Page 41 of Fixed Asset

My jaw dropped. This couldn’t be.

“I’ve owned Fords my whole life,” I told him.

“We’re a Chevy family,” he returned.

My hip hitched and my hand landed there. Unfortunately, the whole throwing-attitude thing was ruined when I winced. Damn tracking device.

“You didn’t tear it open, did you?”

“No. I don’t think so. Maybe. But we’re discussing something important.”

He took in my position. Any smart man would note the hand on the hip and wisely change his current standing on whatever the topic was, and change it before things deteriorated further.

But not Jack.

No. He doubled down.

“How often do you trade in your Fords?”

“Every four or five years.”

“Right. Baby, one of my Chevys has over two hundred thousand miles on her and she still purrs.”

More people were coming out of the house. It was really time to wrap up this conversation, but I was curious.

“How many Chevys do you have?”

“Four. Two pickups, a Camaro, and a nineteen-seventy-nine Nova.”

Damn, he had me at Nova.

“You still got your ’Stang?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“You’ll like the Camaro better.”

Pete took this as his opportunity to rejoin the conversation. He did this by busting out laughing.

Jerk.

“I’ll accept the job,” I ungraciously spat.

“Thought you would.”

I rolled my eyes, then turned to Jack. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

Jack didn’t answer. Instead, he tagged me around the waist, hauled me close, then in front of Pete, kissed the hell out of me.

This was going to be the best job ever.

Jack broke the kiss, brushed his lips over my cheek, then kissed my temple.

“Be safe, baby. I’ll see you in an hour.”

With that, he strode away.

No way he’d flipped that fast.