I hop out to check, and sure enough, the back right tire is a pancake. And there’s not a soul on the road.
Okay. Okay, I got this. I had to practice in my Driver’s Ed class back in high school. Changing a tire is simple.
Opening the rear hatch, I shove the carpet panel aside to find my spare tire, which is apparently the baby version of a real tire, and the lug wrench.
But no jack.
The slot for it is empty. I do a quick search of the car and realize it’s gone. If it was ever there to begin with. I bought the car used. A working jack wasn’t something I checked for.
With a huff, I close the hatch and go back to the passenger seat to grab my phone and call for a tow truck.
“How can there be no signal?” Half a bar flickers on my phone screen, mocking me.
Shoving it back into my pocket, I lean over the seat and dig through my purse, the glove compartment, even the back of the seat pockets, looking for anything to help with this situation.
There’s nothing.
Someone has to come by eventually, right? Or I could walk back to town. It’s not that far—maybe two miles… in the chilly winter air. I should have ignored the weatherman and brought a coat.
Just as I’m regretting all my life choices, I hear a vehicle approaching.
My heart jumps, hoping it’s Dorian. Maybe he finished with Sol and was coming to the house.
But as I turn, I see a fancy red sports car pulling up behind me, driven by none other than Philip Weeks. Looks like I’m going to talk to him sooner than I planned.
Philip climbs out of his car and flashes a smile at me. I’m temporarily blinded by the sunlight glinting off his teeth.
“Got a flat?” he asks, as if it’s not obvious by the awkward tilt of my car.
I paste on my best smile, glad for whatever help I can get. “Yes, and I seem to be missing the tire jack.”
His forehead scrunches. “I’m not sure this car came with one. When you pay almost a hundred grand for a car, I think they expect you to call for assistance.” He laughs, then offers his hand. “I’m Philip Weeks.”
“Lisette.” His handshake is kind of limp, and I let go quickly, resisting the urge to wipe my palm on my jeans. “I got your business card.”
He grins. “I’d love to talk to you about your grandma’s house. You could get a lot of money for it.”
“I’m still working through the paperwork of her estate.”
He nods. “Let me see if I can help with the tire. At the very least, I can give you a ride home. You’ll love the leather seats.”
Because they’re in a sports car? Or because he has something else in mind?
I shudder and silently pray that he has a jack.
Philip digs through a trunk too small for a suitcase and holds up a tire jack like a trophy. “You’re in luck. Lucky Lisette. It sounds as pretty as you.” He sets the jack on the ground beside my flat tire and removes his coat, handing it to me.
“Hold this while I take care of you.”
“Uh, okay.” Now I’m his butler. Nice.
He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, flexing as he checks to make sure I’m watching.
I am, but not for the reasons he thinks. I’m trying to figure out if this kind of charm really works on women. It must, or he wouldn’t use it, right?
Philip maneuvers the jack under my car, scans the instructions, then slowly raises the side of the vehicle.
He touches the tire. “Looks like you ran over something. Good thing you weren’t hurt.” His eyes move over me slowly enough to make my skin prickle.
