Page 47 of Tuned To Break
Even if I do have to keep my hands clean around her.
Not that I’m entirely sorry about the grease stains.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
STELLA
The phone rings at 2:47 p.m., and I know before I even answer that it’s going to be bad news. You develop a sixth sense about these things when you’re managing a business that deals with expensive classic cars and demanding clients.
“Doc’s Auto Restoration, Stella speaking.”
“This is Margaret Williams. I’m calling about my husband’s 1969 Camaro SS.” She huffs the words, rude and overly loud in my ear.
I immediately pull up the file on my computer. David Williams. Classic muscle car restoration. Due to be completed next Friday. Everything should be on track.
“Of course, Mrs Williams. How can I help you?”
“Well, David just called me from your workshop, and apparently there’s been some sort of accident. Something about paint and the wrong colour?”
My stomach drops, anger simmering in my veins. “I’m sorry—what exactly happened?”
“The paint job is completely wrong. David specifically wanted Rallye Green, and your painter used some other green that looks nothing like what we discussed.”
I close my eyes and count to three. “Mrs Williams, let me look into this immediately and call you back within the hour with a complete explanation and solution.”
“This better not delay the delivery. We have the car entered in a show next weekend.”
“I understand completely. I’ll handle this personally.”
After hanging up, I march out of my office and straight to the paint booth where Asher is supposed to be working on the Williams car.
What I find turns that anger into a furious, raging boil.
The car is indeed painted—in a colour that is decidedly not Rallye Green. It’s more of a forest green, completely wrong for a ‘69 Camaro SS. Not to mention, the shades are far enough apart on the colour spectrum that you’d know straight away if you’d made a mistake.
“ASHER!” I call out, and my voice echoes through the workshop.
Everyone stops what they’re doing. Jake looks up from the engine he’s working on, Parker pauses mid-wrench turn, and even Robert stops his welding to see what’s happening.
Asher emerges from the back room, looking sheepish. “Yeah?”
“What is this?” I gesture toward the Camaro.
“The Williams car. Finished the base coat this morning.”
“In what colour?”
“Green. Like you said.”
“What green, specifically?”
His face starts to go red. “Uh… green, green?”
“Asher, did you check the paint code against the specification sheet?”
“Well, I mean, green is green, right?”
I see red. “Green is green? Are you kidding me right now? Asher, there are approximately fifty different shades of greenthat General Motors used in 1969 alone. This car was supposed to be Rallye Green, code WA3832, and this looks like British Racing Green!”
