Wait With Me (Wait With Me, #1)(2)

“Oh, but I’ve never heard any complaints before! And I so love the gentlemen at the front desk. They are always so friendly, and they love my chocolate chip cookies.”

“I think everyone loves your chocolate chip cookies,” I reply with a knowing wink. “But I need to ask you to keep my presence here quiet. We want to really see this branch’s day-to-day customer service so we can make any necessary improvements.”

She nods slowly, clearly excited she’s in on my secret mission. “I understand.” Possible snitch, secured.

“Thank you for your discretion.” I reach out to shake her hand in a very corporate manner, and it feels like a sticky, limp noodle. “It was nice to meet you, Betty. Keep up the good work. We’re not worried about you at all.”

My wink has her shuffling away with a stark look on her face, and I turn to exhale heavily. That was close. Too close. I need to finish this book before anyone else notices that I’m here a lot.

I reopen my laptop and pick up where I left off in book five of my erotic Bed ‘n Breakfast series. This book is the conclusion to an overnight international bestselling sensation that was recently optioned for film by Passionflix. My fans are dying for this book, and my mind can’t help but drift off to recall the great lengths I went to deliver.

Sure, some might say it’s unusual to write smutty romance in the waiting room of a tire shop. But when you’re a New York Times Bestselling author and suddenly all the words and characters in your mind disappear—you take extreme measures.

That’s why the day I walked into the Tire Depot waiting room prepared to stare at my computer blankly while I got a new set of tires, I was stunned when the words started flowing again. Like seriously flowing. This wasn’t a trickle but a flash flood of epic proportions.

After such a dry spell, I didn’t dare tempt fate by walking away from that shit! I was like a prized athlete on a winning streak heading into the championship game. I wasn’t going to wash my socks or shave my legs. I was going to eat the same shit, walk the same steps, and repeat every day like fucking Groundhog Day until I finished this book!

That is why I’m on my third week of work at the good old Tire Depot. And I’ve learned a lot in my time here. Like the fact that Tire Depot is so much more than a tire shop. For starters, they don’t just sell tires. They perform oil changes and do maintenance and mechanical repairs. The other day, I overheard the manager say they did everything except paint and glass. How neat is that?

But if I’m being honest, I have to admit that I come here for one thing and one thing only:

The Customer Comfort Center.

The CCC at the Tire Depot, also known as my new mothership.

When I first brought my vehicle in three weeks ago and the counter guy gestured to a waiting room around the corner, I thought I’d find a crummy twelve-cup Mr. Coffee with generic stale coffee. If I was lucky, they’d have powdered creamer from this year.

When I turned the corner and walked into the thousand-square-foot Customer Comfort Center complete with a brick fireplace, leather lounge chairs, and a coffee machine that dispensed an incredible variety of gourmet coffee, I nearly fell to my knees and wept.

Within minutes, I had an almond caramel latte, a warm oatmeal raisin cookie, and a sweet spot at one of their high top tables right next to a convenient outlet. It was kismet.

Feeling more positive than I had in months, I cracked open my laptop, and after a couple of sips of coffee, the words I’d been struggling to find in my latest smutty story suddenly flowed from my fingertips. I had found my way out of the dreaded writer’s block! It was a Christmas frickin’ miracle!

I blinked, and three hours had passed. The customer service agent said my car was ready, but when they said they didn’t mind if I stuck around for a while, all I heard was jackpot! Before I knew it, I had crushed five thousand words in five hours.

I had never written that fast in my career as an author! And they were good words too! That was the real clincher.

So, like a dog who’d found the best dumpster of leftovers, I decided to come back for seconds. At first, I brought in a few vehicles for oil changes … my neighbor’s, my friend’s. My two brothers even let me take their vehicles in, but they side-eyed me the whole time because I had to drive thirty minutes just to get their cars—judgmental pricks.

But then I got the feeling a guy at the counter was starting to recognize me. They get a lot of traffic at Tire Depot, and sadly, I don’t exactly blend in. I’m a curvy redhead with skin that doesn’t suffer the sun like so many of my fellow gingers. But I think what tipped the guy off was when I brought in my seventh car for service. At that point, I was bringing in a friend’s co-worker’s vehicle, so I was clearly fucking desperate and maybe a bit manic. But I knew I had to do whatever it took to get in my words!

Then I realized the comfort center had its own entrance. An entrance that bypassed the counter guys. They were the gatekeepers, after all. The only ones I ever spoke to. So why couldn’t I just slip in the side door every day, quietly do my work, drink my weight in complimentary coffee, and sneak out with no one the wiser?

I mean…sure, my guilty conscience poked at me a few times, but the more I went, the easier it got. America’s greatest serial killers probably lived by this same mantra. But so be it.

Give me complimentary coffee or give me death.