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“No, sir,” he states, straightening his spine. “Of course not. But she hasn’t done maintenance on her car in God knows how long—”
“Yes, I have,” I argue. “I’m religious about it.”
Kevin steals a glance at me but doesn’t appear as sold on my statement as I am his so-called clinking noise my car was making. “Ma’am, the car needed help.”
“You need help,” I retort. “You should’ve called me, and I would’ve handled the noise.”
“By bringing it back here?”
“No,” I snarl. “The heck would I do that for when you overcharge me for things I didn’t ask for?”
“Ma’am, it’s not safe for you to be driving that thing on the road like that. You’re endangering folks out there.”
“It wouldn’t start. It wasn’t about to burst into a ball of flames.”
“How would you know? You didn’t hear the clinking sound.”
I glower at him. “Are you still on that?”
“Been on that.”
The word fuming is putting it lightly for how I’m feeling right now. I’m ready to jump over the counter at this point with how incompetent and rude this guy is. How dare he act like I’m the problem when clearly he is? I’ve been ripped off, and he’s practically telling me to accept and pay for it.
“How about I call corporate and see how they’ll feel about this fiasco? Better yet, social media and all the local groups I’m in about how much of a rip-off job you all are.”
“Ma’am, threatening isn’t—” A credit card is thrown aimlessly onto the countertop, and I glance over to see Reid with his wallet out.
“Cash her out and shut up,” he commands evenly. “Talk to her like that again, and I’ll show you how I perform off the ice.”
“No,” I upbraid. “We’re not paying him. I didn’t authorize the repairs.”
“Charge it,” Reid says, not bothering to spare me a glance, and I will not be ignored.
“I said no.” Stepping in front of him, it really doesn’t do anything because he’s so damn tall and wide.
Little ole me isn’t going to do anything but sound like a squeaky toy that’s cawing away at being manhandled.
“Reid, we’re being ripped off.”
“You’re being ripped off, Shorty,” he says calmly. “I just wanna get out of here.”
“But—”
“Hurry up, Kevin,” Reid impatiently orders. “I don’t got all day. Or are you going to charge me by the second with how long it takes you to swipe a card?”
“Her car wasn’t safe, Mr. Pierce,” I hear Kevin try to justify, and I’m torn between telling him not to touch the card and Reid not to pay a damn thing.
“I think you’re full of bullshit,” Reid claims. “And that autograph is off the table if you didn’t pick up on that yet.”
“Sir—”
“Reid, please don’t pay for this. I’ll owe you and—”
“You don’t owe me a thing. I crashed at your house, and you made me breakfast. We’re even.”
“Waffles are not worth eight hundred dollars.” I begin to turn around to stop Kevin from doing anything with Reid’s credit card.
“It was worth it, especially with what you were wearing.”
