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“This I have to see.” He ushered me forward and directed me to his car.
“How is this thing broken? It barely looks like it has dirt on the tires.”
“It’s only about a month old. And I don’t know—it won’t start.”
“Pop the hood.”
He crossed in front of me and went to the driver’s side, leaned in, and a moment later I heard the hood release. He closed the door and came back to stand side by side with me. Bryce had followed us but was standing back on the curb.
I shrugged out of my jacket, thankful I had worn a long-sleeved blouse underneath, and handed it to Mr. Brighton. “Here, hold this.”
I opened the hood, hooked it on the prop, and looked around, mentally checking things off as I went. Everything seemed in place. Nothing was disconnected or seemed to be loose. I was about to cut my losses and admit defeat, blame foreign engineering, and get back on track for mission margarita, when I saw it. I almost laughed with how easy it was. I popped the spark plug wire back into place. Satisfied, I shut the hood, went around to the driver’s side, and had the engine purring within a fraction of a second.
I shut the door and sauntered back to Mr. Brighton, absolutely loving the shocked look on his face.
“What was wrong?” he asked.
“You had a loose wire. Easy fix.”
“Wow. Well, thank you.” He smiled at me and it was the first authentic smile I had seen on his face. It was surreal how much it changed his face. His harshness melted away and he was even more handsome than the intimidating, barking orders, glaring version of himself.
“Not a problem,” I answered. “My jacket, if you don’t mind.”
“Right, of course,” he said. He held open the coat and waited. It took me a moment to realize what he was doing and I struggled to allow him to help me back into my jacket. I didn’t exactly come from a part of town where men helped women into their coats. His hand lingered on my arm for a moment and it seemed like he wanted to say something else, but suddenly he released me and pulled up his sleeve to check his watch.
“Listen, I’m really late for, uh, something. But thank you again. I will be in touch soon.” He went around me and started to get in his car before adding, “About the ads, I mean.”
I nodded and offered a slight wave before turning back to face Bryce. I heard the car pull out behind me but fought off the urge to turn around and see him one last time. Something in my gut told me that I would be seeing plenty of him soon enough and I had a hunch he would be back to his all-business mode.
“That was awesome!” Bryce exclaimed as we crossed the parking lot to his car.
“He was pretty shocked, huh?” I laughed as I remembered the look of astonishment on his perfectly chiseled face.
“Definitely. So, what the hell happened? You’re his new ad rep?”
I nodded. The picture of his face in my mind was replaced by the one of him as I flung ad pages at him. I briefly recapped the scene for Bryce as we got in his car and he drove us to a nearby café.
“You called him a douche!” Bryce was practically giddy as we sat over lunch, my breakdown of the meeting finally completed.
“Well, not exactly. It was implied, though.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Were you trying to get fired? Or is that just how you are?” he asked, but he was smiling at me like he already knew the answer.
“I’m sorry, Bryce. I know that my performance reflects on you, too. I shouldn’t have let my mouth get so carried away. He was just staring at me like I was an idiot or something, completely incompetent. I’m just a coffee girl. What could I possibly know about ads?”
“Or cars,” Bryce added.
“Yes, exactly! Or cars. What a dick.” I took another sip off my drink, loving the way the alcohol hit my system. Yes, a margarita was exactly what I needed.
“I have to say, he certainly wasn’t looking at you like you were an idiot when you were bent over his engine.”
I cocked an eyebrow in his direction. “Fan-fucking-tastic. I’m a piece of meat instead. Ugh.”
“I have a feeling you can take care of yourself. Although, tomorrow should be pretty interesting.” Bryce held up his glass. “Cheers!”
Chapter Four
A fitful night of sleep led to a zombie-like entrance to work the next morning. I wasn’t hung over but damn it if sleep deprivation mixed with a pack of anxiety riddled nightmares didn’t feel like the exact same thing. I got to my desk and slumped into my chair with my eyes still halfway closed. My coffee was cold but I slurped it down anyway, needing every last milligram of caffeine to get me through the day. As soon as my computer booted up I had a musical alert to indicate new emails. I set aside my cup and started scanning through the messages.
