Page 30 of Tuned To Break
“Well, not exactly, but?—”
“Not exactly? José, what part of ‘these need to be period-correct vintage headlights’ did you not understand?”
Emily and Megan are both watching me now, and I can see other customers glancing over at my increasingly heated conversation.
“Look, I can fix it,” José says defensively. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“Not that big a deal? José, this client is paying us eight thousand dollars for this job. The headlights alone cost twelve hundred dollars. Now we have to order the correct ones, wait for delivery, and redo the work, all while explaining to the client why we fucked up something that was clearly specified in the contract.”
“Stella, I’m sorry, I?—”
“Sorry doesn’t fix this mess. I want those headlights removed today. I’ll contact the supplier about returning them, and I’ll order the correct ones. In the meantime, you need to call Mr. Harrison and apologise. Take responsibility for the mistake and assure him we’ll have it sorted by the end of the week.”
“Can’t you call him? You’re better at that customer service stuff.”
I actually see red. “Customer service stuff? José, this is your mistake. You’re going to own it and fix it. Call him within the hour, or I’ll be having a vastly different conversation with Chase about your attention to detail.”
I hang up before he can respond, my hands shaking slightly with anger.
“Rough morning at the other job?” Megan asks, taking a sip of her coffee and eyeing me sympathetically.
“One of the guys installed the wrong parts on a client’s car. The expensive parts are the wrong parts.”
“Ouch,” Emily winces. “That’s going to be a costly mistake.”
“It’s not about the money—well, it is partly about the money—but it’s about attention to detail. I specifically went over this with him last week.” I lean against the counter, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Sometimes I wonder if they think because I’m the office manager, I don’t understand the technical side of things.”
“Do you?” Emily asks. “Understand the technical side?”
“More than they probably realise. I spent a lot of time at Doc’s workshop when I was younger, before Mum died. I knowenough to spot when someone’s cutting corners or not following specifications.”
The morning passes in a blur of coffee orders, and my mind constantly drifts to the workshop. Specifically, thoughts about Jake—whether he was there when I called, whether he heard me reaming out José. Part of me hopes he did. Maybe it would show him I’m serious about this job, that I’m not just playing around.
God, why do I care what Jake thinks?
Because Friday night changed everything, and I’m trying to pretend it didn’t. I told him it couldn’t happen again, that we needed to be professional, but every time I think about it, my body betrays me. My pulse quickens, heat pools between my legs, and I find myself wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t stopped things.
“Hello,” Emily says, waving a hand in front of my face. “You’ve been staring at that espresso machine for five minutes.”
“Sorry, just thinking.”
“About the hot mechanic?” Megan asks with a knowing smirk.
“About work,” I lie.
“Sure you are. What’s his name again? Jake?”
“Megan—”
“I’m just saying, from what you told me Friday night, it sounds like he’s interested. And you’re definitely interested. Maybe it’s time to stop overthinking and just see what happens.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Only because you’re making it complicated,” Emily chimes in. “When was the last time you were this wound up about a guy?”
“I’m not wound up.”
“No? Earlier, you made four flat whites in a row without being asked. You only do that when you’re stressed or thinking about something else.”
