DAWN
Keep breathing.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale—
Crap.
Doing the breathing exercises I learned from Darrel isn’t working. I have to call the therapist again. Find another way to calm down.
At least I can have my meltdown in the privacy of the makeup room rather than in front of the director who likes to yell ‘cut’, the photographer hurling instructions I don’t understand, and Max Stinton’s chilly blue-eyed stare.
The gorgeous fiend.
He completely took me by surprise today.
Most of the time, he glares at me with cold contempt. It feels like he’d rather scrape my dignity off the floor than try to treat me like an equal. But he didn’t hesitate to take my side when the crazy hairstylist attacked my hair, and he was something close to sweet when he gave that pep talk during the photoshoot.
I almost wondered if he’d turned into a human being.
Almost.
But one glance at his scowling face when he returned to his seat beside the director and I knew the Ice King had returned.
I don’t get him.
Not that I want to get him.
It’s just…
Urgh.
Thinking about Max is not helping my anxiety whatsoever.
And rest assured, I need to be calm in front of the camera. Because we’re not just taking photos now. Every word I say, every gesture of my hand, every part of my face and body is about to be recorded and sent out to the world.
I feel anything but ready.
My eyes skid to the mirror as I behold the results of a five-man makeup and wardrobe team. I had no idea stylists were so… ferocious. The whirlwind of activity that descended on me for the interview nearly knocked the breath out of my lungs.
Makeup brushes and powder whipped particles in the air; the hairstylist raked my hair with conditioner and Eco-styler gel; a frantic aide went on and on about interview etiquette.
I didn’t hear a word of it.
This isn’t my world.
All I want is a misbehaving car and some tools.
Instead, I have a face that doesn’t look like mine and heartburn.
My fingers tremble as I reach out to the mirror.
Shimmer on my eyelids. Lashes that curl way longer and thicker than mine ever could. Red on my lips. Gold on my cheekbones.
This isn’t who I am.
I’m not…
This.
Glamorous.
It’s why I fought to keep wearing my over-alls when the stylist tried to stick me in a dress. I’m only sacrificing so much of who I am for the spotlight. I’m not ready to leave the comfort of a jumper yet.
My hands flutter over the shiny white top. The wardrobe director had a mini-breakdown when I refused to wear her gown. I almost had a flying fit when she tried to force me into a mini-skirt.
We reached a compromise.
I’m wearing a ‘trendy’ top with my jumper as trousers. The sleeves of the over-alls are tied around my waist. I don’t mind. I’ve worn my jumper like this before. Especially when it’s hot. Auto shops can turn into a boiler room every summer.
I’m glad she agreed to work with me.
Although I wonder if she would have been so accommodating if not for Stinton throwing out the first hairstylist. His actions said a whole lot to the wardrobe and makeup artists. They’ve been tiptoeing around me ever since.
Why am I thinking about Stinton again?
I haven’t forgotten my promise to defy him.
He’s still a Stinton. He’s still the grump-hole who’s holding my daughter’s wellbeing as ransom.
Besides, it’s not like he’s treating me semi-decently because he has a heart somewhere in that gas chamber of a body. It’s because, like he’s mentioned a million times, I’m a company asset.
From today onward, I’m not only representing Stinton Auto but, by extension, all of Stinton Group. If I screw up, he does too.
That’s all it is. No need to get all soft and lose my objectivity.
My phone buzzes from my purse.
I leap out of my seat and reach for it, frowning when I see an unknown number. Since I don’t have a habit of picking up strange calls, I let it die out.
A second later, my phone buzzes with a text.
Stinton.
It’s like he can sense how nervous I am and his ‘jerk’ sensors went berserk.
STINTON: Pick up when I call you.
I stare at his message and annoyance claws at my chest. If I thought he was abrupt and bossy in person, his texts are ten times more uncivil.
Should I ignore it or send him a virtual slap upside the head?
With a sigh, I choose neither.
ME: What do you want?
STINTON: I have an emergency to take care of. I won’t be there for the interview.
ME: Perfect. I won’t have to stare at your scowling face the entire time.
STINTON: Very funny. This is important. Don’t screw up.
ME: By screw up do you mean mention that the head honcho of Stinton Group has a penchant for hurling threats at innocent women in elevators?
STINTON: You have a way of making reality sound far more dramatic than it is. Curb that. It won’t translate well on TV.
I dig my fingers into the phone.
Scum.
Handsome scum but still…
I picture him sitting rigid and regal in his expensive car, looking out over the city like a brooding Batman. He’s twirling his fingers the way he did in the elevator—that hint of a smile on his lips and his eyes narrowed like they always are, like he knows he’s better than everyone else and he couldn’t be bothered.
ME: It’s not like you’ll be here to stop me.
STINTON: Just assume I’m always watching you, Banner.
I stare at the message.
Then I swallow hard and glance over my shoulders.
There’s no one there.
ME: Stalker alert.
STINTON: For the next few months, you are Stinton Group’s property. Watching you is in my job description.
ME: I’m no one’s property, Stinton.
STINTON: Bring that confidence to the interview. Don’t wimp out on me, Banner.
I throw a punch at my phone screen, pretending it’s his obnoxiously gorgeous face. Somewhere beneath my belligerence, I can tell that Stinton is intentionally provoking me. He wants to distract me from my nerves. Or maybe I’m giving him too much credit. Maybe he just delights in ticking me off.
The door cracks open and a confused-looking crew member tells me it’s time for the interview.
“I’ll be right there.”
She nods and closes the door, probably wondering if I’ve completely lost my mind.
Maybe I have, lady.
Never in a million years did I think I’d be in front of the camera. I used to run from things like this growing up. I wasn’t that girl. The one with the long flowing hair, the perfect smile, the penchant for dressing up.
I didn’t even have the body for it. While the other girls in school were developing curves, I was stuck trying to figure out where my back stopped and my butt began.
It didn’t help that my wardrobe was heavily inspired by my dad’s ‘grab anything clean and nearby’ style of clothing. Soon, it became very clear to me that it was better to stay as far away from the limelight—and people—as possible.
Now, I’m about to offer myself up to the jerks who never grew past high school. I’ll expose myself to the cesspool that is the social media comment section, facing keyboard warriors who will have no problem tearing me apart from the comfort of their parents’ basement.
“I can do this. I’ll be fine.” Taking another breath, I stomp out of the room and almost trip.
Heat floods my face and I glance down at the heels. They’re like stilts strapped to my feet and so damn uncomfortable. Why do other women subject themselves to this?
Legs shaking like a newborn deer, I make my way slowly to the front of the warehouse. The background’s been transformed. Now, there’s a couch, greenery and a giant bookshelf. The lights and cameras are closer too.
My heart slams against my ribs.
I can do this. I can do this.
The interviewer is a chirpy brunette in a sharp blue pantsuit. She senses my nerves and pats my hand. “It’s okay.” Her smile is practiced and her teeth are so white, they’re almost blinding. “I won’t ask you too many hard questions. Today, it’s all about getting to know you.”
“Know me. Right,” I mumble.
“Can I get makeup? She’s sweating!”
Someone rushes up, dabs my forehead with a brush and then scurries out of sight.
“Action!”
The interviewer turns up the charm on a dime, speaking to the camera like it’s an old friend. I dig my fingers into the arm of the chair and hope I don’t look as panicked as I feel.
She drones on and on.
I have no idea what she’s saying.
Finally, she turns to me. “So Dawn—can I call you Dawn?”
“Y-yes.”
She laughs and the sound peals against the rafters of the warehouse. “Did you know that female mechanics make up less than five percent of the industry? What made you choose to don these adorable overalls—” she cracks her mouth open to release another headache-inducing laugh, “and fix cars for a living?”
A sarcastic comment leaps to the edge of my tongue. Who is she calling ‘adorable’? I suck the words back in, compose myself and answer as neatly as I can, “Cars have always fascinated me. I knew I wanted to do something with them when I grew up.”
“But you didn’t just wake up one morning and decide on this path. How did that decision come about?”
I glance at the camera. Back to her. “My father was a mechanic.”
“Oh.” She leans her elbows on the chair and rests her chin on her fist in a classic tell me more pose.
I lick my lips. “He taught me everything I know.”
“I’m sure he’s proud of you for all your accomplishments. What does he think of you becoming the face of Stinton Auto?”
Dad wouldn’t have let Stinton Group get close to me in the first place. “He, uh, died about eight years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She pouts. “It must be hard.”
Her sympathy feels fake. It makes it difficult to be sincere with her.
“I bet you dedicate every car you fix to him.” She bats her thick eyelashes.
“Well…”
“I just love,” she reaches over and clasps my hands, “the way you’re defying all the odds as a female mechanic. It’s hard enough to make your mark in an industry that’s dominated by men. But to know that you’re doing it for your late father,” she presses her lips together and shakes her head, “that just makes it even more heartwarming.”
“Thanks?”
She looks at me like I’m an orphan who needs a family for Christmas. “I, for one, applaud you, Dawn. And I know that this great nation is ready to get behind the woman leading the charge for ladies in the industrial field. Ladies who are defeating the odds. Ladies everywhere.”
“I really wouldn’t say that I’m leading anything—”
“Cut! That was great.” The director applauds.
The interviewer drops my hand like it’s a hot potato and swishes her fingers together. Giving me a condescending smile, she mumbles, “Your hands are so rough, dear. You must let me recommend my salon.”
My jaw drops in shock.
Did she just… insult me?
Her assistant jogs toward her and hands her a bottle of sparkling water. She uncaps it, takes a sip and then smiles at me. “You should also do something about your nails. I know it must be hard to clean them, but you’re still a woman, dear. And now you’re the face of Stinton Group. There are standards to uphold.”
My nostrils flare. “Excuse me?”
“A little nail polish will get rid of that stain real quick.”
Before I can launch to my feet and show her what these oil-stained hands can do to her nose job, the director approaches us and whisks her away, chatting about some upcoming project that he wants her to star in.
The stage crew whirls around me, clicking off lights, disconnecting wires and dismantling the backdrop. The lights shut off, flooding my ‘stage’ in darkness and shadows.
Voices volley back and forth, shouting instructions as they continue to deconstruct my surroundings. No one says a word to me. No one even looks at me.
For a split second, I was the center of their universe.
Now, I’m just another prop.
Property of Stinton Group.
I curl my fingers into fists. Sure, I signed up to be Stinton’s little puppet, but I didn’t realize how demoralizing it would feel. Nothing like being set on a pedestal, pumped for all the value you offer and then thrown aside like a busted-up fruit basket.
I renew my vow to never let Beth anywhere near this filth.
The world the Stintons own is fake and heartless.
No wonder Max Stinton is so comfortable here.
“Hey.”
I turn and nearly explode with relief when I see Jefferson’s face. The young driver looks vastly out of place in his blazer, skinny tie and long trousers amidst a blur of creatives in scarves and berets.
He lifts a hand in a self-conscious wave. “Looks like filming’s over. Ready to go?”
“Hell yes.” I smile.
He returns it and gestures to the door.
I walk out of the warehouse and into the sunshine. Lifting my head to the warmth of the real world, I take a deep breath and remember who I am.
Dawn Banner.
A true mechanic.
Not a gimmick.
Not an asset.
Just a regular woman who loves fixing things that break.
When I straighten, I catch Jefferson looking at me intently. “Was it that tough?”
“Unbelievably.” I rub the back of my neck. “I hate the cameras.”
“Come on. You’re… I mean… you’re gorgeous. You must be used to all this attention.”
“That’s not attention. That’s a circus.” I hook a finger over my shoulder.
“You didn’t enjoy it?”
“Not really. It reminded me of why I haven’t taken a picture since… since I graduated technical college.”
“When was that? Last year?”
“You sweet boy.” I motion to him as if I’m pinching his cheeks. “Not even close, but that’s nice of you to make me feel younger.”
“You can’t be that much older than me,” he mumbles, a red flush spreading over his cheeks.
I laugh. “The fact that you’re blushing right now tells me exactly how much older I am.”
He scrubs his cheek. “I’m not blushing.”
“I’m in the bracket where most folks have experienced too much to blush anymore. So there you go.”
“Just because you feel old doesn’t mean you are.” He opens the back door for me.
I shake my head. “Since He Who Shall Not Be Named isn’t here, I’d rather not stand on ceremony.” Gesturing to the passenger door, I ask, “Is it okay if I ride up here? I don’t want to feel like I’m catching a cab.”
“Sure.” He slams the back door and moves to open the other one, but I beat him to the punch and slide into the seat that feels like butter.
I wait for Jefferson to join me before I ask, “Where did Mr. Perfect run off to earlier?”
He wraps his hands on the wheel and stares straight ahead. “The police station. I think it might have had something to do with his brother.”
“Trevor?” I stiffen.
Jefferson nods.
I wait for the usual disgust and annoyance that hits whenever I think of Elizabeth’s father.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, I start thinking about cobalt eyes darkening with worry. I think about firm pink lips disappearing into an anxious mouth. I think of a loosening tie and a perfect jaw line covered in stubble.
Oh, hell no. I shouldn’t be giving any concern to what a Stinton might be feeling.
I’m almost certain than Max Stinton has no feelings. He’s just a walking-talking chasm wrapped in a face hand-hewn by the gods.
He doesn’t have emotions.
Even if he does, I shouldn’t give a rat’s behind about them.
“He’s been like that since Trevor Stinton went missing.” Jefferson flicks the indicator. “One tip about his brother and he drops whatever he’s doing to pursue it to the end.”
“Any tip? From anyone?”
“Yup. Reliable or not.” Jefferson sighs heavily. “I almost feel sorry for him. He’s been nothing but disappointed every time, but he still treats every tip like there’s a real possibility. Then he puts his all into the search.”
“He has to,” I say stiffly. Do not feel sorry for him. Do not feel sorry for him. “He can’t really redeem Stinton Group until his brother apologizes for what he did.”
“I don’t think he’s doing it for Stinton Group.” Jefferson rubs his clean-shaven chin.
“What makes you so sure?”
“He follows those tips personally.”
I snort. “That’s it?”
His eyes flicker to me and then back to the road. “Mr. Stinton has a million things to do every day. He’s always on the phone or planning Stinton Group’s next steps. Just watching him while I drive makes me tired.” His quiet laughter tightens the knots in my stomach. “You know when he cares about something because he doesn’t hand it off to his team. He drops everything and does it personally.” Jefferson juts his chin down like a wise old man. “That’s how I know.”
The weird ache in my stomach climbs all the way up to my chest.
I bat at my curly ponytail. “Can I turn on the radio?”
“Sure.”
The talk about Max Stinton drifts to nothing.
Music is the only sound in the car while Jefferson drives me to the garage. I stare at the auto shop and feel a piece of me that went missing return.
“Thanks for the ride, Jefferson.” I open my door.
“Rumor is that we’ll be seeing you a lot more now that you’re working with Stinton Group.”
“That’s true.”
“I look forward to it.” He gives me another smile and waves.
Isn’t that cute?
The smell of car oil hits me square in the nose when I enter the workshop. I stand. Close my eyes. Inhale deeply. Just let the smells and the sounds of car engines rumbling fill my senses.
This morning has been such chaos. I need this.
“Banner, are you wearing makeup?” Willis swaggers toward me, his hand on his paunch and his eyes glittering like a rat.
My calm evaporates and a potent annoyance takes its place. “Shut up, Willis.”
“You were gone yesterday afternoon and again all this morning. Looks like something’s going on.”
“You’re keeping tabs on me, Willis? I didn’t know you cared so much. I’m touched.” I make sure to dip those words in sarcasm.
“Care?” He snorts. “What I care about is the rumors I’ve been hearing.”
I bite his bait. “What rumors?”
“That you’re taking over this place.”
I freeze. “Who told you that?”
“Word gets around in this industry, Banner. Plus, I heard you were at Stinton Group yesterday. What else would you be there to do?”
Signing away my face to Stinton Group, obviously.
“None of your business.” I try to stalk past him.
He lifts a hand so I can’t pass.
Alarm bells clang in my head. Willis has been grumbling about me for a long time. Mostly because Clint favors me and tends to give me the more technical jobs—which also happen to be the more expensive jobs.
I know I’ve been trampling on his fragile male pride ever since I started working here, but it’s the first time he’s shown such outward aggression.
“What are you doing?” I spit. “Get out of my way.”
“You and me, we’re gonna have ourselves a little talk.”
I hold my ground even though everything inside me wants to step back. Clenching my teeth, I warn him, “You better get the hell out of my face.”
“Or what? You gonna cry to Clint?”
My eyes dart to Clint’s office and a pang of fear swirls in my stomach when I realize it’s empty. Damn it. He’s probably at the bank. Clint’s old-fashioned that way. He still makes his deposits himself. He loves standing in line and chatting with the cashiers.
Willis hovers over me, his eyes narrowed and his grizzly cheeks sucked in. “See, this is what I don’t like about you girls trying to take over the world. You can’t do it on your own. You always want the world to bend and twist for you. Problem is, you can’t have it both ways. Either you’re one of the guys or you’re a woman. But no, we gotta coddle you and pretend your feelings are fragile, and then we gotta give over our jobs to you just because you’re a woman. Is that fair?”
“Back the hell up!” My voice squeaks at the end. Crap.
Willis laughs.
I take a step back. Look around for something to defend myself with. If Willis gets physical, it’s game over. I’m not stupid enough to think that my sheer will can block a punch from a man his size.
“Come on, Willis.” Marco, one of the newer hires who’d been watching the whole thing, grabs Willis’s shoulder. “That’s enough ragging, man. Banner does good work. Same as the rest of us.”
“Then you’re part of the problem.” He shoves Marco off roughly.
While Willis is distracted, I keep backing up. My tool trolley is just a couple steps away. If I can get to it, I can find something that’ll knock Willis out if he gets crazy.
“You’re the reason she thinks she can prance around in here and take over.” Spit flies from Willis’s lips. “What if she turns this place into an all-female mechanic haven, huh? What’chu gonna do when she puts you out of a job?”
“Willis, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marco snaps.
“Don’t I? Tell him, Banner.” Willis spins and notices my frantic search for a weapon. His eyes take on a crazy gleam and he sprints toward me.
Panic surges through my body. I whirl around, not bothering to hide what I’m doing. In frantic movements, I dig through the tool trolley.
My fingers lock around a spanner just as Willis’s hand clamps hard on my shoulder. I spin and bring the spanner down, intending to whack him over the shoulder, but a hand appears out of nowhere.
I hear the clang of metal slamming against flesh.
Then everything goes still.
Eyes widening, I slowly shift my gaze away from Willis’s chin to the expensive watch and the gold cufflinks beneath a thick jacket sleeve. I keep going. Past the broad shoulders. The thick neck. The square jaw and straight nose. To the pure cobalt eyes that watch Willis with an arrogance that has to be inherent. It can’t be learned. It can’t be taught. It just… is.
My shoulders stiffen.
“Ms. Banner, our contract states that you are not to get involved in any altercations for the duration of your tenure with Stinton Group.”
Shock loosens my grip.
Stinton pries the spanner from my fingers, his eyes never leaving Willis.
I jump back when I realize this isn’t my imagination.
Max Stinton is here.
In the flesh.
“However,” Stinton’s hawk-like gaze causes Willis to shirk back, “I signed no such contract.” He smirks and lifts the wrench over his head. “So I can…”
“Ah!” Willis recoils and covers his face.
Stinton stops the wrench an inch away from Willis’s nose. He chuckles, but it’s a sound as cold and dangerous as the mob bosses in my favorite black-and-white movies.
Dragging the wrench softly over Willis’s face, Stinton whispers, “Who taught you to put your hands on women like that?”
Willis trembles and says nothing.
Anger burns under my skin as I watch him fall apart in front of Max. Willis was so tough when it was me. When it was just a tiny and helpless woman. He could rant and rave about how much damage I was doing to the world of auto mechanics. Words seemed to be bubbling out of him.
Where is it now?
Where’s the victim-whining gone?
Rage builds and builds inside me.
I want to snatch the spanner from Stinton and teach Willis a lesson. I want him to fight back and talk smack again. I want him to face me and give me respect, not because the owner of the company is here but because I deserve it. I earned it.
“Ah ah.” Stinton’s blue eyes swerve to me as if he can read my mind. “Calm down, wolverine.”
I scowl at him.
He gives me a pointed look.
Jerk.
I take a step back even though it kills me and I let him play the hero.
“Does anyone else want to share their disapproval with having a lady lead the shop?” Stinton swings the spanner. The fingers wrapped around the tool are long and elegant. Relaxed. Yet there’s a control to his movements that give him a scary finesse.
The other mechanics enter the mechanic bay, probably drawn by all the shouting. They look at Willis, me and Stinton casually holding a spanner like a gun.
“What’s going on here?”
Marco shakes his head as if to say ‘don’t ask’.
Willis starts laughing.
My head whips around and my eyes narrow. What does he think is so funny?
Willis smacks his knees with a flat hand and bends over as if he’s stumbled on the world’s best joke.
Swinging to face the other mechanics, Willis points at Stinton. “I’ll tell you what’s happening. Banner remembered she’s a woman long enough to get her promotion the good old fashion way.”
My heart pounds hard and fast. A grim anger hardens inside me, bringing ugly feelings to the surface.
I’ve heard these accusations before.
Whenever I do well, my enemies always fall back to this.
“What way is that?” Stinton asks in a cold, deadly voice.
Willis must have figured he’s already screwed because he opens his mouth in a wild grin and whispers, “You should know that better than me, Mr. Boss Man.”
Stinton’s lips curl up at the corners, but it’s nothing like the amused smirk that he wears around me. This one is tinged in poison. Something so dark and sharp, it makes me shiver.
Without warning, his fist flies forward and connects with Willis’s jaw. It’s so quick that the other man is knocked out on the floor before I can blink.
My inhale is sharp and stunned.
Stinton calmly hands the spanner back to me, ignoring the man writhing on the ground. “As of today, this man is fired. I’ll have his severance package arranged right away, although giving him anything would be generous of me.”
Willis groans and picks himself off the floor. His angry eyes are intent on Stinton’s back and he seems to be contemplating whether he should rush him.
I jump forward and swing my spanner like a bat. “I suggest you get out of here before we call the cops.”
Willis spits out blood. “Go ahead and call them. He’s the one who punched me because I said what was on everyone’s mind.”
“Speak for yourself,” Marco says.
I whip my head around to stare at him in shock.
“You don’t speak for us,” Marco adds.
Willis reels back, his gaze darting to Marco. Then he starts laughing again. “Marco? You hit that too? Was it in the employee lounge or back behind the lift?”
Marco scoffs and rolls his eyes.
Stinton’s chuckle is a vibrating threat. He takes the spanner from me and stomps forward. “It looks like we need to have another conversation.”
I launch my arm out to stop him from going at Willis again. I don’t need him to rescue me. My work speaks for itself. My conduct and character can’t be torn down this easily. The boys have this.
Willis throws his head back and laughs. “Go ahead. Hit me again. It’ll just line my pockets with more money when I sue you.”
Marco turns his face to the side. “Sue him? For what?”
“He punched me!” Willis shrieks. Sticking a finger at the bruise starting to form on his jaw, he croaks, “You all saw it!”
“Saw what?” Henricks smacks his lips together.
Fuentes scowls. “Yeah, I didn’t see nothing.”
“Willis, you sure you didn’t knock into a door or something? You gotta be more careful in the workshop.”
Laughter bubbles in my chest. I don’t try to hide my amusement and let it sing through my voice when I gesture to the door. “I suggest you leave now before you’re escorted out, Willis.”
He curses up a storm and disappears. I hear his engine starting a moment later. His tires spit gravel as he tears out of the parking lot and drives out of the gravel path that leads to the street.
Silence falls on the shop.
No one moves.
Willis was one of the boys. Even if they stuck up for me, I’m sure they’re going to feel that loss. I glance at each man and try to find the right words to convey my gratitude. Before I can, Stinton and his big mouth steps in.
“If anyone else has a problem with Ms. Banner’s leadership, there’s the door.” He gives them all equal glares and stomps toward Clint’s office.
I scowl at him. Did he really think that was the best time to say nonsense like that? After what just happened?
I let out a deep breath and face the other mechanics. “Thanks, guys.”
“Anytime.” Marco looks me up and down. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“I meant with him.” He points to where Stinton is rummaging through Clint’s desk. “I can handle Willis-types all day, but the suits… they’re sneaky.”
“Don’t worry. I can handle Stinton.”
“Then we’ll let you get to it.” Marco grins and nods. “Boss.”
Something warm fills my chest. I dip my chin and then seek out the bane of my existence who also happens to be the real boss and the man I just can’t figure out.
