Alex, who is face-deep into servicing a gorgeous Ducati Panigale V4, blindly fishes around the toolbox next to him and grabs a torque wrench for me. He then drops it on the ground and haphazardly pushes it my way, but it only glides halfway through before coming to a stop. “Here,” he says, vaguely gesturing towards the floor, making me roll my eyes.
I bend and pick it up in a quick swipe, then shake my head at him before turning towards the Toyota Corolla I’ve been working on. The car’s tire rim is bent since the owner hit it against a curb, so it needed to be replaced.
I twist the torque wrench’s handle to adjust its value to match the one I need. Placing the correct socket that matches the size of the nut needed for the Toyota (19mm) on the torque wrench, I position it onto the nut. I put enough pressure on the tool until it makes a clicking sound, signaling that the proper torque value has been reached. I double-check everything, and once I’m happy with it, I tighten the lug nuts, securing the tire back onto the car.
I straighten and stretch my lower back once I’m done, feeling like I pulled something while being bent over the tire.
“Excuse me?”
I look to my left, and find a woman dressed in formalwear smiling up at me.
“How can I help you?” I ask as I shift to face her.
She points a thumb at the black Bentley behind her, and that’s when I notice that she’s not alone. There’s another woman with her, sitting in the driver’s seat of a white Porsche, waiting on her.
“Umm, so my car’s been making these weird noises for the last few days, which is strange since I got it serviced around two weeks ago. I saw a reel about your garage on Instagram, so my friend and I thought you could help me fix the issue.”
Said friend immediately hides her face behind a hand when I look her way, clearly embarrassed. I then study the woman in front of me, and it all starts clicking in place.
She’s scanning me from head to toe like I’m a property up for grabs. I can practicallyfeelher eyes dragging over the length of my body like slick, discomforting oil. And if I were a humble man, I’d feel flustered while trying not to let this behavior get to me. But alas, I’m not that guy. Where some might find this a glorious thing, I find this woman’s perusal downright aggravating. And I’m pretty sure she thinks she’s being smooth, slipping the Instagram reel excuse into the mix.
Speakingof Instagram reels…
I turn around and glare at the little shit who is trying to come across as discreet as he eavesdrops on me.
“Alex,” I call out.
His shoulders stiffen as he stops working on whatever it is that he was working on, but still, he doesn’t face me.
I roughly throw the torque wrench into the toolbox next to my feet, clenching my jaw when I once again feel that woman’s gaze on me, this time on my back. “Alex,” I say more harshly this time.
He sighs, then dumps the tools he’s holding onto the ground before finally standing up and facing me.
Varsha pokes her head out from inside her glass cabin on the other end of the garage, but when I give her a subtle shake of my head, she nods and disappears back inside.
“I was only trying to getFinesse’sname out there,” Alex voices, then swallows when I glare at him. “Social media is a great way for the garage to get more exposure, Ledge. Our traction here hasn’t been as good as it was back home. I only wanted more people to know about this place, that’s all.”
“And you thought uploading areelon Instagram would miraculously make that happen?”
He’s quiet now, which grates at my fucking nerves.
“I’m waiting, Alex,” I grit out.
He runs his stained fingers through his unruly hair as he looks at me. “I’m sorry, Ledge. I realize now that I accidentally attracted the wrong audience–”
“Holy fuck, Alex; what thehellis this?” Varsha says as she walks out of the cabin with her phone in hand. She’s watching something on it, and once she reaches me, she hands it to me.
Sending another quick glare in Alex’s direction, I look down, and almost throw the phone at him when I see the kind of reels he’s made forFinesse. Scratch that; they are notreels, but merely cringy, blood-boiling…
“Thirst traps,” Varsha announces, exhaling softly. “Alex, you’ve been centering Ledge inthirst trapsto get people to visitFinesse?”
The clip of me – sweaty and greased up – working on a car keeps playing on the screen, withFinesse’sname, its landline number, and the address listed in the caption. And get this: the asshole even made an account underFinesse’sname, and as I go through said account, all I find are more videos of…well,me.
Jesus, take the goddamn wheel already.
“When did you evenrecordthese?” I ask Alex, grimacing at another one of the videos before returning Varsha’s phone to her.
Alex looks like a deer caught in headlights as he glances around aimlessly. “Umm, while you were working?”
