Page 20 of The Billionaire's Distraction

Tony’s jaw unclenched, his features easing into something sharp, dangerous, calm.This was familiar territory.Crooked men, stolen money, broken promises—these he could handle.Naomi, with her shy smiles and soft ponytail, her stubborn refusal to accept anything she hadn’t earned…thatwas confusing.But this?This was child’s play.

“That’s actually a good thing,” Tony muttered.

“She owes me about three thousand dollars!”the mechanic blurted desperately.

Tony’s head snapped toward him.“What did you do to repair her car?”

The man’s mouth opened and closed, like a fish.He reeked of cheap whiskey, and Tony doubted he’d touched a wrench in weeks.

“Like I said,” the mechanic stammered, “I’d have to look at my records—”

Tony shoved him into the office, pushing him down into the cracked vinyl chair behind the desk.The legs squealed in protest against the dirty linoleum.Tony leaned down, his eyes boring into Mike’s.“Find the records.I want an invoice.Receipts for the parts you used.Labor logs.Everything.”

The mechanic pawed at a pile of crumpled papers, shuffling them uselessly.The mess was an avalanche of grease-stained invoices, old bills, and lottery tickets.After a few seconds of fumbling, his shoulders slumped.“I… don’t have them organized properly.”

Tony braced both hands on the filthy desk, his broad shoulders looming over the man like a storm cloud.“If you can’t produce the records,” he said, in a cold, flat voice, “then you have no proof you touched her vehicle at all.”

The mechanic panicked, puffing up his chest.“Now see here—!”he started, trying to rise.

The guard behind him shoved him back down into the chair.

“Produce,” Tony said evenly, “or shut up.”

The silence that followed stretched, broken only by the buzz of a neon light overhead.When the man failed to produce a single scrap of proof, Tony finally straightened to his full height.

“I accept your apology,” he said coolly, “for the incorrect service records on Ms.Cross’s vehicle.”

One of the guards jingled a set of keys and tossed them to Tony.“Have a good night,” he sneered before the team turned as one, heading for the door.

Out on the street, one of the newer guards dared to ask, “Are you seriously going to let that guy get away with screwing other customers?”

Tony stopped dead, pivoting slowly until his dark gaze locked on the man.He didn’t raise his voice.He didn’t even speak.He didn’t need to.The weight of his stare alone made the kid shrink back.

“Sorry, boss,” the guard muttered quickly, dropping his eyes and retreating toward the SUV.

Tony looked at the red Toyota that really should have been scrapped five years ago.Still, he knew someone who could remedy the situation.He slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition.The engine wheezed, coughed, then finally sputtered to life, the sound uneven, sickly.Disgust curled his lip.The mechanic definitely hadn’t done any work on the vehicle.

He stepped out again, the night air cool against his skin, and considered his options.Naomi driving this deathtrap around the city?Unacceptable.However, he knew that she wouldn’t accept a new car from him—hell, she’d barely accepted a coffee the other day, insisting she only wanted water.That thought made him chuckle under his breath despite himself.

“Drive this heap over to Pete’s place,” he ordered one of his men.“I want it purring.”He paused, then added, “And since Pete’s going to work his magic, get Jerry to install a security system.Full package.Cameras, tracker, remote kill switch.”

He turned toward the waiting SUV.“Have it delivered to Ms.Cross’s door by six tomorrow morning.”

There were no groans, no hesitation.Every man there knew Pete and Jerry worked nights out of a chop shop in the warehouse district.If Tony sent a car with instructions, it would be done.No questions.No delays.

Tony climbed into the back seat of the SUV, his thoughts racing.Naomi thought she was surviving.But he wasn’t going to let her just survive.

He was going to make damn sure she lived.

Chapter 12

Naomirushedthroughhermorning routine, pulling her hair into a ponytail while she popped a frozen waffle into the toaster oven.It was whole wheat and she’d eat it with peanut butter so…somewhat healthy?While the waffle warmed up, she hurried back to her “bedroom” and grabbed her jeans, tugging them on while she worked out her plan for the day with the boys.

What had Tony said to them that day at the playground?She hadn’t heard what he’d said, but the effect had been immediate and dramatic.Overnight, the boys had turned into polite, attentive little gentlemen.She’d even been able to bring them back from chaos after the morning spent with their father at his office.

Oh, they weren’t perfect—no child was—but they were so much better lately.Calmer.Softer.And both boys were working so hard at their lessons.Jacob was going to ace his entrance exams next month and she was so proud of him!

She already knew what Mr.Peterson had filled their heads with during his time with them: mocking, belittling words.The kind of laughter that broke you down instead of lifting you up.The boys had probably watched him do it to his staff at the office, had absorbed every cruel smirk and callous chuckle.