Chapter 2
Garrett
I am going to kill him, I think as I walk to the office to check on whoever had just walked in. This was the third time I had caught Mike screwing one of our clients in the backseat of her own car. He just didn’t seem to understand the potential disaster it could be if he tried that with the wrong woman. Of course, judging by the moans and screams of his last debauchery, she wasn’t going to be complaining. Apparently, Mike was “Oh my God, fucking amazing”- or at least that is what she kept saying over and over and over. I wasn’t listening on purpose. I just couldn’t help but hear it- all the way in my office. If Mike wasn’t my best friend and the best mechanic around, I’d fire his ass in a heartbeat.
I step into the dingy little waiting room and think for the thousandth time that I need to redecorate. I hadn’t changed anything since I bought the place five years ago. It just never seemed to get to the top of the list. I arrange my face in a pleasant, ‘how can I help you’ smile and look up to meet the eye of my next customer.
A beautiful, tall brunette stands in front of the desk with a shy smile and delicious curves. She bites her lip nervously and then seems to remember something. Sticking her tits out and pulling her chin up, she asks, “Is Mike around? I’ve got a bit of car trouble and my friend told me he was the best.”
I groan inwardly. Great, I think, he’s got a fucking referral service now. Her eyes flick to my shirt where my name is clearly proclaimed as not Mike. I think for a half a second and see something like regret when she figures that out and I wonder why that pleases me.
“Mike’s busy at the moment. I’ll help you with whatever you need.” I find myself thinking that ‘whatever’ could have a very wide range of pleasant implications. Lord, this woman was built for pleasure, I think, taking in her hourglass figure. Her generous breasts are about falling out of her top, and I try not to stare.
For a moment, she looks unsure. “Are you sure I can’t talk with Mike? My friend recommended him specifically.”
I move around the desk, crowding her just a bit. I hide a smile as I watch her want to take a step back but make her feet stay planted. “What’s wrong with your car, Ms...?” I let the end of the sentence trail off and make it clear that she is going to be dealing with me.
“Andrews. Mia Andrews,” she says automatically and sticks out a hand. She adjusts her stance as she offers her hand, slightly increasing the distance between us. It was done subtly and most people wouldn’t have noticed it. I noticed, though, and it intrigued me. She was here because she thought she could flirt her way into a discounted car repair, but she just used a power move that was polished enough to hold her own in any boardroom.
“Hello, Mia Andrews. I’m Garrett Castle, your new mechanic.” I move back to the chair behind the desk and sit, pulling a ticket out of the drawer. “What’s wrong with your car?”
“It’s broken,” Mia replies, and I have to force myself to look down. She is leaning on the desk, giving a full view of her beautiful breasts spilling out of her v-neck shirt. I fight down the urge to reach out and rip the shirt down the front. She is playing with fire, but she doesn’t know it. I begin to wonder if I’ve been a bit hard on Mike after all.
“Can you be a bit more specific, Ms. Andrews? Broken can mean many things.” I rock back in the chair and lock eyes with her, challenging slightly. I want to see how she reacts under a bit of pressure.
She stands, puts her hands on her hips, and holds my eye. “I’m not the mechanic. You are- or so you claim. I just know that it is making noises and stalling. Isn’t it your job to tell me what’s broken?”
Atta girl, I think. I would have been severely disappointed if she would have dropped her eyes or started babbling. “That’s right. Let’s go have a look then, shall we?” I stand and head to the door, not bothering to wait for her.
The little Camry is a wreck. The list of things that is wrong with it is twice as long as what actually works. It is amazing that it has lasted this long. She’s been standing off to the side, watching me work under the hood for the last 30 minutes. I’ve been ignoring her but watching her anxiety grow out of the corner of my eye. Any other customer, I would have put in the office with a cup of coffee or I would have called them later with a diagnosis and estimate. But I wanted to keep Mia Andrews off balance. And I liked her presence.
Finally, I straighten up and turn to look at her. “$3,000. That’s the low-ball estimate.”
I see dismay and panic followed by resolve cross her beautiful face. She licks her lips and gives me a sultry look. “Surely, we can do a little better than that. I just need it to run for another month or so until I graduate. What will it take to just hold it together for a little longer?” She leans on the frame, giving me another look down her shirt.
“Ms. Andrews, this car won’t drive again for less than two grand. It won’t run reliably for less than three. It‘s about 6 starts away from the junkyard.” I lean on the frame across from her, keeping us eye to eye. She is playing the coy damsel, but I want to see the tough as nails, don’t fuck with me woman again.
She straightens and narrows her eyes. That’s right, sweetheart. Show me that backbone.