MAX
I’m ready for Ms. Banner’s barbed tongue to fly.
And she doesn’t disappoint.
“Just when I think you can’t get lower than scum, you go and prove me wrong.” The door to my office bursts open, and a petite spitfire wearing a silk scarf over her hair and baggy over-alls shrouding her petite figure flies into the room.
Hills rushes behind her, out of breath. “Sorry, Stinton. I couldn’t stop her.”
I lift a hand in a silent it’s okay gesture.
He nods, shoots Ms. Banner a sharp look and then slams the door shut.
I lean back in my chair, enjoying the sight of her.
Intriguing.
I expected her to be disgruntled, but this show of rage takes me by surprise. When she signed the contract yesterday, it seemed like a part of her had been tamed. Considering the glare she’s currently shooting from her dark brown eyes, Ms. Banner is still as wild and willful as ever.
Interesting. And I’m not just referring to her temper. She’s scratching at a fire in my chest. The blaze of a competition. A challenge to see who’ll bend first.
“Ms. Banner, I told you I would send a car.”
“Don’t ‘Ms. Banner’ me.” She stalks toward my desk with the grace of a panther, all restrained power and explosive energy. “I thought we had a deal. You don’t go near my daughter. You keep her away from Stinton Group. That’s the only reason I agreed to this.”
“I’d like you to point out where I reneged on that promise.”
“Don’t play dumb.”
Oh, a man could choke on that biting tone. “I assure you that I’m incapable of such a thing.”
Ms. Banner scoffs and rolls her eyes.
She’s twice as fiery as she was yesterday.
In the elevator, she was a stiff upper lip and a head tilted back in pride. She was fingers curling into fists and a hand ready to slap my face.
Today, she’s the kind of dangerous that will shove a knife into my back when I’m not looking.
The wild cat became a cunning wolverine overnight.
I rake my gaze over her baggy over-alls. The industrial steel-toed boots. No earrings today and I find I miss the cheerful Africa combs. Beautiful dark skin glimmers with undertones of gold and honey.
My assessment shifts from professional to… something else. I wonder what her curves are like beneath that ridiculous oversized jumper. Would she wear something bold and feminine? Or would her undergarment of choice be as utilitarian as her over-alls?
My body hardens at the thought.
She frowns, flattening that luscious mouth of hers. “A celebrity chef? Really? You sent a meal that probably costs more than my car payments for breakfast.”
“Was it not to your liking?”
The scowl deepens.
I flip open a file and scan it in order to stop from staring at her stunning face. “I called Vanya Scott and asked her to send her team first, but she has a very busy schedule. She couldn’t fit me in.” It was my first time asking Vanya for anything and she made such a fuss over it that I instantly regretted considering her. “Chef Aimsley is well-regarded—”
“Stop that.” She squeezes her eyes shut.
I arch an eyebrow, still not seeing the problem. All of Trevor’s women were heavily compensated for their involvement with my brother’s… reproductive organs.
Ms. Banner didn’t get a penny and yet she’s the woman who actually gave birth to someone with Stinton blood. Half blood—like me. Which endears Beth even more to me.
I can’t let random women that Trevor discarded be treated better than my niece and her mother.
Ms. Banner releases a shuddering breath. “What game are you playing?”
“This is not a game. The fate of Stinton Group is riding on our campaign.”
“I meant,” she opens her eyes and hits me with a hard look, “what are you doing with Beth?”
I stand and draw near to her. Close enough that I can convey my sincerity. “Did my niece enjoy the meal?”
Ms. Banner tilts her head back, staring at me and saying nothing.
“Feel free to tell Chef Aimsley everything you liked and didn’t. He’s not the stuffy type. He has a real passion for food and cares about the experience.”
She flares her nostrils. Pulls her fingers into fists. Seems to contemplate whether she should throw the punch. “If you keep pulling off stunts like that, my daughter will get suspicious.”
“Didn’t Chef Aimsley announce that you’d won a lifetime—”
“Beth’s seven. She’s not an idiot.”
“Huh.” I rub my chin. “You have a point. I’ll be less grand next time.”
“Next time? No, there won’t be a next time. My daughter doesn’t need anything from Stinton Group.” She slashes her hand through the air.
I catch it. Wrap my fingers around her wrist until I can feel her pulse beating against mine. Her skin is softer than silk. I unconsciously brush my thumb against her veins.
“What are you doing?” She jerks her hand back.
“Sorry. Habit. I thought you were going to slap me.”
Her eyes narrow to slits.
Yes, she’s definitely a wolverine today.
She’s not here to damage me in ways that I’ll expect, fangs out and claws slashing.
Ms. Banner’s come to find somewhere that hurts.
I turn and walk back toward my desk although I don’t take my chair. “I understand your feelings about Stinton Group.”
“I don’t care what you understand. I care that you’re breaking the contract.”
“My family still has no idea she exists.”
“But she’ll know if you keep sending celebrity chefs to our door.”
“For seven years, I didn’t know Trevor had a daughter. You can’t expect—”
“I expect you to continue with your life and pretend you never found out.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
She crosses her arms and the movement flattens her over-alls against her body, hinting at a thin waist and a generous chest.
Damn this woman.
She’s distracting me in ways I’ve never experienced before.
“Screw you, Stinton.” Her natural brown-pink lips form such hateful words.
I stare at her far longer than is decent.
It’s not just the yearning in my pants that’s inspiring the assessment.
I’m trying to figure her out.
She prances around in over-alls and oil-stained hands, navigates in a male-dominated industry and still manages to keep a cloak of femininity about her. It’s almost as if she’s learned to straddle two worlds and has an eye on conquering both.
The longer I stare, the more she squirms. Her glare crumples like wet sand. Her frown droops, turning into a pensive frown.
“Don’t you blink?” She quickly averts her eyes.
It’s the first time she’s seemed nervous since she flew into my office.
My lips curl up. I can’t help myself.
Dawn Banner is a strange creature.
And maybe I wouldn’t mind playing this game with her.
“Sit down.”
“No.”
“Now.”
“Do you ever ask?” She tilts her head, a hand to her hips. Her guard’s back up. All the way up. “Do you ever say please? Do you ever act like a normal human being with proper home training? Even my baby knows basic manners.”
“I don’t have time for manners.” I stalk around the desk and reach for the day’s itinerary.
“Right. Because when you say jump, we’re all supposed to ask, ‘which cliff’?”
I hide my smile behind the folder. “Do you have any experience in front of a camera?”
“Do I look like I have experience in front of a camera?” Her tone is sarcastic.
I drop the folder to my desk and eagerly pick up on that invitation to watch her again, inscribing every detail into my brain. The slope of her nose. The shape of her lips. The delicate bob of her throat.
“I’m assuming no.”
“You paid for a puppet. Not a fashion model.”
I sigh and lean forward. This much animosity can get old quickly. I don’t mind it here, in my office, but out there we’ll need to work together. “I’m not out to get you, Ms. Banner.”
“Really? You didn’t seem all that benevolent when you were hurling threats yesterday.”
These barbs are coming one after the other.
“You’re not a victim. You agreed to sign the contract of your own volition.”
“When someone’s twisting your arm, does it still count as free will?” She scowls at me. “You made sure you’re the only one with power here, Stinton.”
“On the contrary, you have your own cards to play.” Why am I pointing it out to her? Why do I always want to play these games in hard mode? “You are going to be the public face of Stinton Group’s subsidiary. Everything you do and say will reflect on us.”
Her eyes spark as if she’s just realizing the truth. Good. I’m laying it out in bold colors. She can run her mouth on TV and cause our stocks to crash. Not to mention I’d be in serious hot water with the board. I’m running this idea without consulting them. The consequences could reach further and be more damaging than she can imagine.
“We need to trust each other. That’s the only way we get what we want.”
There’s a knock on the door. The receptionist enters with a tray. Normally, I’d expect my assistant to deliver coffee, but the task has been turned over to her because Hills decided he no longer wanted to be my ‘coffee boy’.
One of the many reasons he’s been exhausting me lately.
“Coffee?” I gesture to the cup.
Ms. Banner lifts a hand. “No.”
“Would you like something else?”
She narrows her eyes. “Tell me what the other card is.”
I arch an eyebrow.
“You said I had cards. Plural. What’s the other one?”
I smirk into the rim of my cup and take a sip. Motioning the secretary out, I wait until she’s gone before I set the cup on the china plate.
“Why should I tell you that? I’d be giving you an unnecessary advantage.”
“You started this topic. I’m assuming you didn’t bring it up just to hear yourself talk.”
That wit of hers is sharp enough to draw blood.
I can’t believe I’m enjoying myself so much. “It’s Elizabeth.”
She turns tense again.
“None of Trevor’s dalliances have resulted in a child, and I don’t have any kids either.” Not that the Reckless College Me didn’t try. “Elizabeth is a Stinton and we’re a family that treasures bloodlines.” I should know better than anyone. “She’s the one who’ll inherit all this,” I gesture to the building, “when the next generation is gone.”
Ms. Banner bristles. “I’m not using my daughter to get what I want.”
“Unlike me, right?” I take another sip.
“Well, if the horns and pitchfork fit…”
I can’t help myself. I burst out laughing.
She wrinkles her nose.
Hills bursts into the room. “What is that sound?” His wide-eyed stare lands on me and he doesn’t blink for thirty seconds straight. “Stinton?”
“Hills, tell Jefferson to meet me downstairs. I’d like him to drive us to the photoshoot.”
“Sure.” He gives me another dubious look and disappears.
Ms. Banner gets up stiffly.
I arch an eyebrow. “Where are you going?”
“The bathroom.” She frowns at me. “Or do I have to update you every time nature calls?”
I wave her away. “Don’t run. I’ll find you.”
“Yes, my liege.”
My lips quirk again.
She’s freaking hilarious.
Hills hustles back into the room when Ms. Banner is gone and flings himself at my desk.
“What?” I grumble, collecting the files I’ll take with me. I’ve been to photoshoots before, mostly to oversee marketing assets for Stinton Group’s many companies.
Hair and makeup can take forever. Also, as Ms. Banner rightly pointed out, she has no modeling experience. We’ll be there a while.
Hills keeps staring at me and doesn’t move an inch.
I sigh. “Say what you have to say. I need to leave soon.”
“Since when do you laugh?”
“Everyone laughs.”
“Not you. I haven’t heard you laugh since college.”
“Stop exaggerating.”
“I’m serious. You stopped laughing after your mom…”
My hand freezes over the laptop. Then I grab it and shove it into the case. “I’ll need you to attend the Stinton Investment meeting for me. I’ll be busy all morning.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“About what?”
“Using that female mechanic.”
“The contract’s already signed,” I inform him gruffly.
“Stinton, I don’t like it. This woman is dangerous. You can’t let your guard down.”
“Stop worrying.”
“I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about me. No one here likes me. If you go, I’m as good as sacked.”
I plant a hand on his shoulder. “Then work harder so you’ll be able to stand on your own.”
He scowls at me.
I leave the office and spot Dawn in the lobby. She’s talking with the receptionist. Her slender hands are moving back and forth.
“Really?” The receptionist gasps in awe. “I don’t mean to bother you, but can you tell my mechanic that?”
“Sure.”
The receptionist dials a number and then hands the phone over to Dawn.
She wipes her hands against her over-alls and grips the phone confidently. “Yeah, she explained the problem. Did you check the API rating in the manual before you bought the oil for the car? It’s a newer model and uses a special oil.” She tilts her head to the side. Listens. Sticks her tongue into her cheek. “No, that won’t work. You gotta read up on these new models.” She stops. Laughs loudly. My heart bucks against my chest when I hear it. “No,” she continues, “check the container of oil you bought. You might need to drain that oil. The vehicle can’t go out until you put in the proper kind.”
Ms. Banner spots me from the corner of her eye and the sparkle in her gaze goes out like a puff of wind over a candle.
“No problem. No problem. Okay, bye.” She hands the phone back to my receptionist. “Here.”
“Thank you so much.”
Ms. Banner turns to face me. In a flat voice, she asks, “Ready?”
I nod and gesture to the elevator.
The silence carries a hint of awkwardness.
I want to start a conversation. I want to ask how she got into auto repair and why she loves it so much. I want to hear how she managed to earn those certificates while taking care of a young daughter all by herself. I want to say something that’ll make her laugh or tease her and watch her eyes turn sharp with fury.
And it bothers me.
She bothers me.
I don’t like the way my eyes keep straying to her face just so I can catch another glimpse of those cheekbones and that delectable mouth. I don’t like the displeasure that sails through me when the elevator opens and she hustles to get away from me.
She’s playing with my mind.
Dangerous woman.
I need to find a way to gain control again. The game can’t be over before it begins.
Jefferson straightens like an arrow when he sees us coming. The breeze ruffles his curly hair and blows at that ridiculous skinny tie that he must have bought on Hills’s direction.
“Ms. Banner.” Jefferson smiles warmly at Dawn.
She breaks out into a grin.
Annoyance breaks out in my chest for reasons I can’t identify.
“I didn’t expect to see you again,” Jefferson says. “I wanted to tell you… you were cool yesterday.” He hefts a thumbs-up in her direction. “Really cool.”
She laughs and pats his shoulder. He’s so much taller than her that she has to rise on her tiptoes to do it, but she doesn’t seem to mind. “Aren’t you cute?”
I scowl. “We’re late.”
“Oh, right. Sorry, Mr. Stinton.” Jefferson opens the car door for Ms. Banner and catches her eye as he bows low. “Ma’am.”
“Isn’t that sweet?”
I motion Jefferson out of the way. “I’ve got this.”
Jefferson gives me a bewildered look.
“Go.” I jut my chin at the driver’s side.
Ms. Banner stops halfway into the car and then backpedals. Feet planted on the ground, she glares at me. “What is your problem? Why are you barking at him?”
“I’m not barking. I’m getting your door.”
She yanks on the handle and the door goes flying out of my hand. “I’ll get my own door, thank you very much.”
“Ms. Banner.”
She slams the door in my face, making me flinch.
I let out an exasperated bark of laughter and then stomp around to the other side of the car. Climbing in, I turn to look at Dawn. She’s on her phone, studiously ignoring me.
“Are you ready to go, sir?” Jefferson asks.
“Yes.”
We pull into traffic. The scenery changes outside my window, but the one in the car remains the same. Ms. Banner—body turned as far away from me as possible, eyes on her phone, lips in a frown.
I rub the back of my neck, feeling especially foolish. Why did I respond that way when I saw her getting along with Jefferson? What is wrong with me?
Eager to distance myself from her, I flip through the files I brought and focus on work until Jefferson slows the car in front of the warehouse.
“Report back to the office,” I tell him. “I’ll call you when we’re finished.”
“Yes, sir.” He nods to me.
“Wish me luck, Jefferson,” Ms. Banner mumbles, giving him a nervous look.
He pumps his fist in encouragement. “You got this.”
She smiles.
I seethe.
Gesturing toward the warehouse, I bite out, “Let’s head inside.”
Dawn drops her grin and gives me her usual scowl.
I return it in full.
We walk stiffly into the giant room that’s brimming with activity. Clothes racks skid across the floor, pushed along by fast-walking stylists. Assistants set up lights against a white backdrop and a short man is calling out instructions from the director’s chair.
I stop Dawn with an outstretched hand. “Let me introduce you to the director.”
She blinks once. Twice.
“Ms. Banner?”
“Huh?” Her eyes shoot to me. They look… terrified. Where’s the indestructible wolverine who told me off this morning?
“Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay,” she snaps.
“Then why are you sweating?” I brush my thumb against the liquid dotting her dark forehead.
“It’s hot.”
The weather’s cooler than usual today.
“Come on.” I press my hand to the small of her back and nudge her toward the director.
“Mr. Stinton.” He takes my hand and shakes it warmly. He reaches out to do the same to Dawn, but his arm falls limp when he sees her face. “My goodness. Look at those cheekbones.” He reaches for her chin. Then stops himself. “May I?”
She purses her lips but gives her agreement.
“My word.” He tilts her head from side to side. “These angles. The way the light will hit your face… oh. Have you done face modeling?”
“Um…”
“If you weren’t so short, you could be the next Naomi. Poor thing. Those little legs though…”
I step in front of her. “Director, she’s not here to model professionally. You read the content sheet. This is her introduction to the world as the face of Stinton Auto. I want fierce but approachable.”
“Right. Of course. Of course.”
I turn to Ms. Banner. “You’ll do hair and makeup now.”
“Hair?” Her eyes widen and she touches the wrap over her head.
“Don’t worry. I brought in a renowned salon. The stylist should know how to handle…” I stumble over the words ‘black hair’ and wonder if she’d be offended. “Your specific type of hair.” I don’t want to antagonize her or scare her any more than she already is. “Think of it as a spa day.”
She glances at the photoshoot again and her teeth chatter. “Spa day. Right.”
“I’ll be right there.” I point to the seat beside the director’s chair. “If you have any questions, come find me.”
Somehow, I doubt she heard me. Her neck is tense and her eyes look like she’s trying out for an extra in a zombie movie.
One of the aids grabs her and carries her out of sight. When she’s gone, I take my seat and work on my tablet.
A few minutes later, someone rushes up to me. “Mr. Stinton.”
I glance up.
The aide pulls at her frazzled hair. “There’s a problem.”
“What problem?”
“Ms. Banner and the hair stylist are fighting.”
“WHAT?” I shove the tablet away and move briskly behind her.
The moment I step inside the makeup room, my eyes search for Dawn. I find her staring a scrawny man down. She’s wearing a black cape over her chest and her hair is poofing around her face. It’s also dripping wet and has several broken combs sticking out of it.
The stylist has a scarf tied around his neck and his gaze is burning with annoyance.
Ms. Banner sticks a finger out at him. “If you knew anything about black hair, you would know that trying to clear it out while it’s wet and un-moisturized is extremely damaging. You’d also know that you can’t use a tiny comb like that to untangle hair this thick. And you’d also know that calling my hair ‘ratty’ to my face is extremely offensive.”
His cheeks turn pink.
I move forward and everyone in the room turns to watch me. “What happened here?”
Dawn glances away and clamps her mouth shut.
The hairstylist pounces on me. “Mr. Stinton, this… girl thinks she knows more about hair than I do.” He rolls his eyes. “Which is ridiculous. I’ve styled many black celebrities. None of them behaved like this.”
“Which black celebrities have you styled with natural hair?” Dawn growls at him. “Name them.”
The hairstylist opens his mouth and then slams it shut.
Dawn taps her foot on the ground, waiting.
When he realizes that he can’t answer the question, he whirls on me and whines, “Do you see? She’s so loud and angry. If she would be quiet and let me do my job—”
“You be quiet,” I growl.
His condescending smirk fades and his face goes pale. “What?”
“You. Be. Quiet.” I point at Ms. Banner. “She’s telling you she’s uncomfortable with what you’re doing with her hair. What part of that do you not comprehend?”
“But… but—”
I shift away from him and speak to Dawn. “I told Hills to find a salon that was knowledgeable in black hair and we obviously fumbled the ball. Give me a moment to find someone else.”
Her jaw drops.
I gesture to one of the aides. “Please escort this man out.”
The stylist turns red. “How dare you! I’ll have you know that I won hair awards all over the country. I know what I’m doing!”
“Hurry. He’s loud and angry.” I stare him down. “The very traits he seems to detest.”
“Sir.” The aide clamps the stylist’s arm.
He brushes her off and stalks out on his own.
I walk behind them.
“Stinton.”
I stop. Turn. Face Dawn.
She clears her throat. Rubs the back of her neck. “If it’s too much trouble to get another stylist in time, I can try to do my hair on my own.”
“No,” I bark, still annoyed about that hairstylist. “I’ll handle it.”
Her soft expression turns hard again. “Fine. Do what you want.”
I charge out of the room and dial Vanya. She answers on the first ring, something I’m always amazed at given how busy her schedule is.
“Max. Wow. You’re calling me twice in one week? Should I assume the world is about to end?”
“I need a black hairstylist. Stat.”
“What?”
“You wear your hair out when you’re not modeling, right? You should know someone. Or at least you can point me in the right direction.”
“By ‘out’, do you mean natural?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course I know someone. But why are you asking me? Don’t you normally have lackeys to do this kind of thing?”
“Just get me the info, Vanya.”
“What did I tell you about growling at me, Max?”
I roll my eyes.
“If it wasn’t for your mom, I wouldn’t put up with half of your crap.”
I rub the bridge of my nose. “It’s an emergency, Vanya.”
“Fine. Send me your location. I’ve worked with all the best hairstylists. I’ll have one there in fifteen minutes.”
“That soon?”
“You know why I’m so successful, don’t you? It’s because my time is money.”
“Then I guess I owe you one.”
“You owe me more than one, but I’ll settle with you when I’m in town.”
I hang up and return to Dawn. She’s sitting in the chair, her slender fingers picking at one of the combs that tangled in her hair. Teeth gritted in frustration, she tugs and finagles, but the comb seems to become more entrenched.
“You need me to cut it?” I ask grumpily.
She jumps and sees me in the mirror. Her shoulders shoot up. “Bring scissors anywhere near my hair and I’ll cut you with it.”
I restrain a chuckle. Striding toward her, I reach out. “Let me do it.”
“I’ve got it.”
I swat her hand away because we have no time for arguments that we both know she’ll lose.
Dawn settles down while I carefully pick at the strands of her hair. It’s my first time touching a black woman’s hair. I marvel at the way it defies gravity. Soft and springy. It looks so thick yet it feels so delicate.
“Any progress?” Dawn mumbles.
It’s difficult to get the strands to cooperate when they’re wet, but I finally manage to loosen them up. “There.”
“I’ve got it now.” She pushes me away, setting her hand over the broken comb.
I clear my throat and watch her in the mirror. Her eyes are narrowed in concentration and her fingers move nimbly through her hair. Curiously, I note how water turned her afro into tightly-coiled curls. I watch her stretch those curls until they’re almost to her waist. I watch her until she watches me back.
“You keep staring at me.”
“You should have told me you were having a problem with the stylist.”
“I didn’t need your help.”
“This isn’t about help. You are an asset of Stinton Group. If anyone messes with you, they’re messing with the entire company.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “That’s a little dramatic.” Then she pauses. “Wait, did you just call me an ‘asset’?”
A knock sounds at the door, ending what I’m sure would have been a fight before it can begin. A man breezes into the room. It’s the hairstylist Vanya sent. He has dreadlocks, sharp eyes and is wearing a white shirt open at the collar.
He takes one look at Dawn and declares in a dry tone. “Well, aren’t you a beautiful black woman.”
She ducks her head shyly.
I leave her to his capable hands and retreat outside. When I’m back in my chair, I put the tips of my fingers to my nose. Smells like coconut oil and cocoa butter.
It’s a strange and intoxicating blend.
As I work, I constantly bring my hands to my nose so I can inhale. I wonder if they sell air fresheners that smell like this. That smell like Dawn.
“She’s ready.” The director startles me from my thoughts.
I look ahead and spot Dawn shuffling in front of the camera. My jaw drops when I see her elegant hairstyle. The front is braided down and the back is an explosion of thick black curls that flow down her back. She’s wearing a more form-fitting pair of over-alls and sharp white tennis shoes.
My heart thumps so fast I’m sure the director can hear.
“Wow. Look at that.” He fawns over her and points to the monitor. “Even when she looks like a scared Bambi, the camera loves her.”
It really does. Her cheekbones gather and dispense light. Her lips are full and tempting. The sun must be hidden in her brown skin because she’s glistening like an ancient goddess.
I try hard to swallow and realize that I can’t.
“Let’s begin,” I choke out.
The director yells for Dawn to get into position. She does great with the close-ups but when props are introduced, she falters. Hard.
“No, no, no!” The director yells. “You look too stiff, Dawn. Loosen up. Loosen up.”
“I’m trying,” she growls back.
The photographer takes more shots and the director huffs. “Stop!” Then to me, he mumbles, “This is ridiculous. She’s so pretty, but it doesn’t matter if her body’s locked up like that.”
“Let me try,” I say.
He huffs and flops back into his seat. “Let’s take five.”
Dawn wraps her arms around her body and shuffles from one foot to the next when I approach her.
“I know what you’re going to say, and I’m not intentionally sabotaging the shoot. I don’t want to look ridiculous either.”
“You don’t look ridiculous.”
She gives me a side eye.
I glance aside. “Okay, fine. You do. But that’s only because you’re overthinking this.”
“I’m not a sexy model. I can’t… I can’t do that.”
“You’re sexy when you’re confident.”
Her eyes flit to mine.
I realize what I’ve said and try to walk it back. “All women are. There’s nothing more attractive than confidence.” I brush a hand over her collar to flatten it. “What did you talk about with the mechanic on the phone this morning?”
“What?”
“At my secretary’s desk. What did you talk about?”
“He put the wrong oil in her car.”
“How do you know?”
“Because of the symptoms.”
“You’re that sure?” I arch an eyebrow. “You haven’t even seen her car.”
“I don’t need to see a car to figure out what’s wrong with it.” She sharpens her gaze.
My fingers settle on her shoulder. “That. That’s where you’re confident, Dawn. Get the idea of a sexy female mechanic out of your head. Being sexy has nothing to do with how much skin you’re showing or how much of your butt is poking out.”
She snorts and then laughs.
I nod at the car. “Pretend you’re fixing this thing. Ignore the camera. Just do what you do best.”
“Okay.” She juts her chin down.
I gesture to the director.
He calls everyone to order and the photographer starts snapping pictures.
This time, Dawn’s much looser as she poses. She opens the hood of the truck and her eyes get glinty and determined.
The director goes quiet. Everyone in the room just stops and stares, held spell-bound by the woman who knows cars like the back of her hand.
I watch her shift to another pose. She’s beautiful and intelligent and it shows. The early jitters are gone, her passion ringing through every movement.
My eyes swerve to the monitor and I’m startled by what I see.
A stunning, sexy woman.
The kind of woman who could ruin a man if he wasn’t careful.
Why do I feel like she’s already on the way to ruining me?
