Page 19 of Dean

“The bossiest of bitches. Remember that, Dean. I warned you and you invited me to stay here anyway.”

He opens the car door for me and I slide inside, trying like hell not to swoon. I refuse. This is not romantic. He’s just a gentleman. It’s ingrained in him.

And he’s my boss. And my roommate.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks as he drives us toward work. “You look very serious.”

“You staring at me, Dean? Seem to be doing that a lot.”

He flushes and shrugs. “Might have been.”

Well, what does that mean? Do not overthink this. Do not go there, Avery.

“Just thinking about work and all the stuff I have to do. You have a real mess on your hands. I need to whip that place into shape.”

“You already have. It’s orderly now.”

“Sure is. Poor Ben. Poor me. We deserve raises.”

“I’ll take it up with the board.”

I snort at that and then turn slightly so I can look at him, and look at him I do. He’s wearing torn jeans and a tight gray shirt that sticks to his skin. All that glorious tattooed skin.

This is really becoming a problem.

“I know you told me you got into this business with Ford and Cash, but like, really, what made you want to start working on cars? I don’t think I’ve ever asked you that.”

He shrugs. “Don’t know. Just was always good at it. Spent a lot of time in my uncle’s garage working on shit when I was bored in the summers. Read a lot of books on it too. And when I met Cash and Ford, it just worked. We kind of had an idea one day and ran with it. It wasn’t all easy at first. We had a lot to learn about running a business, but here we are. Doing things we couldn’t imagine we’d be doing. And doing it fucking well.”

“So, going back to doing things you couldn’t imagine you’d be doing…do you mean like working for the mafia?”

Dean makes a face. “I’m not working for them. Anthony Costello just asked for a car. A nice one. A very gangster one.”

“Yeah, and how’s that coming along?”

“It’s coming.”

He grins at me, and I roll my eyes, facing forward once more. And just in time too. Dean pulls into the parking lot near the shop, and I hop out before he can round the car and open my door. With a flick of my wrist, I grab my bag, tucking the key he just gave me inside.

“All right, Boss-man. I’m off to work. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

He grunts and watches me walk toward the garage.

“Hey there,” I say, greeting Ford and Cash, and they eye my exposed waist briefly before turning away, seemingly not at all bothered by my outfit. Huh. Seems it wasn’t an issue after all. Although, the shirt is very minor. It’s nothing wild and out there. Perhaps I’ll push the boundaries a little later. See what I can get away with.

I trudge up the stairs and into the office that I’ve organized, cleaned, and made habitable since I was hired. I do a quick intake ofeverything and realize all is as it should be. Should I turn on my phone and see if Nick responded? Probably not, but I do it anyway.

Nothing greets me when the screen loads, so maybe he took my threat to heart. Maybe he’s just going to leave me alone. Or maybe it wasn’t him at all. Maybe it was some unsuspecting fool who’s now afraid the police will be called on them.

I’ll never know, hopefully.

With a sigh of relief, I pull out the chair and sit down at the computer, turning it on. The fan whirs and I hear the phone ring. Right on the dot.

I pick it up.

“Wrench Wreckers,” I say and then roll my eyes. Stupid assholes were probably drunk when they came up with that name.

“Hi.” A throat clears and then a sigh. “I was wondering if you specialized in off-road vehicles.”

---