in how she melts into my arms.
But even so, I don’t mind it at all when we separate and she breathes out the sweetest words. “The same. It’s the same for me. I’m stupid in love with you, Max Summers,” she says, and nothing in the world has ever been better than those words. My heart does some seriously crazy cartwheels in my chest. She grabs the collar of my shirt then tugs me closer. “I’m so in love with you that I don’t care about that dumb deal.”
She crushes her lips to mine. She kisses me this time, and she’s as fierce and as fiery as she’s ever been. She’s my tiger, and that’s how I want her to be. We pull apart, and her lips are bruised and swollen. I hope mine are, too.
“Speaking of that dumb deal, I’ve got something for you,” I say.
“That shiny red toolbox on top of the stairs might have made my heart beat faster.”
“I thought it was me that got your blood flowing,” I tease.
“Yes, but Snap-on tools have been known to do wonders for this girl.” She bounces on her toes. “Did you get me a new set of wrenches?”
I nod. “I did. But that’s just a starter kit,” I say, gesturing to the fifty-pound basic tool set.
She tilts her head and gives me a quizzical look. “But those are incredible.”
“They are. But what would be even more incredible is a whole new complete set of Snap-on tools, wrenches and everything else under the sun. I figure you’ll need it for your new job.”
She takes a step back and gives me the dirtiest stare in the history of the universe. “No.”
“No what?”
“No. I am not taking a job with you,” she says crisply.
I laugh.
“I mean it,” she says, crossing her arms. “You can’t waltz over here and solve everything by offering me a job. That’s not what I want. You can’t just fix it for me like that.” She snaps her fingers.
I laugh harder. “Woman, let me tell you — I’ve learned. I’m not trying to solve it for you. And I’m not offering you a job with me.”
She blinks, confused. “You’re not?”
I make a flubbing sound with my lips, then I point to the night sky. “Tiger, you’re well beyond working with me. You’re not an apprentice. You’re not a mechanic. You’re not even a lead car builder.”
“I’m not?”
I shake my head and set my hands on her shoulders. “Five years ago when you were my apprentice, you were the most talented person I’d ever worked with. Now, you’re still the most talented person I’ve ever worked with. You told me this afternoon that you might not have a job and that you also wished you could have come to me for advice, right?”
She nods, waiting expectantly.
“And in the past, I didn’t get to give you that advice, because I let my attraction for you get in the way of clear thinking. I didn’t teach you as best I could. I didn’t guide you at the end. But I’m going out on a limb, and I’m going to do it now.”
“Do it then.”
I stroke my chin, collecting my thoughts. “The way I see it, you were ready to do a deal with John. You were going to buy into his business, right?”
She nods. “I was.”
“I’m presuming that’s because you wanted, understandably, to have access to his network and contacts in this city.”
“Yes.”
“But what have you accomplished in the mere few weeks you’ve been with him? You’ve landed Livvy as a client, and you got the Bugatti guy all on your own. Am I correct?”
A smile tugs at her lips. “That’s correct.”
“Plus,” I say, raising a finger to make my next point, “I’m pretty sure the network guys wanted you to help build the Lambo for the show. Not him. Am I right?”
“Yes, but that was partly because they wanted us,” she says, motioning from her to me.
“Partly, but it was also because you and me—we’re the top two builders in this city. Not John and me. You. And. Me.” I don’t care if that sounds cocky. It’s fucking true.
She stomps her foot. “Max, I appreciate it. I truly do. But I need to make it on my own, not because my boyfriend is the king of New York.”
“And you will be the queen.” I place my index finger on her lips to shush her. “It’s time, Henley.”
“Time for what?”
“It’s time for you to open your own shop. You don’t need John. You don’t need his contacts. And you don’t need me to succeed. If you were going to buy into his business, you’ve obviously got the money to start a shop. And you already have a few key clients. What you don’t have is someone to tell you that you can do it. So, I’m going to be that person. And I want to show you how much I believe in you.”
She knits her brows together. She parts her lips, but she can barely speak. Something like “what?” comes out of her lips.
“I believe in you. I know you can do it,” I say.
“But what about us? We’d be competing even more directly than we are now. I thought you found it distracting?”
I scratch my chin. “Funny thing. I realized the most distracting thing was not having you. I’m not distracted from work now that you’re mine.”
She laughs in disbelief. “You’re not distracted anymore?”
“I was distracted because I didn’t know how you felt. I was distracted, wondering if you liked me.”
“You idiot. I was crazy about you.”
“You hated me.”
“Because I wanted you. Loathing you was the only way to deal with it.”
“And then loathing turned to love. But my question for you is this—are you going to be okay being the chick car builder who’s banging Max Summers on a regular basis?” I ask with a laugh, repeating her one-time words.
She wags her finger at me. “No. I’m going to be okay being his girlfriend. I told you, I make an excellent girlfriend.”
“You do. And you make excellent cars. So I also bought you what any self-respecting, professional car builder needs to run her own shop. It’s the big-ass Snap-on Mammoth tool set, and it’s waiting for you.”
And she shrieks.
Roger has nothing on her.
Her own orgasms have nothing on this scream.
I’m surprised someone doesn’t call the cops.
Quickly, she covers her mouth. “Are you serious?” she asks through her fingers, her eyes wider than moons.
“This tool set,” I say, waving at the one on her steps, “that’s just to whet your appetite. At my place you’ll find the five-foot high, ten-thousand-dollar kit that has every tool you’d ever want.”
“Hammers?” she squeals, and I nod. “Wrenches?” Another nod. “Screwdrivers? Gear pullers? Pliers? Hand sockets?”
“Everything.”
She leaps on me. I nearly tumble into the railing. But I steady myself, and I hold on to the woman in my arms. She’s wrapped around me like a monkey, and she’s planting kisses all over my face.
“I did good, huh?”
“You did so good. I can’t believe this,” she says, and now she’s crying again, but these tears are tears of happiness. “You really think I can run my own shop?”
“I know so.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I love you so much I want to skip the mac and cheese and go see the tool set at your place.”
I arch one brow. “That sounds more like you just want to pet the tools.”
“Oh, I do. That’s what I meant. I just wanted it to sound like it was about you,” she says, laughing.
“You can make me mac and cheese another time.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Or the next night.”
“Or the next.”
But tonight, I take her back to my place, and after we eat some sandwiches and a cinnamon roll, and she paws the tool set with the same kind of excitement she showered on my tub, I get her in the bath.
She insists we use the Peach Dreams bath bomb, and that works just fine for me. I don’t care if I smell girly when I’ve got this woman in my arms, lavishing me with kisses and so much love.
But we don’t get it on in the tub.
C’mon. That shit is hard. That’s a recipe for banged elbows and bonked heads. Not to mention, it’s really hard to go down on a woman when she’s underwater. The same applies for blow jobs.
So I dry her off, carry her to my bed, and I make love to her all night long.
In the morning, we go to work.