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“There is no Danny,” I say, folding my arms after I clean my hands on the rag in my back pocket. I lean against the doorframe to the back. “I said I’d be in touch.”
“No. You barked—”
“Barked? What the fuck? I didn’t.” I’m not a damn dog, and I didn’t bark.
“Tomorrow, Princess, like an order and left. And then this morning, Christine arrived, so I drove here for answers.”
“Christine?” I frown.
She frowns too. “That evil and possessed truck out there that you sent. It had to be you. Only you would find it hilarious to send the city girl a truck from the nightmares of Stephen King.”
“Christine wasn’t a truck.”
She’s refusing my charm, which is odd. I don’t even have to try, and women are charmed. Some small babies resist me, but they’re in a bad mood, usually. Besides, I don’t spend a lot of time with small babies.
“You know what I mean.”
“So, you didn’t like the truck?”
“No.”
Then she looks me up and down, and I realize what’s different. She’s not wearing her glasses.
She sniffs and says, “Where’s your boss?”
My smile fades, and I straighten. I’m pretty fucking sure she’s messing with me. Then again, she is a New York princess, so who knows.
“Looking at him, Orphan Annie.”
“Orphan . . .?”
I wave a hand at her. “The hobo look you got going on.”
“Where’s my car? And who is Danny?”
I start with the easy one. “Grease was the old lady who owned this place’s favorite movie. Had a thing for Zuko.” I gesture through to the back. “Your car’s here.”
She follows, and then a slight sound escapes her.
It’s a mess. It also looks worse than it is, as I have it elevated. My work computer’s set up on a stand nearby, and there are other cars and trucks booked in, but right now, hers is front and center.
“Had to order a few parts and I’m getting the dent fixed later. Custom color is slightly more problematic but doable.”
I know it’s custom. The shade is a deep, rich blackberry that isn’t on any of the releases this year. Because her Audi came out about four months ago, I had to send for the parts. FedEx will get them to me tomorrow, but she’s looking at me like this is some kind of plan to keep her around.
She might be pretty and just might have made a few appearances in my dreams last night, but princesses aren’t my thing.
The only high-maintenance thing I like is the S1 E-Type Jag I’m restoring. It won’t be high-maintenance when I’m done. It’ll purr like a kitten with all the fucking cream.
But that’s it. No girls, no other cars, nothing else is worth the pander.
I don’t need Sidney hanging around.
“I can’t stay here,” she says.
Don’t disagree with that, but it rubs me down in all the wrong ways.
“Norhill Tops is a great little town, so unless you want to hightail it to the nearest airport then you’re gonna be here.” I smile and pat her car. “Unless, of course, you wanna buy Christine out there. Gotta warn you, though, she isn’t cheap.”
