Ryot didn’t waste time. “Come on. I’ll show you around the place.”
I fell into step beside him, trying not to stare at the way his broad shoulders moved under his shop shirt. The Pit was impressive. Rows of lifted cars and bikes gleamed under fluorescent lights, and my fingers itched to get on them almost as much as I wanted to trace my new boss’s tattoos.
Ryot stopped at a workstation and tapped the computer screen. “Inventory system. Scan the barcode when you pull apart. It updates automatically. No more guessing what we have in the back.”
This system would’ve made it much harder for Shawn to embezzle from his dad. “Way better than the dinosaur software at my old shop.”
“You’ll like the work order system. Everything’s digital. Customer notes, photos, specs—all in one place.” He pulled up a file and pointed. “See?”
“Nice,” I murmured, already itching to get my hands dirty. “You run a tight ship.”
“Gotta. The guys trust us with their lives on the track. Can’t afford mistakes.”
We moved through the bays as he pointed out the dedicated cleaning stations, massive roll-up doors for quick vehicle movement, and heavy shelving loaded with every performance part imaginable. The place was organized chaos done right.
Eventually, Ryot stepped back and crossed his arms. “You ready to dive in?”
“Born ready,” I shot back with a grin.
“Start with the brake job on the blue street bike in bay three. Then diagnostics on the silver drift car. Let me know if you need anything.”
I headed straight for the street bike, feeling Ryot’s eyes on me as I started, but I pushed the awareness aside and focused.
First, I double-checked the work order on the tablet, then lifted the bike onto the stand with practiced ease. I removed the wheels and inspected the rotors and pads with a critical eye. The pads were worn unevenly, exactly like I’d suspected from the way the customer described the pull in the notes. I grabbed a fresh set from inventory, scanned the barcode, and got to work.
My hands moved on autopilot: torquing bolts to spec, bedding the new pads properly, checking the lines for any air or leaks. I worked fast but clean, the way my dad had taught me.When I was done, I spun the wheel by hand, listening for any drag or noise.
“Looks solid.”
I straightened, wiping my hands on a rag, and turned to find Ryot standing a few feet away. He’d been watching the whole time.
I lifted my chin, trying not to preen at his praise, which hit differently than when Tim told me I did a good job. “I cleaned the calipers while I was in there, too. Should stop the uneven wear on the new pads.”
He stepped closer, leaned down, and gave the assembly a quick once-over. Then he spun the wheel himself, listening. When he straightened, the approval in his dark green eyes was clear. “Good work. Most new guys would’ve rushed it and left the calipers dirty.”
“I hate doing a job twice. Figured I might as well do it right the first time.” I shrugged like his compliment was nothing. “And I’m only new here, not at doing the work.”
The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough for me to feel it. “Keep that attitude, and you’ll fit right in here.”
He lingered for another second, his gaze staying on me a beat longer than necessary, before he walked off to check on another bay.
I let out a slow breath and turned back to the bike, my heart beating harder than the job required.
Over the nextcouple of days, a pattern became impossible to ignore.
Ryot was never far. Whether I was deep in a diagnostic, organizing parts, or torquing down a suspension job, I’d look up, and he’d be there. Across the bay, at the next lift, or walking past. He wasn’t hovering exactly. He was just present.
I told myself he was evaluating the new girl. That was all. But it didn’t feel like simple supervision. It felt like something more intentional.
And then there were the other mechanics.
I was finishing up a brake job on a customer’s sport bike when one of the younger techs wandered over and leaned against the workbench a little too casually.
“You’re fast.” Jared flashed me an easy grin. “Where’d you learn to bleed brakes like that?”
Before I could answer, Ryot looked over, his eyes locking on Jared with quiet intensity.
Jared straightened immediately, suddenly remembering he had somewhere else to be. “Uh, I’ll go check on that order for the Hayabusa.”
