Page 6 of For the Record

Shane ducked his head, the tops of his cheeks coloring as he mumbled, “Sorry, Chef.”

“I don’t need an apology; I need you to learn the proper way. I promoted you to commis chef because I thought you had potential to be more than just my dishwasher,” Sawyer explained, registering the bite in her tone a little too late. She rubbed the back of her neck and swallowed, her mouth exceedingly dry. She was tired and short-fused, and her nausea was back with a vengeance, but taking her issues out on her staff was never a good idea. As she opened her mouth to apologize, Shane waved her off.

“I’m okay. Thank you, Chef. For the opportunity to learn from you.”

Sawyer frowned, unsure if he was being genuine or not. She decided it was too late in the evening to care either way and nodded. “Don’t forget to stir. I’ll check on you in a few minutes.” She left him to his task, checking with Micah and Leon once more before heading for her sous-chef. “Looks like things are winding down. I’ll be in my office until close, but call if we suddenly get a rush, okay?”

Barb nodded, accepting a salad for inspection. “Sure thing. Feeling alright?” Sawyer had asked her to expo earlier in the evening since she was busy with Shane. She could have gotten one of her other chefs to train him but preferred to be present when bringing green chefs into the fold. That way, they learned to do things her way.

“Yes, just have loads of paperwork waiting for me.” The lie came easily to Sawyer. She’d been lying for years, desperate to remain in control even when she felt anything but.

“Kelly should be doing that for you.” Barb gave her a knowing look as Sawyer turned away.

Sawyer checked on Shane one last time before making her way into the back office. As she fell into her swivel chair, she had just enough time to grab the garbage can under her desk before she threw up. “Ugh,” she muttered, swiping the back of her hand over her mouth.

For a moment, she just sat there, gazing at her closed door, exhausted beyond measure. She’d been living and breathing Desmarais since the moment she’d been handed the keys. She’d raised Bree while pouring her heart and soul into the restaurant. Hell, she’d lost count of how many times Bree had gone to work with her if the sitter couldn’t make it. Sawyer had changed diapers in her office, and had propped Bree up in her bouncy chair on the pastry table while she’d rolled out dough. Besides a three-week recovery period fifteen years ago, Sawyer had worked twelve or fourteen-hour shifts practically every day for more than twenty years.

How was it only now she was feeling the repercussions?

I must be burning myself out, just like Bree is always telling me.

Sighing, she pulled out the small bottle of mouthwash she kept in her bottom drawer, gurgling and spitting that into the garbage as well. Her stomach felt slightly better, so she chanced her luck on the container of saltines beside the phone. Maybe they would stay down longer this time.

Bach filled the speakers of Sawyer’s Range Rover as she drove home, the classical music soothing the weariness inside her as the SUV glided through the serene suburbs of Vancouver’s west side. At half past midnight on a Monday in the Dunbar-Southlands there weren’t many other vehicles out save for the taxis and Uber drivers.

The drive home wasn’t long enough to mentally rehash the day she’d had, but that could come later once she was neck-deep in a soothing bubble bath with a glass of red close by. The thought sparked a rare smile. She slowed the Range Rover down as she approached her house, the luxury two-story looming over her as she pulled into the drive. Solar lights lit up the driveway as she drove past, pausing at the two-door garage long enough to jab the opener button.

She sidled up beside her late husband’s covered sports car, shifted into park, and shut off the ignition. Stepping from the Rover, Sawyer scowled at what was left of the McLaren. Olivier had been obsessed with the fucking thing, no doubt loving the one ton of yellow carbon fiber more than Sawyer and Bree combined. Or at least it felt as if he did. Sawyer holding on to the broken vehicle made no sense to her friends and daughter, but they couldn’t possibly understand.

Olivier had taken and taken from her, often leaving her physically spent and emotionally bankrupt. Then he’d died before she could break free, so in the end, it was as if he’d won.

Sawyer needed to reclaim the control she’d lost by Olivier dying, and, come hell or high water, the ridiculous car that had made her a widow would be part of the process. Therein lay the agenda, one that would seem extreme to anyone else, but having the McLaren rebuilt could be exactly what she needed. She just had to persuade someone who was capable enough to not only rebuild the engine, if necessary, but the exterior of the car as well. The day after Olivier’s funeral, Sawyer impulsively gathered up all his belongings and threw them in the trash. Everything, even his toothbrush. It hadn’t been one of her finer moments, to say the least.

Had she been thinking clearly, Sawyer would have savored the act of destroying Olivier’s possessions like she’d done with their wedding photos years before. Throwing them out wasn’t enough for Sawyer. Even though Olivier was dead, defiling his once precious belongings would have given Sawyer immense satisfaction. Now, all she could do was hope restoring the McLaren would give her the closure she needed.

Chapter 4

McCoy

“Are you seeing it?Abs?” McCoy asked, pointing the camera on her phone to the mechanic shop she stood in front of. High above the entrance doors, a brand spanking new business sign rested. What was once Miller’s Mechanics was now Miller’s Mechanics & Restoration. With the new, specialized garage her pops had built in the last year behind the original shop, McCoy could officially offer her services in auto body repair as a licensed technician.

Abi, one of her dearest friends, let out a happy squeal, “Coy, it looks amazing! You must be so freaking proud of yourself right now. I can’t wait to see it in person.”

Coy rocked back on her heels, her barely restrained excitement causing the phone to almost slip from her hands as she turned it to face Abi again. “Not gonna lie, this face?” she gestured to themegawatt grin permanently on display, “hasn’t changed since Pops texted me the news last night.”

“It’s no wonder. I love this for you, babe.” Abi smiled at her affectionately. Downtown Vancouver was set as a backdrop as she bustled down the street toward the office. Her cheeks were rosy from exertion, and the bag slung over one shoulder looked to be on the heavy side.

“Thanks for letting me brag,” Coy said with a laugh. “We still meeting for lunch?”

“Absolutely. I’ve had you penciled in since last week,” Abi joked, blowing Coy a kiss through the phone. “Can’t wait to see you.”

“You too, Abs. See you later.” McCoy ended the video call, pocketing the phone and taking a moment to examine the sign again. Pride swelled in her chest. Everything she had was thanks to her father and the love of cars he’d passed on to her. Now, as an auto body techniciananda mechanic, Coy could bring something else to the family business.

Bending to pick up the takeout breakfast she’d placed on the pavement, both arms were full as she headed into the shop and went through to the back office. “Knock, knock,” McCoy said, ducking her head through the half-open door in her father’s cramped shop office.

“Coy! Come in, come in,” Greg Miller greeted warmly, lowering the newspaper in his hands long enough to wave her inside.

“Sooo, you didn’t see last night’s score yet, I take it?” Coy drawled, pushing the door all the way open with her steel-toed boot. She set the tray of coffee and box of Tim Horton’s donuts on the desk before handing her father his breakfast sandwich.

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