Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
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?”
“You can tell me where my sister is. Frankie Foxworth,” he adds unnecessarily and gives me a stare I’m pretty sure is meant to make me cower in the corner, but I stare right back without flinching. “She stopped returning my calls a couple of weeks ago.”
“I’ll see if she wants to talk to you.” It’s up to her. I’m ready to get this family shit out of the way so we can get on with the rest of our lives, but it’s totally up to her.
“I’ll take care of it myself.” He tries to walk past me, but I step right in his path.
“I said I’ll have Frankie call you.” This fucker isn’t getting past me.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” he grits through his perfect pearly whites.
“Not happening.” I stand my ground and suddenly sense my girl’s presence. “I told you to stay in the office,” I grumble as she walks up and slides between us.
“Good luck getting her to listen,” the asshole breathes under his breath.
“What the heck, Ben?” Frankie smacks him on the shoulder. “You’re making a scene in our business. Not cool.”
“Our business?” He blinks several times. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Come to the office and I’ll explain.” My girl turns and heads to the office with both of us following.
“Where’s the popcorn?” Big Jim mumbles as we pass, and I realize they won’t be getting any work done while this plays out. Nosy fuckers.
Ben trails behind me, but it’s Frankie who sets the pace, her sneakers making no sound even as the air ripples with her fury. She doesn’t bother to check if we’re behind her; she already knows we are. When we reach the office, she grabs the door handle, shoves it open, and stands right in the center of the room, arms crossed tightly as she stares at her brother.
“You want to tell me why you just tried to body-check my boyfriend in his own shop?” she says, voice flat.
Ben steps in, and I close the door behind us. He sweeps the office with those calculating, predatory politician’s eyes, already searching for the upper hand. “Why’d you stop returning my calls and texts, Frankie?”