Page 57 of The Millionaire's Mechanic

“I don’t have much use for an office.”

“How about a garage?”

Startled, she looked up. “But it’s one big parking lot downstairs.”

“With storage units that are basically several fenced-off parking spaces. I have a pretty big one downstairs. And it’s mostly empty. If we push everything in it to the side, it will make for a rather good workspace. I don’t think the other owners would mind if you turned it into a garage.”

“Are you sure?”

“They don’t live on-site.” He sucked his lip into his mouth, letting it escape with a pop. “Also, I happen to be the majority shareholder, so it’s not likely they’d fuss.”

Rolling her eyes, Georgia fought a grin. “All right, Richie Rich. Shower first, then tour.”

* * *

After they cleaned up Georgia borrowed one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers so he could show her the apartment without feeling exposed.

Despite her continued reservations about her surroundings, she remained collected, going through each spacious room on the first floor with affected nonchalance. She even poked fun at the harsh lines of his modern furniture and sparse decorations.

“Such a male apartment,” she teased, waving at a bare glass bookshelf in one of the spare bedrooms. “Are you allergic to clutter?”

“I used to have more pieces on display,” he informed her, putting his hands in his pockets. “But I haven’t gotten around to taking them out of storage after the move.”

A tiny pucker appeared between her brows. “I thought you said you lived here for a few years.”

“Just over one. I spent most of my life on the East coast.”

She tilted her head questioningly. “And these pieces—is that like an art collection?”

He nodded. “Yes, although it leans more to antiquities than paintings, although I do have a few of those.”

“By antiquities, you mean museum-type statues and ceramics?”

“As well as ancient coins. I went through a big coin collecting phase at one point. It’s how I caught the bug initially.”

She turned, her hand running up the inside of his arm. “But you’ve lost your taste for it because of Eileen.”

Georgia did cut right to the heart of the matter. She saw through his excuses down to the hurts that had never quite healed.

“Well, I guess we’ve established I’m not as over that as I believed,” he admitted with a mirthless grin.

“Because you proudly showed off your collection to her and she stabbed you in the back?”

Grunting, he stared at his shoes. “Something like that.”

Georgia’s hand shifted, pressing against his chest. “You shouldn’t let what thatwomandid ruin your enjoyment of the things you love.”

His lips twitched. Only Georgia could make ‘woman’ sound like a swear word. But she had a point.

“You’re right, of course. I hadn’t stopped to think about it, but I suppose it’s time to reclaim my collection.” Slinging an arm around her shoulders, he walked her out of the guest room. “Maybe we should go to the storage place this weekend, so we can go over the things I have. You can pick whatever you want to bring back or choose new stuff from the piles of catalogs I still get.”

He gestured to their minimalist surroundings. “Put your own stamp on this place. It could use some softening up.”

Georgia snorted. “Soft? I don’t think I can do soft. If you left it up to me, I’d put up Bugatti W16 on display in here.” She kissed her fingertips with a loud smacking sound. “Because that engine is a work of art.”

His mouth dropped open, caught by the idea. “Shit, baby, that sounds cool. Let’s do it!”

Georgia giggled and turned around, shock making her do a double-take. “Wha—where are all my boxes?”

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