Chapter Three – Dex

Jamie Bell stepped toward the counter. With her stunningly bright blue eyes fixed on mine, she said, “I won’t need three weeks.”

Her confidence was astounding. She was just shy of arrogant. She had the kind of confidence that made you stop and stare, just in case she really was as good as she said she was.

Was she?

A part of me wanted her to accept my offer.

A part of me wanted to see if her confidence wasn’t unfounded—if it had a real basis.

A part of me wanted her to say yes just so I could stare at her a little fucking longer.

When I’d said I didn’t know women were mechanics—it was a lie. I meant women like her weren’t mechanics. Women with eyelashes that were so curved they tickled her skin weren’t. Women who had full lips that would be attractive with or without lipstick weren’t.

The women I knew who were mechanics didn’t wear high heels and dresses that hugged every motherfucking sinful curve of their body.

I only knew two women, but my point remained.

Jamie Bell was a fucking enigma. One I wanted in my garage and the fuck away from it. I couldn’t compute this…siren…with one who would be comfortable wearing sneakers and overalls. This woman who had perfectly fixed make-up and had her face surrounded by slightly frizzy hair wouldn’t fit if she were covered in oil.

But, fuck. Between her mouth—that sassy, unfiltered mouth that called me on the most pathetic excuses of my life—and her body, I was intrigued.

She was hot as fuck. And no doubt a force to be reckoned with if you pushed her hard enough.

And call me a fucking sadist, but I wanted to push her.

I wanted to push her to the limit. Find her breaking point. Make her push and push until she snapped on me.

She laid her hand on the top of the counter. Her gaze never wavered.

The girl had balls.

“You’ve got a deal, Dexter Ryne,” she said firmly. “And I’m gonna make you eat your words.”

I leaned forward, right over the counter until there was mere inches between us. “I look forward to you eating your own, darlin’.”

“I don’t eat my words.” She straightened. “I eat the souls of sexist asses like you.”

“Careful.” My lips twitched. “As of right now, I’m your boss.”

She stared at me, a flat, hard stare that would have made a lesser man shiver.

Instead, my lips broke into a full-fledged smirk. “Monday morning. Be here at seven-thirty. In…more suitable attire.” I ran my gaze up and down her curvaceous body, just to make my point clear.

She tugged her purse strap up over her shoulder. “I’ll see you then.”

Then, she turned on her heel and left, leaving the door to swing shut after it. It slammed back into the frame, the sound echoing through the empty reception, and I let go of a low chuckle.

Man, she was a fucking firecracker.

I wasn’t worried she’d prove me wrong. Fuck no—I wasn’t worried at all. I wanted her to prove me damn wrong.

She just didn’t look like the kind of girl who could hack it. And her resume stating that she worked for her father for her entire life didn’t exactly lend credence to her ability to do this jo.

For all I knew, Jamie Bell had had it easy for her entire life.

That was about to change.

Even if, at the start, I had to treat her like the idiot she assumed I thought she was.

I couldn’t fucking wait.

***

“You hired someone yet?” Pops slammed his half-empty coffee mug down on the table and used his walking stick to sit himself on the sofa.

“Just today,” I replied, not looking up from my phone.

He reached over and snatched it out of my hands. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to ya, boy.”

I took a deep breath and turned to face him. “Just today,” I repeated.

“Tell me about him,” he demanded gruffly. “And pass me that damn coffee.”

I hid my smile as I picked up the mug and handed it to him.

He was brash and harsh, but beneath that demeanor, he was a big old fucking softie. Not that I ever told him that—that was only permitted on birthdays.

“Thanks.” He sipped, then set the mug on his knee. “Well? Tell me about your new hire.”

“It’s a woman.”

Pops froze, then slowly slid his gaze over to meet mine with the tiniest jerk of his head. “You hired a woman?”

I held my hands up. “She challenged me. It pissed me off. I challenged her right back.”

Letting go of his stick, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is business, Dex. Not a means to get yourself laid.”

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “She’s hot, but sleeping with her would give me a headache. She runs her mouth far too much for that.”

Pops snorted. “So did your grandma. Then I married her.”

“Well, I’m not that stupid.”

Another snort. “Tell me about her. She qualified? She tell you where to stick your stupid-ass opinions?”

My lips thinned. “You think I’d hire someone if she wasn’t qualified?”

“If it got you laid, I think you’d consider it. In fact, I know you would.”

“I don’t need to hire some mouthy, overconfident chick to get laid.”

Pops chuckled. “She told you where to stick it.”

“A few times,” I admitted. Begrudgingly. “You know how I feel about women out the back. The last time we tried to hire one she couldn’t pick up a goddamn tire.”

“And that’s because you were more interested in screwing her than anything else.” He waved his wrinkled finger in my face. “She wasn’t qualified. Tell me about this new lady.”

He was so fucking polite. Sometimes.

“She’s more than qualified.” I grabbed my beer from the table and settled back, my eyes staring in the direction of the TV and the car restoration show I’d been watching. Unfocused on it, I continued. “She worked weekends as a teen, picked up an apprenticeship the day after she graduated, and worked full-time ever since. Stopped a year ago when her dad was forced to sell the family garage.”

“So, what’s your damn problem?” Pops snapped. “She paint her nails?”

I shot him a dark look. “Overconfident. She thinks she’s better than she is.”

“You hired her off a challenge. She obviously thinks she’s better than you.”

“She’s wrong.”

“And you criticize her for being overconfident.” He laughed.

“Criticize who?” my great aunt, Greta, asked as she hobbled into the room, clutching a vase in her hands. Her bright blue gaze darted between the two of us. “Well? Spit it out, boy.”

I fucking hated it when they called me that, but they were creatures of habit. Really fucking old ones.

“His new employee,” Pops said, watching the TV. “They’re doing that wrong.” He waved his finger.

“That took you long enough,” Greta said. “Where’d you find ‘em?”

“She walked into reception this morning,” I answered.

“Then proceeded to shut his ass up,” Pops chuckled. “I’m gonna need the CCTV of that.”

I gave him another dark look.

“Ooooh,” Greta trilled. She set down the vase and pointed at me. “She under your skin, boy.”

“I don’t know her,” I shot back. “But if by ‘her’ you mean her hideous confidence and sassy attitude, then sure, she is.”

She laughed. Loud and long. “Oh, look. You metcha match.”

I wished she would talk like a normal person.

“Don’t go there,” I warned.

“Hideous confidence and sassy attitude,” she mused, stroking her chin. “Gosh, Eddie, do we know anyone like that?”

Pops smirked, looking at me. “Sure don’t, Gretie.”

They were referring to my sister. The only woman who’d ever been able to kick me in the balls and keep the damn things tucked up in my stomach until she’d left.

I leaned back on the sofa and swigged my beer. “I don’t know why I come here for dinner.”

“’Cause you can’t cook,” Greta said, wiping her hands on her apron. “And you secretly like it when I torture you.”

Well, she was right on the first.

The second… Not so much.