Drive Me Wild (Bellamy Creek #1)(14)

“Hey, Griffin?” called Blair from the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“Someone from the bank is on the phone. Do you want to talk to him or should I take a message?”

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll pick it up back here.”

“Okay. I’ll ask him to hold.”

“Who is that?” McIntyre’s eyes were wide.

The female voice had drawn Handme’s attention too, and he moved closer to hear the answer.

“For the moment, that’s our receptionist.”

“But who is she?” McIntyre was still staring after her.

“Her name is Blair Beaufort,” I said. “That’s her MG outside. She blew a tire last night, but I need to look over the entire vehicle as soon as I can. I’m just trying to make space in here.”

“Is she new in town?” he asked. “I know I’ve never seen her before. I’d remember.”

“She’s just passing through,” I told them. “I’ll explain it after I talk to the bank.”

“Is this about the loan?” McIntyre wondered.

“I hope so.”

“Think they approved it?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” But I didn’t allow my hopes to rise as I headed for the phone at the back of the garage. I knew better.

This was the third time I’d tried to get a loan in the last year. Swifty Auto was hurting us badly. Plus, my dad had struggled to pay back loans he’d gotten years ago, and I’d inherited a lot of debt along with the business. I was sure he’d planned to get it all straightened out before he retired, but he’d died before he had the chance, and now I was supporting my mother too.

Banks all said the same thing—I was too big a risk.

I knew we could improve with some investment in training and tools, and my sister was always on me about renovating the lobby. “People want to see a nice, welcoming room when they come in,” she’d say. “You don’t need a fancy chandelier, but would it kill you to get some nicer chairs? Some better coffee? A new rug?”

I always argued back that it shouldn’t matter what the damn lobby looked like. The important thing was the work, and I knew we did good work—excellent work, in fact. And we could be even better. But without the loan, it wouldn’t happen.

This was exactly why I didn’t get my heart set on anything that mattered.

You wound up feeling like a failure every fucking time.





Four





Blair





The first thing I did was water that poor plant in the lobby.

Grabbing my empty coffee cup, I found the tiny bathroom down the hall and turned on the faucet. As the cup began to fill, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I’d done the best I could with my hair, which definitely could’ve benefited from some shampoo and conditioner, but I hadn’t felt right using Griffin’s shower without permission. I wasn’t a homeless person. I was just . . . temporarily sans maison.

That wasn’t the same thing at all, was it?

I’d wanted to do something nice for Griffin this morning, since he’d seemed a bit moody and distracted when he left for work. He’d barely looked at me and only mumbled something undecipherable when I’d thanked him again. I thought maybe he was annoyed with my being there, but then again, he might simply have been tired. He couldn’t have been too comfortable all night, trying to sleep sitting up like that. I hoped the coffee and donuts would perk him up. He really was a nice guy.

With a hot body.

And a huge package.

My core muscles clenched up, as they had been doing every time I recalled accidentally grabbing at his crotch. My God, it was so embarrassing! He knew I hadn’t meant to do it, right? Every time I thought about it, I sort of wanted to die—but also sort of wanted to do it again. It was so cute the way he’d practically run out of the room afterward. It had made me feel even safer with him.

Turning off the tap, I carefully carried the full cup of water back out to the lobby and dumped it into the dry dirt. I did the same thing two more times before tackling the desk.

Griffin was right—it was a mess.

Stacks of invoices littered the surface, piles of folders threatened to topple over, paper clips and pencils and several staplers were scattered everywhere. It was the complete opposite of Griffin’s apartment, which was completely clean and uncluttered.

I got to work filing and organizing immediately, stopping only to answer the phone the few times it rang. Once a customer came in to pick up her vehicle, and I’d poked my head into the garage to let Griffin know, but it was a younger, skinnier mechanic who came to the desk with her keys.

Once the customer was gone, he turned to me and smiled. “Hi, I’m Andy.”

“Nice to meet you, Andy. I’m Blair.”

“I know. I mean, that’s what Griffin said.” He glanced over his shoulder. “He’s looking at your car now.”

“Great.” I smiled. “Fingers crossed it isn’t too bad.”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m not sure.” Andy looked a little uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Like I said, I’m not sure, I just . . . hear a lot of cussing back there today.”