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“It’s not a pick-up line,” Taylor says. “It’s the only way to reach him.”
“How do you have enough business to drive a Maybach. Oh,” she says, whispering like she’s getting confidential. “It’s a lease?”
I ignore the question about the Maybach, but Taylor laughs out loud. She glares at him. “Wait! I’ve heard rumors about a secret garage in town that caters to the patrons of Billionaire Alley! That’s you, isn’t it?”
“A small part. I started out as a foster kid fixing other kids’ jalopies, learning what I could about different cars. Now it’s a relaxing hobby for me, when I’m not seeing to my other ventures.”
One of her brows arches, shouting her skepticism. “Your ‘other ventures’? Sounds like something a drug dealer would say.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that one.”
Taylor chuckles. “My favorite is that we’re Mafiosi on the lam. In a Maybach, no less. It’s the tinted windows, I’m tellin’ ya.”
I shake my head. “You keep telling that bad joke and someday the FBI’s gonna knock on my door. You can bet I’ll be sending ‘em your way.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. Drooly-Julie stands on her hind legs and braces herself against his chest to check if he’s holding more treats.
“So, how’d you go from jalopies to a secret shop?”
I shrug and consider different ways to tell my tale without sounding like a douche. “I helped out a guy once who was having trouble with his Porsche, and he passed my name on to a buddy or two, all of whom had exotic vehicles. A few of them got together and sent me to Germany for advanced training, and that was it. My shop was born. The guys wanted exclusive access, and insisted on word-of-mouth trade only. Plus, they were willing to pay for the privilege. And since I loved their types of cars, I was willing to give it a try.”
“But now it’s just a hobby?”
“They helped me set up my books. As I made more money, they taught me how to invest. They’d always chat with each other about money and business deals when they waited for their cars. Gave me pointers on how to get in on some of them. It was like being part of a special club or brotherhood. They taught me a lot, and I went to college at night to get an MBA so I could speak their language. One thing led to another. It didn’t take long before I was making my own deals.”
“That’s impressive, Ash.”
“Some decent guys, willing to help out a dumb kid.”
She’d worked steadily during my recital, otherwise I wouldn’t have rattled on, practically bragging about my achievements. For someone who prides himself on keeping his cards close to his chest, I sure blathered on today. What is it about this woman?
But now she stops working, resting gloved fists on her hips. “No, Ash. Your journey’s impressive. You don’t need to downplay it with me.”
The intensity of her gaze and its warmth digs deep inside me. Somebody could jump into the Maybach for a joyride right now, and I doubt I’d lift a finger to stop them. I’m that far out of it, drinking in the cozy, down-hominess of Charlie Brickton.
Miss Myrtle warned me years ago that it would probably happen like this. I didn’t believe her. If she were here, she’d be chortling with glee. I can almost hear her ‘I-told-you-so.’
Yep, I’m officially a goner. Seems like only a few minutes ago, I was figuring out how to make Charlie trust me. Now I’m wondering how to get her into a relationship.
“Done,” Charlie says, climbing to her feet and rolling the filled and fitted tire. “Ready to help me stretch all this around the rim?”
“Let’s do it,” I say, welcoming the physical release of muscling a rubber tire onto its metal rim without any machines or special tools to help.
“I didn’t fill the innertube full,” she says.
“Good. That’ll give us a little more flexibility.”
Taylor joins us. Between the three of us, the tire goes onto its rim with minimal trouble. But perspiration dots our faces, and runs in rivulets into Taylor’s beard. He grabs bottles of water from the Maybach and passes two to us. He drinks deeply from his before dousing his head with the leftover water. Drooly-Julie thinks this is a marvelous new game and jumps in the air, trying to lap up the drops splashing off Taylor.
“Down, Julie,” Charlie commands. The dog ignores it, and Charlie sighs. “As long as there’s an interesting smell or fun activity to fixate on, she’s oblivious to anything else.”
Unfortunately, the leash, which has been abused for the past couple of hours, gives way. Before any of us can grab the loose end, Drooly-Julie dances away. Finding herself free of restriction, she howls like a banshee, puts her nose to the ground, and dashes off across the prairie in a fun new game of ‘catch me if you can.’
I cringe as Charlie howls, “Julieeeeee!”
Chapter Four
Charlie
