Page 7 of Driven By Desire
Swallowing another mouthful, Krish said, “Vintage MG TC.”
“What year?”
“1947.”
“Nice.” Absently drumming his fingers on his knee, he said, “Unfortunately, I’m not the person who decides whether we take on a vintage project or not.”
Surprised, Krish looked up from his fast depleting bowl. “I thought you owned Sheridan’s.”
“I do. The garage and the day to day business of it is mine. The vintage arm of the business however is run by my manager and right hand. Once you’re done with your stew, we can go over to the garage and I’ll introduce you. After that, the two of you can discuss terms and see if it works for both of you.”
Noticing that Pooja had finished inhaling her stew, Krish regretfully spooned up the last few drops of his and stood.
“Whether your manager agrees to take on the project or not, I have to say the visit was already a success. That was by far the best home cooked meal we’ve eaten in years. Thank you.”
Silently willing his sister to display the manners he knew were ingrained in her, he heaved a sigh of relief when she added a soft ‘thank you’ to his. Any verbal prompting on his part would only have resulted in a glare and silence.
Standing as well, Mr. Sheridan gestured back the way they’d come. “Shall we then?”
Nudging Pooja ahead of him, Krish followed the man out of the cosy, fairy tale like atmosphere of the house. The short trek to the garage ended in front of a Swift Desire which had a pair of overall covered legs sticking out from beneath it. Bright red sneakers with white laces brightened up the grey of the overalls. Knocking loudly on the bonnet, Mr. Sheridan announced, “We have a customer who needs to speak with you. A 1947 MG TC that needs restoration.”
An unintelligible mutter had Krish frowning in incomprehension at the legs that hadn’t moved an inch. Mr. Sheridan didn’t seem to have any difficulty deciphering it though. “I’ll ask Krishna to take over.” Looking around till heidentified who he wanted, he yelled, “Krishna, come herebeta. Take over for a minute so we can finish this discussion.”
And now the legs were moving. As they pushed back on the plank on rollers, the rest of the body came into view. Grease stained overalls with more than a healthy dose of grime topped off by a tiny pixie face with huge, round eyes. Eyes that grew to the size of saucers when they took in the new client.
“You!” Scotch on the rocks wouldn’t have gone down smoother than that voice. Feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up, he watched, more than a little stunned, as she got to her feet in one fluid movement.
Hair bundled into a messy bun that had about fifty pins stuck into it, topping off at barely 5 ft 2 inches, in her greasy overalls she was the most appealing mechanic he’d ever seen. He bet all the men in the vicinity took a crowbar to their cars on a regular basis so they could walk in with an excuse to spend time with her. Disgustingly dirty, shapeless overalls notwithstanding.
Getting a grip, he tuned in to what Mr. Sheridan was saying in time to hear him say, “And this is my daughter Maxine. She is our star vintage car restorer, garage manager and the light of my life.” He ended with quite a flourish as he said, “If the two of you can come to terms, she’s all yours, Mr. Mehra.”
“Hi.” Wincing a little at her father’s unfortunate turn of phrase, Max flashed an uncertain smile. They’d parted as friends, hadn’t they? The thundercloud expression facing her suggested otherwise. Smile fading, she waited for him to speak.
“How old are you?” The incredulous words had Max stiffening. Apparently the boor was back. The few moments of shared camaraderie from that strange, memorable night disappeared asshe watched his gaze skim over her less than fashionably turned out self with barely concealed disdain. Picking up a cloth lying on the table next to her, she wiped her hands using the moment to regain her composure.
“How does it matter?” she asked finally.
“It matters. If I’m going to pay you an obscene amount of money to fiddle around with something extremely valuable, I have a right to know if you have any freaking clue what you’re doing.”
“If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be paying me an obscene amount of money, would you? May I remind you, Mr. Mehra, that you came looking for me?”
“I came looking for Sheridan’s. The brand that is known for their vintage car restorations.” Even knowing he was making things worse, Krish couldn’t seem to get his tongue to stop moving.
“I am Sheridan’s.” Flaring up, Max put her hands on her hips and squared off against him. “The branch of it that is known for its vintage car restorations is me!”
The skepticism in his gaze had her blood moving from a slow simmer to full boil. Steam practically pouring out of her ears, she hissed, “I’m an automobile engineer from RMIT. I’ve worked in some of the best garages in Australia on both new and vintage cars. Not to mention the fact that I grew up tinkering with my father’s own collection of vintage cars. I’ve done several private restoration projects and none of my clients have been displeased.”
“Right. Well thanks but no thanks. If these skills are on par with your tree climbing ones, I’ll pass.”
“You arrogant, narrow minded, chauvinistic Neanderthal. I probably know more about your car or any other than you could hope to in your entire lifetime.” Max exploded, “Where do you get off judging me? You know nothing about me or my work to come to a decision like that.”
“My money, my decisions.”
Eyeing the lug wrench at her feet, Max wondered if clobbering him was worth the inevitable stay in prison.
“You’ll regret it.” He sounded a lot more confident than he felt as he watched her contemplate the metal contraption on the floor.
“What I regret is feeling even one moment of compassion for a creep like you.” She snapped. “I should have left you to rot in that hospital with your phobias.”
