Page 22 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

Sighing, I turn back to the office and take stock. Organizing always looks worse before it looks better, and I’m in the “worse” stage of things. Every item has been pulled out and stacked. An Organizing Goddess bomb detonated, and I’m standing in the middle of the blast radius.

“Okay,” I tell myself with a huff. “Let’s do this.”

I open another drawer and start sorting things where they need to go: obvious garbage, maybe garbage, obviously not garbage. I’ll have to get Remy to weigh in on the “maybe” pile, and then I can start figuring out where to store things in a way that makes the most sense for how he works. He mentioned his hatred of paperwork, so I need to find a system that’s logical and easy to maintain.

But it’s so hot I can’t think. My shirt is stuck to me, but at least I’m wearing leggings so my thighs aren’t chafing.

As I pull an old, beat-up box of car parts out from a storage closet, I let out a groan. Sweat drips into my eye, and I get up to stand by the window again. This is getting dire. I need to cool down.

Shuffling to the door that leads to the garage, I glance out through the grimy window—I’ll need to clean that—and see no sign of Remy.

“Screw it,” I mumble, and pull off my shirt. The thick cotton was stuck to my skin, and the minute I toss it aside, I feel better. I let out a sigh, closing my eyes for a moment at the sheer relief of wearing only my sports bra. There are times when I really wish I were a man, and most of them revolve around the ability to go topless without getting arrested.

While I’m basking in the relative relief of my shirtlessness, my phone rings. Laurel’s name pops up on the screen. I answer and shove the phone between my ear and my shoulder. “Hey, girl.”

“You sound chipper!”

“I’m working.”

“Excuse me? That wasn’t part of the plan. You were supposed to delegate and go underwear shopping, remember?”

“I’m not working for the business. I’ve delegated everything for the next few days. I’m working for my neighbor.”

“The super-hot neighbor who you want to bang?”

“First of all, I don’t want to bang him. You’re the one who wants me to do that.”

“Uh-huh,” Laurel answers, seemingly unconvinced.

“Second of all, we have a business arrangement.”

“Hot. Tell me more.”

“You’re a real pervert, you know that?”

Laurel laughs. “Come on, tell me. My life is so boring. I need to be entertained.”

“Shouldn’t you be working instead of harassing me?”

“My project manager is in a meeting with the hotel owners about the renovations, so I’m slacking off. Now tell me what’s up.”

Laurel works for an architecture firm that specializes in restoration. She’s extremely talented and works her butt off, but she hasn’t been given any big projects lately. When she says she’s bored, I believe her.

I lean against the window sill and tilt my head back to get more air. “Fine. I’m reorganizing his office at the garage while he fixes my van. We’re doing two hours for an hour, so for every two hours I work here, he’ll spend an hour on my van.”

“That’s way less sexy than it sounded when you called it a business arrangement.”

“I did warn you,” I tell her, smiling.

“At least let me picture it. What’s he wearing?”

Despite myself, my cheeks flush. When I rode into the garage, Remy had on a set of coveralls with short sleeves that showed off his biceps. They’d been unzipped down to his navel, revealing a white undershirt. He looked hot as sin. I’d stared at his shoulders and chest for a bit too long before greeting him. “He’s wearing coveralls, like a normal mechanic. I have to get back to work.”

“Only you could take my advice about having a fling and turn it into organizing someone’s office for free.”

“Technically it’s not for free, since he’s fixing my van…”

“I’m disappointed in you, Audrey Scott.”

---