Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Though sexable likely wasn’t a word, but if it were, this man’s picture would be in the definition.
“Don’t you have work to do?”
I turned and sneered at Tagon, the other employee that’s worked here since my grandfather owned it.
Tagon wasn’t like Bob, however.
No, Tagon was a dick.
He was old, set in his ways, and made absolutely no effort to hide his disdain at having to work for a woman. A woman who was tiny and could be smashed underneath his fist if he ever felt like doing it.
“I don’t know, Tagon. Do I?” I asked sweetly.
I liked to act like a dumb blonde to add insult to injury.
If Tagon—don’t ever fucking call me Tag—wanted to think I was incapable, I would go out of my way to act like I was incapable.
Hence the dumb blonde routine.
Sometimes, I even purposefully shorted him hours so he would have to come ask about his check.
Sure, it was petty, but I liked the way it caused his cheek to twitch.
“You have a Jeep that needs a new transmission, and a Ford truck that’s making a knocking sound in the motor.” Tagon crossed his arms. “Remember?”
I blinked.
“Oh yeah.”
He growled in frustration before walking off, but not before I heard him mutter under his breath.
“Don’t know what your grandfather was fucking thinking.”
I grinned and walked to the office, waving at the grandfather in question.
“Hey, Pops,” I called. “What are you doing here so early?”
Pops was my mom’s father, and he acted like he didn’t retire and sell me his business four years ago.
He still opened. He still followed all the comings and goings, bill-wise. He made sure the stock was current.
Literally everything he used to do, besides pay bills, he still did—though I noticed he never offered to pay the electric bill even though he was practically living in the office with the air conditioner blasting.
“Hi, Gen,” Pops said distractedly. “Did you see the Nova?”
I growled.
“Yes,” I replied, clipped.
Pops eyes lifted from the paper he was steadily reading.
“What was that ‘yes’ for?” he asked. “Is there a reason you’re throwing attitude? What’s wrong with your face?”
I brought my hand up to my eye.
“Rod,” I replied simply.
Pops started to growl.
“I’m going make sure that boy never gets out of prison,” he snapped. “I got a lot more things I could press charges on him for.”
It was Pops’ fault that Rod was even in our lives to begin with.
Rod had been an employee at Pops’ Garage about eight years ago when he met my sister. Clarabelle had immediately fallen in love, and they slept together before Rod had even worked for Pops for a week.
Rod, being Rod, had immediately dumped her, but thought he could continue to work for my grandfather. Something that my Pops didn’t allow him to do.
But then Clarabelle had fallen pregnant, and Rod had tried to do the right thing by getting back with her. Which worked only long enough for Pops to rehire Rod.
Then Clarabelle had given birth to Davis nine months later, and he’d split at the first sign of domesticity.
Over the course of Davis’ life, his father and mother had gotten back together multiple times, and broken it off just as many.
Davis knew his father. Loved his father. But his father didn’t feel the same way about him.
Though Davis didn’t know that.
Davis thought his father was a grand ol’ guy, while the rest of the world knew him for the piece of shit he really was.
As in, thieving, lying, cheating, I’m-going-to-do-whatever-the-hell-I want-to kind of guy.
Rod had stolen quite a lot of stuff from my family over the time he’d been in our lives, and it’d finally forced Pops—who was never argued with no matter what—to press theft charges on Rod for him to go away.
Though, during his getaway from the garage the last time he’d stolen something from Pops, he’d also tried to run from the cops, who Pops had called, and then tried to pull out a gun. That resulted in the cops drawing their weapons, and things escalated from there when shots were fired. Rod wound up with a bullet to the spine that rendered him paralyzed from the waist down.
“You won’t get a chance to send him back to prison,” I murmured. “When…if…he gets out, he won’t be doing much of anything. He can barely even move his wheelchair. How is he going to get away if he tries to steal something?”
Pops started to laugh.
“And to answer your earlier question, yes, I did see the Nova in the driveway. Did you meet the man that owns it?” I tried to change the subject.
Rod was anything but amusing to think about. And after today, I really, really didn’t want to talk about him. Not even a little bit.
“Nope,” Pops said. “I was out to breakfast with Nan, and I didn’t get a chance to see him. Bob said he was a looker, though,” Pops grinned. “And I rented him two stalls. One for his junker that he’s going to scrap for the Nova, and the other for the Nova.”