She has a bed and a nightstand on one side of the room. A single chair with a coffee table by the window.
It’s stuffy up here. The floor is made of wood, but not the kind of hardwood most people use in homes.
This isn’t an apartment.
This is a goddamn storage attic, and it is not good enough for my girl.
She’s not your girl.
“I have a folder with all of the receipts,” she says, pulling my attention away from the fact that I hate with all of my fucking soul that this is where she lives.
Not my problem.She’s not my problem.
She opens a drawer on a short, two-drawer filing cabinet and pulls out the folder, then walks back over to me, and we move over to the window so that I can see better.
It’s fucking dark up here, and it’s the middle of the day.
It’s also hot, and Jules opens the windows, letting a breeze blow through. It had to be sweltering up here in the heart of summer.
And there’s no way this will work in the winter. She’ll freeze to death.
Not my problem, I remind myself as I start thumbing through the invoices in the folder.
“It doesn’t take four hours to change out brakes,” I mutter, shaking my head. “And he totally upcharged you for the pads. Asshole.”
The more I see, the angrier I get.
Because it’s clear without a shadow of a doubt that Barry fucked Juliet over, time and again. She should have paid a fifth of what he charged her.
“Can I keep these?” I ask her.
“Oh, sure. No problem.” She pushes her hair behind her ear. “Uh, just let me know how much the tow costs, and I’ll pay for it. Unless you want me to call right now, and I can just give them my card number?”
“I’ve got it.” I shake my head and walk away from her. If I keep standing two feet from her gorgeous body, I’ll do something stupid like kiss her.
Jesus, I want to kiss her.
“The tow won’t cost you anything. I’ll take a look at it this evening.”
“Oh, there’s no rush?—”
I spin and pin her in my glare. “Why didn’t you bring it to me?”
She swallows hard, then frowns down at the floor.
“Look at me, Wildfire.”
She raises her gaze, and heat fills her eyes. Frustration. Embarrassment.
And I feel like an asshole.
“Because you made itveryclear to me that I’m not welcome at your shop. More than once. At the engagement party, I believe the words wereI don’t exist for you.You don’t want me in your way, and I understand that. I respect it. So do you think that I’d bring my piece-of-shit car to you? Of course not.”
“Jesus.” I rub my hand down my face in frustration. “I’ll figure your car out.”
“I appreciate that.” Her voice is quiet again, and we’re both standing here, unsure, awkward. It’s the fucking worst becauseJules and I never used to be uncomfortable around each other. She was my person. And now she’s a stranger.
“Why do you live up here, Juliet?”
