Текст книги "Revved"
Автор книги: Sherilee Gray
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 12 страниц)
He’ll rev her up and drive her to the edge…
Rusty West swore she was done with men. Instead, she channeled her passion into West Restoration, the car shop she runs with her best friend and sister. But Rusty’s aloof composure fades when the owner of the competition comes striding into her shop, over six feet of sexy, rough-edged confidence…hot enough to send Rusty’s motor into overdrive.
Reid Parker worked his ass off to get what he wants—and what he wants is West Restoration and its crew. He never expected to find a shop of all-female mechanics…or the stunning redhead who ignites a lust that threatens his cool. But Reid plays carefully. He never, ever gets involved with a woman beyond one night.
And no matter how hot the sparks, Rusty will never compromise her business for a man…
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover the Axle Alley Vipers series…
Crashed
Discover more category romance titles from Entangled Indulgence…
Dodging Temptation
Heart and Sole
The Greek Tycoon’s Tarnished Bride
Rules of Negotiation
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Sherilee Gray. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Indulgence is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Karen Grove
Cover design by Liz Pelletier
Cover art from iStock
ISBN 978-1-63375-343-3
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition October 2015
For Vaughan, long suffering husband, car expert, and all-around great guy. Thanks for patiently answering all my questions. Love you!
Chapter One
“What the fuck?” Slamming out of his office, Reid Parker strode onto R.I.P. Classic’s parking lot in time to watch the Ford Mustang—the same damn one he’d put in a quote to do bodywork on two weeks ago—peel out onto the road, sun glinting off its newly chromed rear bumper. A bumper they sure as hell hadn’t worked on.
Law, his friend and manager, turned to him, rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you see that shit? Said he decided to take the car somewhere else.”
“Where?” Someone had stolen another job out from under them, and Reid intended to find out who the hell was doing the stealing.
“Not a clue. Just said he was taking his business elsewhere from now on.” Law crossed his arms over his black leather cut. “That Mustang was gonna bring in some serious bank, but losing the other jobs he was bringing our way?” He shook his head. “That’s not just about losing money. It’s about hurting our rep.”
This was true. R.I.P. had a stellar reputation. They weren’t the biggest car restoration business in Miami by chance. They knew their shit, did excellent work. Losing business to someone else was not cool, especially when that customer had been coming to them for fucking years. Worse? This was not the first. Someone had been steadily taking work from them for the last couple of months. “How did it look?”
“Mint. The body work was slick, and whoever rebuilt the engine was a goddamn magician. That bitch purred, brother.”
“Leave it with me.” Reid strode to his office. No way would he sit by and risk damage to his good name. He didn’t appreciate someone encroaching on his turf, stealing his customers. It didn’t matter how much money, how many shops he had. It made no damn difference, not to him. Every job lost was a hit.
Through sheer pigheaded determination, he’d turned his love of cars—and when he was a kid, his escape from the reality of his shitty life—into ten thriving shops across the country.
The reason he had what he did, was that he did not let shit slide. Ever. Dragging yourself out of the gutter, having to fight tooth and nail for every damn thing you wanted tended to have that effect on a person.
There were only a handful of quality electroplaters in Miami. One of them had re-chromed the Mustang, and he intended to find out who’d booked the job.
Thirty minutes and several phone calls later, he was in his car and headed to the other side of the city. Axle Alley, for shit’s sake. The road had held that name for as long as he could remember—lined with businesses that catered to anything with an engine. But these were not high-end businesses. This was where your average Joe came with his average paycheck to get average work done.
At least that’s what he’d always thought.
He’d never heard of West Restoration. But from what he’d managed to find out, the small garage had been doing the occasional restoration job for years, though its main focus had always been your usual, run-of-the-mill mechanical work. Now with a new name, and new ownership, it seemed that focus had changed.
He’d expected it to be one of the short-lived garages that popped up in South Beach from time to time, only to close within the first two years. Building a steady and—as he’d found out recently—loyal customer base wasn’t easy.
How they were drawing people over to this side of the city, the fucking asshole of Miami as far as he was concerned, was a goddamned mystery.
West Restoration wasn’t hard to find. Bizarrely, it was right next to a cottage that looked like the Big Bad Wolf might pay it a visit, the only residential property on this stretch of road as far as he could see. The garage had a newly painted sign that stood out against its faded neighbors like a freakin’ beacon, all shiny and new and—purple.
He shook his head in disgust and drove past the parking area in front of the main workshop, and down the side of the building, making sure to park his black ’61 Plymouth Suburban—a hearse in its previous life—out of eye-shot of the roller doors. R.I.P. Classics was emblazoned on the side, and he didn’t want them tagging him right off the bat. This mission was all about stealth, at least until he’d had a chance to check the place out.
A black Ford pickup with green flames coming up over the hood and down the sides was parked next to his car, and he took a moment to look it over. It was good. Really good. If the rest of their work was anything like this, these guys had talent, and lots of it.
The outside of the place was nothing special, but it’d been treated to a makeover as well, given a fresh coat of paint in the same migraine-inducing, retina-searing purple.
“Jesus.” Shoving his keys in his pocket, he strode through the doors and into the workshop.
At this point he hadn’t decided on a game plan other than sizing up the competition, and that’s what they were. He could see that now. Yeah, they were small and they were out of the way, but they weren’t amateurs playing around. They knew their stuff, and if they were stealing his customers, they were a threat regardless of their size.
A guy in coveralls sat on a crate on the other side of the workshop, full welding mask covering his face, welding a patch of steel over a spot that had rusted almost all the way through. He knew this because he knew that car. The powder blue, ’55 Ford Customline had been in his garage a few weeks ago. He’d been the one to look it over and had done the quote himself.
Motherfucker.
He scanned the rest of the workshop, spotting an English Wheel, rollers, and various other tools you’d use if you did things old school. These guys worked hammer and file, from the ground up. These weren’t rush jobs.
They made their own custom panels, weren’t buying them in, and they were doing it well. Folks didn’t mind paying extra green for this kind of workmanship. It took longer, but if the end results were anything like he’d seen so far, the extra time would be worth it for a lot of people.
This, he hadn’t expected.
He looked around again, took in the place with fresh eyes, mind ticking over. Hell, excitement pumped through his veins, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
The determination he’d felt on the drive over shifted, becoming something else entirely.
As R.I.P. had grown, gotten busier, he’d moved away from this kind of detailed, hand-tooled work. They bought in rather than doing it themselves, to save time, to get more cars through the door. Not many did it like this anymore. This is what he wanted to bring back to his own business.
There was a hole in the market—he knew this, had known for a while—but training staff in this type of work took time, time he did not have. Man, if he could offer both options, this being higher priced and fully customized…
It took him all of ten minutes to decide he wanted West Restoration—and the staff that came with it.
The crackle and bright flickering light of the MIG welder stopped suddenly, and Reid turned to the guy across the room. He stood from the low crate he’d been sitting on and flipped the mask up, then pulled it off completely.
Long, fiery red hair fell free, thick and wavy. His gaze shot up and landed on the most exquisite face he had ever laid eyes on. Wide almond-shaped eyes, like fucking clear emeralds, met his and held.
A woman. An unbelievably hot woman.
She walked toward him, and his gaze was drawn to the serious sway of her slim hips, her long legs, and back up to what had to be an amazing rack hidden under those coveralls.
What in the hell?
Planting her hands on her hips, she stopped in front of him, tilting her head up so she could meet his stare. She was tall, but nowhere near his six-foot-four.
And yeah, there was no other word for it. She was stunning. Full lips, made to wrap around a man’s cock, high cheek bones, a perfect little nose, and those eyes, those bend-me-over-and-fuck-me eyes had his tongue stuck to the roof of his goddamn mouth.
“Yo,” she said in a loud voice. “You want something?”
Was she for real?
Her eyes narrowed, and she clicked her fingers in front of his face. “Yo, dude.” Then, shaking her head, lips twisted in disgust, she muttered, “Shit…seriously?”
The woman had the face of an angel, and he’d go out on a limb and guess she also had the cussing abilities of a sailor. He found that such a fuckin’ turn-on it wasn’t funny. With effort, he pulled himself together enough to smile down at her.
“What do you want?” she said slowly, punctuating each word like he was dim-witted.
Biting the inside of his cheek so he didn’t laugh, he arched a brow at her. “You work here?”
This earned him some serious eye rolling. “No, I get off on wearing coveralls in the middle of freakin’ summer.” With that she yanked down the zip at the front, slid them off her shoulders, and knotted the sleeves around her waist.
What she revealed was a skimpy, clingy, white tank, and the amazing rack he knew she had hidden. And when she crossed her arms—which were covered in bright ink from shoulder to wrist, flowers and leaves and birds all twined together beautifully—there was no way to miss the grease under her fingernails and smearing her forearms.
This woman was the physical embodiment of every fantasy he’d ever had….and that included the attitude.
He crossed his arms as well. “Nice way you talk to your customers.”
Her spine straightened, eyes narrowing. She was itching to tear him a new one, it was written all over her face. He’d managed to piss her off just by opening his mouth, and he was enjoying the hell out of it. “Your boss around?”
She uncrossed those beautifully inked arms and planted them back on her slim hips. “Yep.”
His cock filled, hardened, started to throb behind his fly. The more attitude she threw his way, the more turned on he got. The urge to kiss that smart mouth was nearly overwhelming. He mimicked her stance so he wouldn’t tug her closer despite the go-crawl-under-a-rock-and-die vibe she was throwing his way. What he wouldn’t do just to watch her unleash the fiery temper he suspected matched all that gorgeous fucking red hair. “Can I speak to him?”
“You’re speaking to her right now. How can I help you, sir?”
She smiled, a shark’s smile, showing off straight white teeth, and yeah, that turned him on as well. She could take a bite out of him any damn time she wanted. “You own this place?”
“Yep.”
“On your own?”
“I have partners.”
“Ahh.”
“Ahh what? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “They here?”
“Alex will be back in a few minutes.” Her lips lifted on one side, and he noticed how the top one was fuller than the lower. Plump and bitable. “Maybe that would suit you better, sir?”
It would, but only because he couldn’t think past the throb in his groin with this hot piece of ass throwing all that attitude his way. “Sure.”
“Go park it over there, then.” She pointed to the other side of the workshop, where a couple chairs sat against the wall. “You won’t have long to wait.”
Then she spun on the heel of her steel-toed boot and continued to go about her business like he wasn’t there.
He chose not to sit, and instead leaned against the wall, unable to take his eyes off her. Lifting those toned, inked arms, she gathered her red hair up off her shoulders and tied it in a messy ponytail, revealing more ink at the back of her neck, one perfect red rose. The skin there glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, and he groaned under his breath, then tried to subtly adjust his cock, so it didn’t look like he had a freaking heat-seeking missile down the front of his jeans.
She went back to the Customline and started working on the headlights. She was frenching them by the looks. When she finished, they’d be set in rather than stick out, giving the car a sleeker appearance. The fine muscles in her arms and shoulders moved as she worked, sexy as hell, and proving she worked hard. He already knew she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty.
Screw the Playboy channel. Watching her work was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
The sound of car tires crunching on gravel had him turning from the firecracker on the other side of the room. A silver Mercedes pulled in, and a guy in a suit climbed out, followed by a petite brunette from the passenger side. She wore denim cutoffs and a black tank. She also had ink, red roses as well by the looks of it, similar to the one on the back of the redhead’s neck, but the brunette’s covered the top half of one arm.
“Here’s Alex now.” He looked down at Miss Attitude, who was suddenly right beside him, a smirk front and center.
He straightened, about to go introduce himself to the suit, but the guy stopped in his tracks, pulled the brunette into his arms, and after planting a wet one on her, climbed back in the Mercedes and drove off.
You have got to be kidding me.
The other woman strode in, taking in the pair of them standing there. “What’s going on?”
This was a male-dominated industry. Of course he’d come across female mechanics before. Still, he couldn’t help being a little surprised. He guessed they were both in their early to mid-twenties, young. And male or female, to get where they were, the age they were, would not have been easy. Would have taken a determination to succeed he understood all too well.
He stepped forward, offered her his hand. “I’ll take a wild guess. Alex?”
Instantly on guard, she left him hanging midair and stared him up and down. “Who wants to know?”
This was Alex all right. “Do you have any other partners? Or is it just you two?”
“There’s one more,” Alex said.
“And are they getting here any time soon?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Piper’s running errands. She won’t be back till later.”
“Piper?”
“Yeah.”
Jesus.
Chapter Two
Rusty West watched her best friend take the sexist pig’s outstretched hand and give it a firm shake. “Alex Franco.”
The guy’s light brown eyes slid from Alex back to her, and that’s where they stayed. Like they had since he’d walked in, that hot stare following her around the workshop, unnerving the hell out of her.
Yeah, she was used to guys looking at her, but it didn’t mean she hated it any less. And okay, at times she was guilty of using the sway she had to her advantage when the need arose. Still, that didn’t change the fact that she did not like it, not one goddamned bit. This jackass, unfortunately, was no different. He’d taken one look at her and bam his dumb stick had taken over his pea brain. As far as he was concerned, that was it, the way she looked was all that mattered, there was nothing underneath.
He was still staring down at her, hand now aimed her way. “Reid Parker.”
She kept hers at her side—until Alex nudged her with a pointy elbow to the ribs.
Goddammit.
She didn’t want to touch him. Somehow she knew it would be a huge mistake to let him wrap that big mitt around hers. But what could she do? He’d already called her out on her shitty customer service skills, and what if he wanted to hire them? Alex would skin her alive if she cost them a job just because the guy happened to be a major asshole.
Reaching out, she reluctantly took his hand. Rough, extremely rough skin scraped over hers, making her shiver. It was warm and huge, and sent tingles skating up her arm. She looked up into those unusual, light brown eyes ringed with gorgeous thick black lashes, and he stared right on back.
His nostrils flared, and one side of his mouth lifted a fraction. “This is the part where you tell me your name?”
Arrogant jackass. He hadn’t let her go, so she yanked her hand free. “Rusty West.”
“Rusty.”
He repeated her name carefully, in that low, rough voice, like he was tasting it on his tongue, and she felt it pull low in her belly. What the hell was wrong with her? “That’s me, now what do you want?”
Alex gave her a second jab in the ribs. “Rusty.”
“What?”
Reid chuckled, raspy and deep, and disturbingly she felt that as well, right between her thighs, like he’d pressed his mouth there and dragged his tongue over her rapidly dampening flesh. “Do you have another name, or is Rusty the one your mama gave you?”
She ignored the pulse throbbing deep inside and crossed her arms. “It’s the only name you need to know, Chuckles.”
He grinned. Fucking grinned, and hot turned into freaking gorgeous. Even his slightly crooked nose, which had obviously been broken at least once, didn’t detract from what he had going on. “I guess now I know why that Customline is parked in your workshop instead of mine.”
What?
“What did you just say?” Alex said before Rusty could, planting her hands on her hips, a frown turning down her lips.
He pointed to his forearm, above his expensive-looking watch, where beside a thick-edged star and incorporated into what appeared to be serpent’s scales inked onto his skin, were the letters R.I.P., bold and clear. “Seems you’ve been poaching my customers, ladies.”
Reid Parker!
Holy shit. She’d been too annoyed when he’d said his name for it to sink in. Reid Parker owned R.I.P. Classics, the largest car restoration shop in Miami. But this guy didn’t just own one shop, oh no, he owned several scattered across the country. R. I. P. were his initials, and paired with the huge ex-hearse he reportedly drove—and though she would never admit it out loud—was kind of clever and a lot cool.
But whatever, she refused to be impressed, mainly because the guy was a major douche bag.
She didn’t give a flying turd who he was, and there was no way in hell she’d let this asshole try to intimidate them.
“How do you figure that?” Rusty said, planting her hands on her hips as well.
His dark brows lifted. “That car came into my shop for a quote a few weeks ago, but somehow ended up here. Now I know it can’t be price. And seeing the way you do things here, it can’t be speed, either. So…” He gave her a slow and extremely thorough head to toe and shrugged. As if that said it all.
She took a step closer, so they were only a foot apart, and dammit, she was sure she could feel heat radiating off that big body. Screwing up her face, she returned the gesture, taking him in slowly. The guy was huge everywhere, as a matter of fact. Well over six feet, he towered over her.
She was supposed to be giving him a taste of his own sexist medicine, but she found herself drinking the big bastard in.
His dark brown hair was pulled back in a knot, low on his head. A few strands had broken free, and he’d tucked them behind his ear. Whiskers shadowed his jaw, the short beard clipped so it looked like he hadn’t shaved for a week or two. And his skin was dark. He either spent a lot of time in the sun, or maybe had some Hispanic blood in there somewhere. Her eyes dropped, then trailed back up. Worn jeans hugged his long legs to perfection, as did the plain black tee he wore, which showed off the ink covering most of his arms and neck.
She felt her nipples stiffen and quickly crossed her arms to cover the effect he was having on her body. Scowling up at him, she pushed her anger to the forefront. “That car is here because our skill, our workmanship…our finished product surpasses yours in every way. End of story. I’d say I’m sorry your male ego has taken a beating over the fact that three women can do what you so obviously can’t, but I’m not sorry in the least. We’ve worked hard for this, and we’ve earned it.” She shrugged like he had. “Deal with it.”
He tilted his head to the side, eyes still locked on her, a giant damned cat about to pounce. “This kind of work is time consuming. How do you plan to keep afloat while you’re sourcing new jobs?”
“Sourcing new jobs hasn’t been a problem for us.”
That killer smile reappeared. “I’ll bet.”
Was he trying to piss her off on purpose, or was he really this much of a dick? “You really think someone would lay down a shitload of cash just to get a look at us in grease-stained coveralls? Really? Our customers don’t mind the extra time and are happy to pay the extra money because they know when they see the final result, when they drive their car out of here, they’re driving away in a work of art. No amount of factory-built, rush jobs can compete with that, and you know it, or you wouldn’t be here.”
One of his shoulders lifted, then dropped. “You’re right.”
“Come again?” Alex said beside her.
“I agree. You’re providing a service that people want, and you’re doing it fucking well. But our work’s not inferior.” He was addressing Alex but didn’t take his eyes off Rusty.
“I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one,” Alex said, smirking. The phone in the office rang, and she excused herself to rush off and answer it, leaving Rusty alone with tall, dark, and chauvinistic.
“Do you know how long I’ve been in this business? How many shops I own?”
“Considering I had no idea who you were until you walked in here, you figure it out.” Of course she knew who he was, everyone in this business knew Reid Parker. She just hadn’t expected him to walk into her garage with his designer tighty-whities in a wad, gloating about his numerous shops and flashing around a watch that was probably worth more than their entire business, even though they’d been steadily stealing work from him.
The way he shook his head, the lift of those lips, he knew she was full of it. “I own ten shops, and R.I.P. is the biggest in this city. I think I know a thing or two.”
He may as well have just pulled out his bank statement and shoved it in her face. But the guy wasn’t fooling anyone, especially not her. To be his age and have all that he did, Reid Parker had received more than a helping hand. She’d bet her truck he had a rich daddy behind the scenes throwing money at him. Well, they’d worked their asses off to get where they were now. They didn’t owe him a damn thing. “Big doesn’t necessarily mean better, Chuckles.”
He took a small step closer. He wasn’t exactly in her face but close enough that he’d entered her personal space. It was a struggle to hold her ground with all the intense hot-man vibes he was throwing off. “That’s what people generally say when they’re…small. But I guess you could be right there, too.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Big feels pretty damn good, though, don’t you think, Rusty?”
She got the feeling they weren’t talking about cars anymore. Her gaze dipped before she could stop herself, taking in the impressive bulge behind his fly. She heard him suck in a rough breath.
Busted.
Looking up at him, she did her best to ignore the interest she saw blazing there, or the way it made her feel, and took a retreating step. “Dude, I don’t know what you’re on about. It’s been real and all, truly, but I’ve got work to do and that doesn’t include standing around talking in riddles with you.”
She turned to leave, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her gently toward him. Those tingles returned full force, lifting the hairs on her arms, making her shiver, making her want to move in closer to that hot body.
He let go but managed to pin her to the spot with his intense gaze. “Come by the shop sometime. Let me show you around, show you how we do things.” The grin was back. “You never know, you might learn a thing or two.”
Was he for real? “I doubt that. And if this is your way of asking me out…”
“If I was asking you out, you’d know it.” The words were nothing but a deep rumble, and heat flooded her system in an unsettling wave.
Okay. Why did that make her feel oddly disappointed? A first, for sure. Usually, she hated it when a guy asked her out five seconds after meeting her. Nothing pissed her off more. But this bastard confused her, made her feel something she hadn’t felt in years. Lust. Hot and intense, strong enough that she knew her vibrator would be getting a workout tonight…and who she’d be thinking about when she got herself off.
Going anywhere near this guy would be a huge mistake, for several reasons. No way would she take him up on his offer. Despite her curiosity and the chance to check out the competition, an inside look at how they do things big at R.I.P. Classics, she knew this guy was a threat to her in more ways than she could count.
“I wouldn’t hold your breath, Chuckles.” Her voice came out a little breathy, which pissed her the hell off. As far as she was concerned, showing weakness in front of a man—any man—was stupid. She’d had that lesson hammered home fairly early. It’d come in the form of a broken heart, humiliation that still made her cringe to this day, and the complete and utter annihilation of her self-respect.
That big mitt appeared again and wrapped around her fingers, and those gorgeous thickly lashed eyes locked on hers. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Rusty West. The offer’s open if you change your mind.” Then he released her hand and strode through the double-wide roller doors, out to the parking lot.
Piper chose that moment to tear in, sun glinting off her pink Corvette. Parking her car, her younger sister climbed out, her mass of blond hair, pulled high in a ponytail, shining brightly. Dressed in work boots, ripped jeans, and pink tank covered in grease stains, she looked cute; she also looked what she was, a mechanic. Piper stopped dead when she saw Reid striding through the doors. Rusty also didn’t miss the way the guy shook his head as he walked past her younger sister, obviously figuring out who she was. In fact, Rusty found herself grinning as well.
He disappeared around the corner, and though she couldn’t see it, she heard him fire his car to life. The engine rumbled and growled, and a minute later, his huge black hearse drove through the parking lot, business name emblazoned on the side.
Jesus.
Overcompensating for something maybe? As much as she loved that idea, she knew it wasn’t true. The guy didn’t need to overcompensate for a damn thing.
She watched him pull out onto the street and drive away.
Piper stopped beside her. “Was that…”
“Yep.” Rusty turned a shit-eating grin on her sister. “We’ve got him worried. No other reason he’d show up here. He was scoping out the competition.”
She paled. “Was he angry when he saw the Customline?”
“Surprised would be a more accurate description.”
Alex joined them. “What were you two talking about for so long? The guy looked like he wanted to put you in his pocket and take you with him by the time he left.” Her friend snorted. “We’re just lucky Deke dropped me off and didn’t stick around.”
Alex was not wrong. Rusty and Piper’s older brother Deacon had a tendency to be a little overprotective of them. Though, he’d mellowed a little since he’d finally put an engagement ring on Alex’s finger.
“Really?” Piper turned her full attention to Rusty.
She felt her skin heat, and not just from the blazing midday sun. “He wanted me to pay R.I.P. a visit. Apparently, he can show me a thing or two.”
Alex’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and she shook her head. “Yeah, I’ll bet. I take it you’re not going?”
“Nope.” Going anywhere near that man would be bad for her health, she knew it with one-hundred percent certainty. “He’s just another rich, entitled asshole. Those types tend to have a deluded view of themselves. Like all they have to do is click their fingers and everyone will come running.”
Piper crossed her arms. “Well, I think you should go. We’re just starting out, and we could learn a thing or two from someone like him.”
Alex patted Piper’s shoulder and stared at her in a way that said she thought she’d lost a few vital brain cells. “It’s not his workshop he wants to show our girl, Pipe.” Then she tilted her head to Rusty.
And there it was. The truth of it. Reid Parker was the same as nearly every other guy she’d met. They saw the face, the hair, the tits and ass, but they never bothered to look at what was underneath. She should be used to it by now, but this time it stung a little more than it should.
