Aaric is hardworking, relentless, and gorgeous, but even if he were single, I’m not sure I’d have the courage to go for it. Not with my business also on the line. Not with my heart on the line. So I try not to think of sexy things, like how his lips would feel on mine.
What it would feel like to be the woman on his arm.
I push that thought away and madly scrub shampoo into my scalp.
“Wear something tight tonight. I’m pretty sure guys equate the tighter the dress with the tighter the pussy.”
“That’s seriously not why they like tight dresses.”
“Well, it’s a good theory. Who knows what they think? Maybe your friend Becka knows.”
“How do you know Becka?”
“You told me about her. She’s in Austin writing a sexy book. Right? Rebecca?”
“True. I’ll ask her if you can read it now that you seem so interested,” I say, tongue-in-cheek.
“Girl, I need no sexy books in my life if I’m not getting any sexy. What do you want to do with me, make me tackle the doorman?”
“We don’t have a doorman.”
“That’s right, but the building across from us does.” She smirks.
“Oh, Sara.” I laugh and head into my closet, trying to keep the laughter alive and ignore how nervous I am about this meeting with Aaric.
She’s right though. I should definitely ask Becka to let me read her stuff in private late at night or I’ll end up tackling Aaric Christos.
Christos
13 years ago…
“Hey. You there, mechanic boy? Come fix my car,” some douchebag yells.
I’m bent over a hood when something hits me on the shoulder. I glance at my shoulder, then at the floor, where a banana peel has fallen.
I raise my head to find some dude giving me shit. I give him the finger before I notice something move next to him.
Bryn Kelly.
My stomach freezes. She smiles at me apologetically from the front seat.
I don’t smile.
Hell, I can’t stand to see her with him.
I keep working, but the asshole won’t take no for an answer.
“Hey. You. Fix my car now? I have a hot date waiting.”
“Kyle, stop,” she hisses angrily.
I slam the hood closed. She jumps a little. I look at her, then at him, and walk forward.
I knock on his hood. “Open up,” I say.
He does. “Now we’re talking,” he says, clearly pleased.
I lean over, fiddle with the cables, and slam it closed.
“We’re done.”
“How much do I owe you?” He counts his bills.
“On the house.” I smirk as I walk back to the shop then watch him through the corner of my eye as he tries to start it. Nothing happens. “Asshole. I just needed the oil changed. Now it won’t fucking start!”
I grab a cloth and wipe my fingers as I head back to the vintage I’m working on. From under the hood, I hear him ranting.
“I’ll fucking sue you! I’ll sue you for your damned life!”
Bryn has hopped out and is on the phone. Ten minutes later, her father picks her up. She opens the door to his truck and raises her head to look at me. I stop working and watch her.
I watch the way she climbs into the car, the way she nervously explains what happened to her dad, and the way she looks at me before they drive off.
As they pull away, she smiles to herself. A sweet, shy smile I feel all the way down to my goddamned testicles.
Moron Kyle charges forward. “You got a hard-on for Bryn Kelly?”
I say nothing. Bend back over my work.
He’s trying to pick a fight, but I’ve got better things to do.
“She’s too good for you.” He spits on the motor.
I straighten, grab my rag, and wipe it off. He slams inside to speak to the manager. I can get fired—but I know I won’t be. I work weekends, I work nights, I work for free. I work to forget my mom is sick and my future and Cole’s looks like shit. I work because I’m good at it. But despite myself, I frown from irritation.
Because this girl I want? She is too good for me. But I’ve got plans, and a shit ton of ambition, and if I have my way—which I plan to—I won’t always be a grease monkey.
One day, I’ll own the land morons like this walk on.
Bryn
I want to make a good impression on him and I really think being free to mingle will be the way to go, so I arrive at the dinner scene dateless, with a backless dress that I cut up and sewed myself, and a gung-ho attitude that quickly takes a hit when I say my name at the door and step in.
Classical music plays in the background, and I’m instantly impressed by the edgy, simple floral arrangements and chrome banquet tables.
It’s not a huge event. But the kind of people here aren’t numerous in the world to begin with. Two hundred of the most elite, rich, high-powered movers and shakers in the city. From bankers (I recognize some) to marketers, to successful business sharks like my possible investor himself.
I feel a prick on the back of my neck, and when I turn, he’s there. He’s seated at a table next to a couple, and I feel my breath snag in my throat when I realize he’s looking at me. His expression pensive. His eyes curious.
I try not to notice how hot he looks in his gray suit with his hair slicked back away from his forehead. A black button shirt and no tie. He smiles at something the couple says and looks away for a second, and I quickly turn around and try to find a glass of wine.
I’m going to need it tonight.
“Hey, babe.”
I glance at the purple-haired man with a drink in his hand. He looks like he’s an artist. Long hair in a ponytail, eyes a little red. I think he’s stoned.
What it would feel like to be the woman on his arm.
I push that thought away and madly scrub shampoo into my scalp.
“Wear something tight tonight. I’m pretty sure guys equate the tighter the dress with the tighter the pussy.”
“That’s seriously not why they like tight dresses.”
“Well, it’s a good theory. Who knows what they think? Maybe your friend Becka knows.”
“How do you know Becka?”
“You told me about her. She’s in Austin writing a sexy book. Right? Rebecca?”
“True. I’ll ask her if you can read it now that you seem so interested,” I say, tongue-in-cheek.
“Girl, I need no sexy books in my life if I’m not getting any sexy. What do you want to do with me, make me tackle the doorman?”
“We don’t have a doorman.”
“That’s right, but the building across from us does.” She smirks.
“Oh, Sara.” I laugh and head into my closet, trying to keep the laughter alive and ignore how nervous I am about this meeting with Aaric.
She’s right though. I should definitely ask Becka to let me read her stuff in private late at night or I’ll end up tackling Aaric Christos.
Christos
13 years ago…
“Hey. You there, mechanic boy? Come fix my car,” some douchebag yells.
I’m bent over a hood when something hits me on the shoulder. I glance at my shoulder, then at the floor, where a banana peel has fallen.
I raise my head to find some dude giving me shit. I give him the finger before I notice something move next to him.
Bryn Kelly.
My stomach freezes. She smiles at me apologetically from the front seat.
I don’t smile.
Hell, I can’t stand to see her with him.
I keep working, but the asshole won’t take no for an answer.
“Hey. You. Fix my car now? I have a hot date waiting.”
“Kyle, stop,” she hisses angrily.
I slam the hood closed. She jumps a little. I look at her, then at him, and walk forward.
I knock on his hood. “Open up,” I say.
He does. “Now we’re talking,” he says, clearly pleased.
I lean over, fiddle with the cables, and slam it closed.
“We’re done.”
“How much do I owe you?” He counts his bills.
“On the house.” I smirk as I walk back to the shop then watch him through the corner of my eye as he tries to start it. Nothing happens. “Asshole. I just needed the oil changed. Now it won’t fucking start!”
I grab a cloth and wipe my fingers as I head back to the vintage I’m working on. From under the hood, I hear him ranting.
“I’ll fucking sue you! I’ll sue you for your damned life!”
Bryn has hopped out and is on the phone. Ten minutes later, her father picks her up. She opens the door to his truck and raises her head to look at me. I stop working and watch her.
I watch the way she climbs into the car, the way she nervously explains what happened to her dad, and the way she looks at me before they drive off.
As they pull away, she smiles to herself. A sweet, shy smile I feel all the way down to my goddamned testicles.
Moron Kyle charges forward. “You got a hard-on for Bryn Kelly?”
I say nothing. Bend back over my work.
He’s trying to pick a fight, but I’ve got better things to do.
“She’s too good for you.” He spits on the motor.
I straighten, grab my rag, and wipe it off. He slams inside to speak to the manager. I can get fired—but I know I won’t be. I work weekends, I work nights, I work for free. I work to forget my mom is sick and my future and Cole’s looks like shit. I work because I’m good at it. But despite myself, I frown from irritation.
Because this girl I want? She is too good for me. But I’ve got plans, and a shit ton of ambition, and if I have my way—which I plan to—I won’t always be a grease monkey.
One day, I’ll own the land morons like this walk on.
Bryn
I want to make a good impression on him and I really think being free to mingle will be the way to go, so I arrive at the dinner scene dateless, with a backless dress that I cut up and sewed myself, and a gung-ho attitude that quickly takes a hit when I say my name at the door and step in.
Classical music plays in the background, and I’m instantly impressed by the edgy, simple floral arrangements and chrome banquet tables.
It’s not a huge event. But the kind of people here aren’t numerous in the world to begin with. Two hundred of the most elite, rich, high-powered movers and shakers in the city. From bankers (I recognize some) to marketers, to successful business sharks like my possible investor himself.
I feel a prick on the back of my neck, and when I turn, he’s there. He’s seated at a table next to a couple, and I feel my breath snag in my throat when I realize he’s looking at me. His expression pensive. His eyes curious.
I try not to notice how hot he looks in his gray suit with his hair slicked back away from his forehead. A black button shirt and no tie. He smiles at something the couple says and looks away for a second, and I quickly turn around and try to find a glass of wine.
I’m going to need it tonight.
“Hey, babe.”
I glance at the purple-haired man with a drink in his hand. He looks like he’s an artist. Long hair in a ponytail, eyes a little red. I think he’s stoned.
