Drive Me Wild (Bellamy Creek #1)(13)

Which all would have been fine—great, even—except somehow they were all the worst kind of customer.

Like the lonely old lady who wants to tell you her life story instead of what’s wrong with her car. Or the shifty-eyed guy who’s hiding the fact that he already tried to fix the problem himself and made it worse. Or the guy in the suit who’s currently suing the three previous mechanics who have worked on his vehicle.

And it seemed like all of them had already gotten an estimate from Swifty Auto that was cheaper than mine, and a guarantee it would be done by the end of the day. Then there were the customers picking up their cars who were upset at being charged for labor in addition to parts—as if the parts had magically installed themselves and didn’t take hours of skilled diagnostic and technical work on our end.

To make things worse, the desk was a mess, I couldn’t find anyone’s invoices because nothing had been filed for weeks, and no one had told me we were out of coffee.

By the time Blair walked through the lobby door carrying a bakery box and a drinks tray with two tall cardboard cups in it, I was ready to torch the whole operation.

“Hi there,” she said, setting the box and tray on the counter. She wore a short yellow flowery dress, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. “How’s it going?”

I rubbed my face with both hands. “Shitty. I’m sorry, I haven’t had a chance to look at your car yet. It’s been fucking chaos in here for the last two hours. This is the first time the lobby has been quiet.”

“That’s okay. I can wait. I went down to the diner for some coffee and realized you hadn’t eaten anything before you left this morning. Thought you might like some breakfast.” She opened the box to reveal a dozen donuts. “I know it’s not the best apple pie since 1957 or anything, but these looked okay.”

“Thanks. Coffee up for grabs too?”

“Of course. I wasn’t sure how you took it, but when I mentioned to Louise at the diner where I was bringing everything, she said you just took it black. That one’s yours.” She pointed to the cup with a G on it before pulling one labeled with a B from the carrier.

“Perfect.” I grabbed the cup she’d indicated was mine and took a gulp. “I needed this.”

“Can I help?”

“Nah, that’s okay.” I reached into the box, pulled out a glazed donut, and took a bite. It was oddly tasteless.

“I really don’t mind. Is your receptionist late or something?”

“We don’t have one full-time right now. My mother has worked the desk here for years, but she’s out because she had a hip replacement recently. My cousin Lanette has been working part-time, but . . .” I frowned at the disaster area in front of me. “She doesn’t get much actual work done.”

Blair peeked over the counter. “Yikes. How do you find anything?”

I took another gulp of coffee. “Sometimes we don’t.”

“Well, listen. I don’t have anything to do while I wait for you to fix my car, and I owe you a big favor for offering me a place to stay last night. Let me take over here and get all this stuff filed, so you can get to work in there.” She gestured toward the service bays.

My first instinct was to say no, but I gave myself a minute to think as I polished off the rest of the boring donut. I did not want to spend my entire day out here listening to people gripe. I did not want to stay after hours filing paperwork. And I sure as hell didn’t want to hear the words Swifty Auto again today—my temper was already threatening to blow. “Are you sure?” I asked.

“Of course I’m sure.”

“And you’re okay answering the phone too?”

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

“Sorry, but you don’t strike me as the type to have had a lot of experience being a receptionist.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”

“Okay. I’m going to get a few quick things out of the way and then I’ll look at your car. I’ll discount the labor in exchange for your work at the desk.”

“Perfect.” She smiled brightly at me, and my stomach muscles tightened up. I turned away and headed for the garage, coffee cup in hand.

“Oh, Griffin?”

I looked back at her and felt the tightness expand into my chest. “Yeah?”

“Should I answer the phone in French or in English?”

I stared at her for a full five seconds, wondering if she was serious, before she lost it and burst out laughing.

“Oh my God, you should see your face,” she said, shooing me out. “Go on, get out of here. I have work to do.”

Shaking my head, I turned around and walked out. It was the first time I’d smiled all morning.

Inside the first service bay, Handme was fixing a coolant leak on a Honda and McIntyre was hunting around the floor near the tool cabinets for something he’d dropped (probably the 10mm socket).

“You really need to think about hiring a full-time desk person,” McIntyre said. “We’re getting behind back here without you.”

I frowned. “I can’t afford one. I’m still paying my mother.”

“Is she ever coming back?”

“Why? Do you miss her nagging?”

McIntyre laughed. “She nagged you more than me.”