Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Hold up.” I cut him off, leaning forward. “You have a Vette? What year?”
“You must be a car guy.” His face lit up, the last of the light catching his hair and making his skin glow. “It’s a restored and modified ‘78 silver anniversary edition T-top. My fortieth birthday present to myself.”
“Well, happy damn belated birthday, boss.” I laughed, a freeing sound, smile feeling real for the first time all damn day. Maybe this job would be fun after all. “Bring the Vette. We can pack light. I’ll check the weather to make sure it’s the best choice, but hell yeah, I’m in favor of the Vette. Always wanted to drive a C3.”
“I take it you can drive stick?” He waggled his eyebrows at me. Teasing. Maybe even flirting. I wasn’t the best at picking up on those things.
“I can drive any damn thing you need from a tank to a Miata. My brothers made me learn on a manual, an ancient Trans-Am. Then they turned me loose moving vehicles at the garage, everything from teeny hybrids to big 3500 trucks. Drove a delivery truck loaded with SEALs on a mission overseas.” I was bragging, but the way Ambrose smiled at me made me want to share every story I had. Made me want to impress him, an urge to show off I thought I’d long outgrown.
“Good.” His gaze met mine right as the sun dipped from view. The stars would be out soon, but they couldn’t rival the glitter in his eyes. I licked my lips. If he wasn’t a client…
But he was. And I had to look away, be the one to nervously cough. “Guess I’ll see you Thursday morning.”
“It’s a date.” He was still smiling, looking at me like I might have personally hung the moon that had sprung into view.
“Fake date,” I corrected him, forcing a laugh. But he wasn’t the one I was reminding. That would be all me. An iconic sports car notwithstanding, it would be a hell of a long weekend.
Chapter Nine
Ambrose
Harley wanted to drive my car, which I was totally good with. His eagerness made me feel ever so slightly better about this whole mess. And if I could bribe him with the car, so much the better. Cressida’s assistant could pay his bill, but I had the tricked-out Restomod and a lot of Highway 101 for us to burn. Not to mention that watching him ogle my car was a near-sexual experience.
We were in my driveway at the crack of dawn on Thursday morning. I’d had the car in for a tune-up. I’d gassed up the day before, then pulled the car around to the front of the house before Harley’s arrival. Now, Hercules and I stood back, watching his inspection, which was more entertaining than an early-morning cartoon.
“Damn. This is a beauty.” Harley circled the car, muscles flexing, examining it from all angles. Its highly polished silver exterior glittered as the sun rose over us. He even crouched low to inspect the tires. “Your rims alone are a piece of work.”
My inner fourteen-year-old snort-laughed at that. “I do like to keep my rims pristine. No streaks or dust for me.”
“Ha. I walked right into that one.”
“You did.” I was in a great mood, with none of my usual pre-trip anxiety. “And hope you packed light because cargo space is at a premium, especially if we want to bring the storage bag for the T-top panels if we’d like the option of taking the top down.
“Hell yes, we want that option.” He grinned like I’d known he would. Was it possible to get addicted to a grin? I had a feeling I might find out that weekend. He jogged over to his truck, tossing a bag on the ground. “All I’ve got is a backpack and a suit on a hanger.”
“I can slide your suit into my own hanging bag to save you from any dog hair.” I fetched my two bags from where I’d left them near the side door of the house. Seeing him without his usual “Security” black T-shirt was nice. His navy-blue tee was the same shade as his eyes, and the funny little cartoon logo suggested a lighter side of him than I’d seen thus far.
“I almost forgot Hercules was coming. Guess he’ll need to fit back there too. Luckily, he doesn’t have much hair.” After handing me the suit on a wire hanger, Harley bent to pet Hercules, who’d been dancing around my feet while Harley inspected the car. I quickly stashed his suit in my case. Our clothing cuddled up, sharing space, felt rather couple-y. And yes, this was fake, but I was going to take the little pleasures where I found them.
“Cute that you think he’ll stay put in the back. He thinks the passenger seat is his.”