Page 10 of Stuck With You
Shit.
I’d like to tell her to come back tomorrow, but she won’t be back,andthat’s not the way we do business here. Even when it comes to lawyers.
“What make and model?” I grab a clipboard and a pen. I have a distinct feeling I’m going to regret this.
When she doesn’t respond, I find her staring at me.
I raise an eyebrow. “Do you just want to show me?”
“2021 BMW X3.” It rolls right off her tongue.
I lower the clipboard. “I don’t carry parts for imports.”
Her shoulders ease down. . .barely. “So, you can’t help me?”
Can I help? Yes. Is it most efficient? No. Does this information allow me a huge excuse and save me from dealing with this woman, who most likely thinks the rest of us are all just minions? Hell yeah.
“I send all imports to the dealer.”
Her hand grips her purse strap, and her hip juts out to the side. “Just take it to the dealer?”
She needs to stop asking me questions and making it sound like I’m incompetent and incapable.
“Dealers have direct connections to suppliers. If you need parts, they’ll get them faster.”
“You can’t get parts if they’re needed?” One thin eyebrow raises, waiting for my answer.
I inhale and let it out slowly, knowing I’ll want to punch myself in the face for being baited, but I think that’s exactly what’s happening.
I shove the pen into the clipboard and grab my keys. “Do you have an issue letting me hear this ‘whirring’ sound?”
She doesn’t move, but I feel her watching me.
“Go for a drive? With you?” Her confident tone downshifts into something a touch softer.
I turn to her. “Yes.”
Those eyes run over me for a long, silent moment. “Uh. Sure.”
I step around her, reaching for the door, and she hurries out. I follow, her heels clicking against the pavement as we cross to her BMW. I might be wrong, but it looks like she’s limping.
She climbs in while I press the button to move the seat back.
She drops her bag in the back, keeping a grip on her phone while she watches me work to fold myself into the small space. It smells like sunshine, and just registering that has me wanting to plug my nose.
Instead of starting the car, she swipes her phone, her fingers flying over the screen.
“What are you doing?” I don’t have time to sit here while she conducts business or whateverthe hell it is.
Her brown eye peeks at me from the corner. “Texting someone. I don’t make a habit of getting into a car with borderline rude men.” She glances at me, a slight smirk pulling at her lips, all self-assurance returning. “If I end up on an episode of Unsolved Mysteries, at least they can’t caption it with ‘It was her own damn fault she’ll never be found.’”
She misses my eye roll. “Borderline?”
She smiles and finishes tapping out her message with a little shrug. “The scale is fluid. We’ll see how our cozy little test ride goes.”
She sets her phone in the door handle and starts the car.
I exhale, already completely sassed out, and I need this to be quick. “When do you hear the noise? All the time?”
