Page 1 of The Millionaire's Mechanic

CHAPTERONE

Rainer Torsten looked down at the security monitor, frowning at the woman on screen. She was wiping her hands nervously on her pants, her small frame dwarfed by the oversized plush chairs his decorator insisted projected strength and gravitas to his clients.

“This is the security problem you alerted me to?” he asked skeptically.

“The woman doesn’t have a legitimate reason to be here,” Stewart Powell, his head of security, said repressively. “She lied to get access to this office.”

Rainer’s company, Torsten Investments, occupied the entire top floor of the high-rise building. For the woman to be sitting in his waiting room, she had to run the gauntlet of two reception desks, his own and the one on the lobby level. Both were manned with trained staff who would have turned away anyone without an appointment who wasn’t on a pre-approved list.

“How did she get admitted?” he asked.

This was a secure building, one of his first major acquisitions. The other businesses that rented space from him appreciated the excellent security his people provided. To be sitting in that chair, the woman had to have presented a plausible reason for it. Otherwise, she would have been turned away at the lobby level—discreetly, of course. The other enterprises that occupied the remaining floors didn’t enjoy a spectacle. That sort of thing was bad for business.

“This woman misrepresented herself to the reception desk downstairs and our own here,” Stewart said, his ever-present scowl magically gone.

If Rainer didn’t know better, he’d believe the man was thrilled to have a breach. But he didn’t call Stewart on it. Instead, he let his man earn his six-figure salary.

Powell tapped the figure of the woman on the screen. “Downstairs, she identified herself as an employee of Elite Motors, waving a set of keys as if she were making a delivery. They let her right up,” he added with a sniff.

Well, that explained the overalls the woman wore, and why she’d made it to the twenty-first floor. Rainer was a well-known car enthusiast. He had multiple vehicles in every city that he kept an apartment. Since he had permanent quarters in over a dozen major cities, that put his car collection in the mid-forties.

His taste was eclectic. Rainer owned the latest hybrids, modded especially for him by the manufacturer. But he also collected rare antiques and vintage muscle cars—anything special that caught his eye. It was his favorite indulgence.

His friends Garret and Mason joked that he was turning into Jay Leno, with his car collecting proclivity. “Pretty soon you’re going to need to buy yourself an airplane hangar just to house them, just like him,” Garret had said.

Rainer hadn’t told him that he’d already purchased a warehouse outside of San Diego instead. Except now it looked as if his favorite hobby might be becoming a hole in his security.

“I haven’t done any business with Elite Motors in the last year,” Rainer mused. “It could be they acquired something recently that they’ll think I want. Maybe they sent this girl to offer it.”

Even as he said it, he knew it was unlikely. The woman in the waiting room was young and black, a touch petite but his type overall. It was possible someone at the dealership had noted his preferences in women and sent her to make an offer. But that was too desperate a move by a business such as Elite Motors. That place tried to live up to its name.

Elite was a full-service boutique car dealership that took great pains to project an air of rarified luxury and exclusivity. An in-person drop-in at his place of business, one without an appointment, smacked of desperation. This was a rookie maneuver made by a new business, or one circling down the drain. As far as he knew Elite was doing fine but doubtless one of Powell’s people was checking on that now.

“If Elite had something new for you, they would have called first, made an appointment. Even if they wanted a face-to-face so they could do a hard sell, they would have sent a real salesperson, not one of their junior mechanics.”

Powell held out a tablet with the Elite website. It was too fancy a place to list every member of their support staff by name. Only the high-performing salesmen had that distinction, but buried in the ‘About Us’ section was a group photo with all the staff. The smallest woman on the left appeared to be a physical match for their uninvited guest.

“It could just be a woman trying to get your attention. Maybe she saw you at the dealership and developed a crush,” Powell shrugged. “It’s been a while since one went to this length to throw herself in your path, but it’s not impossible. Given how quietly you’ve been living, she might have felt the need to go to more dramatic lengths.”

Neither acknowledgedwhyRainer had been living like a monk. Powell still blamed himself for what happened last year, what they now collectively referred to as ‘the incident’. It explained his overreaction to a minor security incursion.

Rainer took a second look at the woman on screen, trying to identify the same threat Powell recognized. But he didn’t see it. Also, he had a stack of contracts waiting for him on his desk. He’d wasted enough time.

“Talk to her in person,” he said finally, turning away from the screen. “If you don’t like what you hear, call the dealership before you call the police. If it’s just some girl with a crush, I’d rather not get her fired—but I also won’t tolerate another unscheduled drop-in.”

The last thing he needed was a stalker.

Powell nodded at Waters, his large and most intimidating second-in-command. Waters grinned, rubbing his hands with glee as he exited the door leading to the reception area.

CHAPTERTWO

Georgia wiped her hands on her coverall pant legs again, wincing when a streak of oil spread across her palm.

Damn it, I knew I should have changed into street clothes before coming here.

But she hadn’t worked on any cars at all today—not even an oil change. That didn’t seem to matter, though. Mechanics were magnets for grease and grime, especially the low man on the totem pole at work. In fact, her subordinate status was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place.

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to hide the stain. But the movement just called attention to it. The perfectly coiffed receptionist gave her another supercilious death stare, making her feel two inches tall.

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