Page 118 of Heartfelt Pain
My coffee table.
She didn’t leave after she found me this afternoon.
I don’t know where the fuck she came from. I cut out of work early, the perks of being the son of the boss who’s about to quit the firm anyway. When I heard pounding on my door thirty seconds after I’d entered through it, I had no idea what I’d find.
The mixture of awe on her face shook me to my core. Green eyes softened as she took in the place and then almost teared up when she started to understand.
Luck and happenstance led me to the place. When I found the building, with a garage I could mess with my cars in, and space to live up top, of course, I snapped it up. The fact it’s only a street over from Fujimori’s sealed the deal.
And I had to come clean about the jukebox.
“You said you wanted a jukebox,” I told her. “I heard you tell Elijah after Lennie’s attack.”
After she’d saved my fucking life. Blood splattered across my face, my heart in my lungs. I’d turned to find Ren—my Ren—holding a gun. She’d taken down Leopold’s man before he could get me. And he would have gotten me.
“You bought me the fucking jukebox?” she nearly argued, oddly upset by it.
Trevino walked around the Barracuda, impressed.
“You starting your own shop?” he asked, not caring about the life-altering conversation Ren and I were trying to have.
“Yeah,” I said, my eyes never leaving my girl. She wiped under her eyes and turned to Trevino.
“He’s going to work on all kinds of cars,” she said. “Does Luis even know how to do an oil change?”
Trevino snorted and I realized a moment later Luis was the driver, working for him.
“You’re going to need someone to service your fleet,” Ren said, ever the business maker. “You should cut a deal now.”
The bodyguard laughed outright. “True. I’ve got three SUVs in rotation, but depending on how the business grows, so will the fleet. I need them maintained at all times.”
I could see his point. You don’t want to be driving around with a client paying a fortune only for the vehicle to break down, especially if said client’s life is at risk already.
I meant to spend the early evening working on a business plan. Dad is right about having all my ducks lined up. I’ll have a leg up, already owning the building and knowing clientele with garages full of vintage sports cars.
Adding a steady client like Trevino’s would be a boost.
The moment also clarified Trevino and Ren’s relationship. Not that I ever truly worried about the bodyguard, but their bickering is reminiscent of siblings. He left a few minutes later, not that he’s gone far.
Ren ran up the stairs, not waiting for an invitation.
The space is disgustingly large for one man. It’s got plenty of windows which let in light and the most used area is the kitchen and living room. Even then the furniture is sparse. There’s a couch and a rug. All things I’ve had at every apartment I’ve ever lived in.
It’s airy and light but cozy in the evenings. Other than the TV, there’s one lamp on and Ren continues to ignore my side-eye.
“You’re selling your business?”
The spoon dangles from her mouth.
“You couldn’t give me a heads up?”
“What would it matter?” The words are muffled thanks to the mouthful of ice cream.
“I told you I’m starting up my own business. I can’t lose the last name, but I’m not going to be on the bankroll anymore.”
“I’m sorry how much did this place cost?” She stabs the spoon back into the pint.
I’ll always be Lev Zimin’s son. I can’t ditch the connection completely, but I’m taking a step back. “I’m going to make myself a neutral party if that’s what you’re worried about.”
