“What kind of white can you do then?” my boss asked the other man, but his gaze remained on me.
“Don’t do it because of me. You can do any color you want,” I threw in, not liking the pressure of him putting my favorite color on a car he was going to be selling.
His face was super serious. “I know.”
Okay then.
“Show me a pure, bright white with a blue undertone then,” Rip told the other man after finally turning to face him again.
Hector bobbed his head before pecking at the computer keyboard.
Well.
He really must feel bad.
Good.
* * *
It took aboutten different tries to get the shade of red Rip had envisioned in his head, which took hours because mixing colors was literally a science that Hector had a doctorate in, and it took half as long to get the shade of white that he liked.
When Rip said I could spray a fine layer of metal flakes onto the car that was going to be the shade of white he’d chosen—white with some hints of light blue—I had “oohed” and “ahhed” because Iloveddoing metal flakes and didn’t get to do them all that often; cleaning up the booth and the gun afterward was time consuming and a giant pain in the butt but totally worth it.
I had barely closed the truck door as Rip loaded the paint into the back of the truck—he’d given me a look that said I was nuts when I’d gone to pick up the first container—so I’d backed off, put my hands up, and let him do it. It wasn’t like I hadn’t carried my own paint to the back of the CCC truck a thousand other times, even though Hector always offered, but if Rip wanted to do it now, so be it.
The door had barely been shut when my phone started ringing from inside my purse. I pulled it out and frowned at the screen. It was the shop’s number. “Hello?” I answered.
Instead of Mr. Cooper’s voice, or even Miguel or anyone else’s, the one I dreaded said, “When are you getting back?”
I tipped my face toward the window to my right and bit the inside of my cheek. “Soon. Why?”
“Something doesn’t look right.”
I thought about the work I’d left him with and didn’t understand how it was possible for him to screw up any part of it. He should have been done by then. He should have been helping out on the floor. “How?” I heard the edge in my own voice. I really was fed up with him. I was so fed up, I was almost to the point of being past caring about whether or not he got fired for messing up so often.
“Look… you need to get back so you can fix it,” the man-child claimed.
Just the words I wanted to hear.
I kept making a face. “Tell me what you think you did wrong, and I’ll tell you how to fix it before I get there.”
The driver door opened, and I didn’t miss the teal-colored eyes that swung toward me as Rip got in.
“It’s easier to show you. How much longer are you going to be?” he repeated.
“I don’t know. Probably not that long, but I need you to tell me what happened because a lot of things you think might be messed up, can be fixed,” I said, trying to sound calm, but just thinking about how much him screwing up might eat up my time when I got back left a tight feeling in my gut. It was already almost five, and I wasn’t too crazy about staying late. Not today at least. I was supposed to go to the gym with Lenny.
Jason decided to pretend he hadn’t heard me. “How long? Twenty minutes?”
Kill him with kindness, kill him with kindness, kill him with kindness. The words alone felt like a boulder right in the center of my entire freaking existence. I’d been having to tell myself those exact same words way too often lately, and they weren’t being as effective as usual. “Jason, tell me what you did.”
He ignored me like he always did. “It doesn’t matter. You’re going to have to fix it.”
The truck starting up broke through my thoughts, but I kept my gaze forward on the building we were parked in front of. “I’m not going to fix anything. You need to learn how to fix it. So even if I get there, you’re still going to have to do it, okay?”
There was silence on the other end and then, “This isn’t my job.”
Oh,no.
