Page 49 of Tuned To Break
No one speaks.
“Good. Get back to work. And Asher? Start stripping that paint right this instant.”
As everyone disperses, I can feel the energy in the workshop shift. There’s a new level of seriousness—a recognition that I’m not just the friendly office manager anymore. I’m their boss, and I have standards.
I head back to my office to call Mrs Williams with an explanation and solution, but as I pass Jake’s workstation, I catch sight of him bent over an engine, his coveralls unzipped to the waist and tied around his hips, leaving him in just a tight black T-shirt that shows off every muscle in his arms and back.
God, he looks good when he’s working. The way his muscles flex as he manipulates tools, the concentration on his face, the competent way he handles complex machinery—it’s incredibly sexy.
I force myself to keep walking, but I can feel his eyes on me as I pass.
The rest of the afternoon is spent implementing new digital systems, creating workflow protocols, and having difficult conversations with clients and suppliers. Bysix p.m., most of the guys have gone home, but I can still hear the sanders and see the bright lights of the paint booth where Asher is working to fix his mistake. Robert and Parker opted to stay back to help him. I admire their dedication to the team.
Jake’s still here too, working late on the engine rebuild that needs to be completed tomorrow. I can see him through my office window, and every time I look up from my computer, I find myself distracted by the sight of him.
There’s something about watching him work that gets to me—the confident way he handles tools, the problem-solving expression when he encounters a challenge, the satisfied look when he gets something working exactly right. It’s competence porn at its finest, and it’s making me incredibly turned on.
I try to focus on the budget spreadsheets I’m updating, but my mind keeps wandering to how those skilled hands felt on my body; how that focused intensity would feel directed at making me come apart.
By eight p.m., Asher and the others have finally called it a night, and it’s just Jake and me left in the workshop. The overhead lights are dimmed, casting long shadows across the concrete floor, and the only sounds are the occasional clank of tools and the soft hum of the coffee machine.
I finish the last of my paperwork and decide to check on Jake’s progress before heading home. I find him leaning over the engine bay of the classic Mustang, his concentration absolute as he fine-tunes something deep in the motor.
“How’s it going?” I ask, approaching his workstation.
“Almost finished. Just need to adjust the timing and she’ll purr like a kitten.”
“Good. Sorry about the drama this afternoon.”
He straightens and looks at me, and there’s something in his eyes that makes my pulse quicken. “Don’t apologise. Watching you put everyone in their place was the hottest thing I’ve seen in months.”
“Jake—”
“I’m serious. The way you took control, laid down the law, demanded excellence—fuck, Stella, it was incredibly sexy.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I was just doing my job.”
“You were being a boss,” Jake says, stepping closer. His eyes are heavy with want, his mouth curved in that cocky, sinful grin that makes my thighs clench. “A real boss. All confident and commanding.”
I open my mouth, but he keeps going, voice dropping to a growl that hits me straight between the legs.
“And seeing you like that… it made me want to bend you over this workbench and show you exactly how fucking turned on you make me.”
My breath catches like he’s yanked the air right out of my lungs. “We’re at work.”
“Everyone’s gone home.” He tosses the rag aside and stalks toward me now slow and deliberate. “It’s just us.”
He’s close enough I can smell him—earthy, that faint citrusy soap he uses—and it’s intoxicating. The kind of scent that clings to your clothes, your skin, your sheets.
“Jake, we agreed to be professional.”
“And we were. All day. You were professional.” His thumb brushes along my cheek, fingers cupping my jaw with a gentleness that contradicts the storm in his eyes. “But right now, I don’t want to be your employee.”
He leans in, his mouth grazing mine without quite kissing me. “I want to be the man who ruins you.”
The second his lips crash into mine, I let go. It’s hot, messy and hungry. My hands fist into his dirty T-shirt, yanking him closer as he walks me backwards, each step fuelled by a hunger we’ve been choking down for weeks. The metal edge of the workbench digs into the backs of my thighs as he presses in, and I can already feel how hard he is through his coveralls.
“I’ve been thinking about this all fucking day,” he murmurs against my mouth. “About having you right here. Your voice isstill in my head from that meeting, acting all in charge. It drove me fucking insane.”
