Page 131 of Down Bad

Then I watch him smile and nod pleasantly, passing Joel and extending a hand to me. “You must be the muscle around here. Grant,” he introduces himself.

I look down at his hand. Then back up at him.

Seriously? He doesn’t recognize me …?

“I don’t mind a little grease,” he says, assuming my hesitation is because I haven’t washed my hands. “Real men get dirt under their nails when they do honest work. And I prefer to look a man in the eye when he’s about to work on my lady.” He chuckles.

Something about this really fucking irritates me.

Like his use of “real men”.

And if he treats men like me and Joel as equals, what the hell is his deal with Wyatt? Doesn’t Wyatt also get dirt under his nails? Fucking literally?

Mr. Bellamy knows how to respect people.

He just doesn’t respect Wyatt.

“Mr. Valdez will be happy to give her a look,” says Joel, who seems both surprised and a bit worried to hand the reins to me.

He’s not the one who should be worried.

I take the keys from Joel and, after getting an admiring nod from Grant, get to work. In this case, that involves a short road-test to feel the car out first—it drives like a million bucks, too—then bring it back to the shop and put it on the lift. While Joel talks shop with the guy, I get underneath it and do a closer inspection.

Grant’s assessment isn’t wrong. It does need an alignment.

But that isn’t all I’m seeing under here.

“So you can align it?” asks Grant when I return.

“Yup.” I twist my hands in my rag. “But it won’t stay aligned.”

His face twists, not following.

I point underneath. “Control-arm bushing’s got play in it. So if I align it like this, then you’re paying us to straighten something that’ll wander again. We should fix what’s causing it first.”

He squints at the car, then crouches slightly, like he’s actually trying to somehow spot what I’m pointing at. “That so?” he asks. “That’s what you’d do?”

“That’s what I’m telling you to do.”

He straightens up and looks at me.

Something cold enters his eyes. “Do I know you?”

My jaw sets. “Do you?”

He gives it another few seconds of thought, looking me over. I can’t wait for it to dawn on him. To see the flash in his eyes.

Then he says, “You must get that a lot. Familiar face. Reminds me of this handsome chap at my office. Does scheduling. All the ladies have a thing for him, even though he’s married to a man. Nice husband, too. Met him once. Just has that kind of charm.” He chuckles and backs off. “Fine, let’s do what you recommend. I do appreciate a man who tells me what actually needs to get done … who gets to the point. Too many businesses, they’re soft. Afraid to be direct.” He puts his hands on his hips. “Can’t run a business if you’re worrying about everyone’s feelings, know what I mean?”

I stare back, silent.

He leans in. “Case and point. Just came from somewhere else in this town, little errand at some hardware store, and the owner couldn’t just give me a straight answer to save his life. That’s the trouble with these small-town operations. Half can’t say whether they’re running a business or just making friends and convincing locals they know what the hell they’re doing.”

I feel an itch under my skin.

“Got a shining exception, though,” he says with a proud smile. “Flower guy in town. Good kid. Talented. Very accommodating. Been using him for years.” He sighs. “But I got tired of having my assistants reinvent the wheel every time I need some bouquets for an event, so I finally put him under contract.”

I work my jaw, staring this man down.