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CHAPTER 10

SETH

I walk through the shop early Friday morning, checking things out. It’s payroll day, which used to mean I’d spend most of the morning in the office, wading through a swamp of invoices and timecards.

But that isn’t the case anymore. My little Sassy Pants has taken over the office. Frankie’s been running the business side of Prestige Motors for a couple of weeks now, and for the first time since I took over this place, I don’t dread opening my inbox. I don’t have to chase down the insurance guy or call six different parts suppliers to find out who’s bullshitting me the least.

I should be suspicious. I should be terrified by how much I already rely on her. Instead, I’m just… happy. It’s a weird feeling.

Last week, we sent Sparkie off to the junkyard in the sky since fixing her was going to cost more than she was worth. Frankie refused to even consider letting me buy her a new car, so I bought myself a brand-new Mercedes SUV. Luckily, it only took me a few days and several orgasms to convince her to “borrow” my new SUV when she needs a vehicle.

The lift lights are on in the main bay, and I hear Tyler’s voice even before I see his legs sticking out from under the Bentley that’s been giving him hell all week.

“Morning, boss!” he shouts, banging his forehead on the chassis as he sits up.

“Morning, sunshine,” I shoot back, grabbing a rag to wipe the condensation off the snap-on toolbox. “How’s the British mistress today?”

He groans. “Every time I fix one leak, three more appear. It’s like the world’s most expensive game of Whack-a-Mole.”

“That’s why we charge them double,” I say, and he laughs, which means he’s already forgotten about the bruise he’ll be sporting on his temple.

In the next bay over, Jim O’Connor is hunched over the open guts of a transmission. He glances up as I pass, eyes like a bear coming out of hibernation. “You look like shit, Seth.”

“I’ve never felt better, Big Jim.”

He grins, rolling his eyes. “All these sleepless nights are going to catch up with you one day.” Maybe so, but not anytime soon.

I’ll forfeit a little sleep to spend more time with my girl. My mind flashes back to what kept me up last night. Frankie, riding me like she wanted to snap my spine, then lying beside me in the dark, talking about everything and nothing until I lost track of who I even was before her. “Someday, but not today,” I mutter.

He smirks, then jerks his head at the work order on his clipboard. “Got the McFarland rebuild scheduled for today.”

I take a long, slow breath. “Don’t let me keep you from that.”

He barks a laugh, already back to wrenching.

It’s not even seven when I climb the stairs to my office. The place smells like fresh coffee and vanilla, all fucking Frankie. She’s in my chair, feet up on my desk, squinting at a spreadsheet on the giant monitor. She’s wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt that says NOPE. NOT TODAY. Her hair’s twisted up in a messy knot, and she looks like a fucking angel who’s never heard of sleep.

“Hey, boss,” she says, not bothering to turn around. “You want the good news, the bad news, or the news that will make you want to take a long walk off a short pier?”

I laugh. I can’t help it. “Hit me with all three.”

She rattles them off like it’s a script. “Good news. Payroll is set, and the new system actually works. Bad news. The IRS thinks we owe them another thirty-four hundred for last quarter, which is bullshit, but I’ll handle it. Now, the really stupidly ugly news. The delivery guy crashed into our dumpster and wants us to cover his deductible, which I told him to pound sand.”

I nod, genuinely impressed. “You’ve been busy, Sassy Pants.”

She stretches, slow and smug. “I know.” My cock turns to stone when she stands and slowly walks over to me. “I deserve a little treat for all my hard work.” My brain completely malfunctions when she reaches between us to give my cock a squeeze.

I’m just about to lock the goddamn door and give her a treat when there’s a loud disturbance out in the shop.

“Stay here,” I tell Frankie as I rush out, locking the office door behind me.

There’s a tall, broad-shouldered asshole in a suit that probably cost more than the tools in the entire shop. He scans the garage with all the warmth of a shark casing a beach full of seal pups. Even from a hundred feet away, I know exactly who it is. The family resemblance is too strong to deny it.

Frankie’s brother. Fucking hell. My day was going great until this.

I watch as he marches through the bays, not bothering to sidestep the oil stains or the puddles from the car wash station. The mechanics freeze, tools in midair. Even Jim looks up, eyebrows knitted. The guy moves like he’s in the goddamn Secret Service, scanning every corner of my domain for a threat.

I square my shoulder, preparing for the fight of my life as I walk up to him. “How may I help you?”