Joy Ride
But why the hell am I thinking of Henley? I drag a hand through my dark hair, re-centering my focus to the here and now.
The female PI will have a name-brand car for her ride, since the show has an automobile sponsor. But the hero’s car, a Lamborghini Miura, will be customized with added features.
“What do you say?” Creswell asks.
“Sounds like a plan. Let’s nail down the details.”
David tells me he’ll draw up paperwork. “One more thing,” he adds. “This show is one of the priorities on our network for the new season. We have a huge marketing campaign behind Midnight Steel, and we expect the car to be part of it. Would you be able to do some promo videos as you customize it, showing you making the car and whatnot? They’ll run on our website.”
“As long as you don’t need me to act like a douche on a reality car-building show I’m game.”
David laughs. “We’d prefer, in fact, that you don’t act like a douche. We want to capture the real vibe of what it takes to make a car like this.”
Creswell checks the time on his wrist. “I need to go. Must get home to Roger. He surely misses me.”
David points to the door. “Of course he misses you. Go, go, go.”
Creswell scurries out, muttering Roger’s name as he leaves. I’m not sure if Roger is his lover, partner, or dog, or maybe it’s the name of his in-house thermostat system. It isn’t my place to find out.
David and I make plans to meet again on Friday evening to talk about the next steps, and then I say good-bye.
When the elevator doors close, I’m all alone.
“Fucking A,” I say quietly as I punch the air.
As the elevator chugs downward, I say it louder. This must be how a receiver feels in the end zone. This is motherfucking awesome.
When I reach the ground floor, I call my brother, Chase, to see if we can celebrate tonight now that it’s damn near official.
“Meet at Joe’s Sticks in thirty minutes,” he tells me.
“Let’s do it. I’ll text Mia, and she can join us, too.”
Joe’s is walking distance, so I make my way up the avenue in a cloud-nine mood. I don’t even get annoyed when a messenger on a bike hops up on the sidewalk, nearly slamming the front wheel into my leg. I sidestep him.
I can handle a near bike run-in.
The run-in the next morning, though, is a little more difficult to dodge.
5
Henley’s To-Do List
* * *
—Black-lace combat boots will look hot tomorrow. Set them out tonight.
* * *
—Start all that frigging paperwork that won’t stop staring me in the face.
* * *
—Try not to hate paperwork. (That’s asking too much!)
* * *
—Take that new hip-hop workout at gym. Maybe it’ll help my complete inability to follow the steps in salsa class. Why is dancing so hard?
* * *
—Figure out why the freaking screen-lock on phone doesn’t work. What kind of self-respecting fix-it woman can restore an engine on a Challenger and not repair a screen-lock? (I’m looking at you, girl!)
* * *
—Don’t check out hot guy at gym. The one with tattoos that look like one Max has on his bicep.
* * *
—Especially since it’s such a sexy tattoo.
6
I’m nearly at the climax.
Of the story.
The one I’m telling Livvy about the Rolls.
“And then she purred when I turned the corner,” I say from my spot in her parlor, sitting on the ornate couch with the carved wooden arms and upholstery that looks as if it comes from Versailles.
Livvy’s slate-gray eyes sparkle. She sits on the other end of the couch. “And?”
This is the cherry on the ice cream sundae. For Livvy, the car isn’t complete until I tell her how it feels to be behind the wheel. “The purr turned to a deep roar when I cranked up the speed for the final mile.”
“And when you parked it?” Livvy is on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped together.
“Like a parachute landing softly on the grass. Perfect.”
“It sounds incredible. I can’t wait to take her for a spin.”
“Don’t wait, then. Go out right now and do it.” In a low voice I chant, “Do it, do it, do it.”
Livvy giggles then fingers the strand of pearls around her neck. “I will soon. I promise. I have another delivery shortly, but then I’ll slide on my leather driving gloves, toss a silk scarf around my neck, and head out for a drive through the country.”
“Don’t forget the Jackie O sunglasses to complete the look.”
“I never forget the shades.” Livvy gestures to the white china teacup on the table. “Can I interest you in another white peony before I have Peter take you back to Manhattan?” she asks, mentioning her chauffeur. He drives a town car, not any of Livvy’s specialized rides.
“I’m all good in the tea department.”
“Don’t leave, then, without taking some treats. Ariel made the most delicious brownies for a party later.”
A petite blond maid in a gray uniform with a lace apron returns to the living room to collect our cups.
“Thank you so much, Ariel,” Livvy says to the young woman. “Would you pack up some brownies for Mr. Summers for the road?”
“Of course, Mrs. Sweetwater. I will take care of that immediately.”
Ariel turns to go, but as she reaches the doorway of the parlor, she casts her gaze back to me and offers a shy, sweet smile. Ariel nibbles on the corner of her lip, her eyes on mine.
The unspoken offer is tempting, especially since I can’t deny I wouldn’t mind playing a little French-maid-with-a-feather-duster game with her. But fucking the client’s help is verboten. I look away from the cute little thing as she spins on her heel and heads off to the rest of the mansion.
“Now, what shall we work on next time? You’ve customized an Aston Martin for me. You’ve put a new engine in my husband’s Mercedes, and now the Rolls.”
I stroke my chin, thinking about what Livvy might crave. “Wouldn’t you say it’s about time we make a sports car for you?”
“Actually,” she says slowly, as if she’s confessing, “I ordered one for my niece for a birthday present.”
“Funny, I didn’t get the work order for that. I must have misplaced it.”
Her shoulders sag. “I used someone else. Please forgive me.”
I pretend to be offended, even though I’m a little bummed to have lost the job. “I’m devastated.”
“I would have used you, but it was a last-minute thing. I wanted you to focus completely on Snow White, but I needed to get this one done, too.”
The unmistakable rumble of a Corvette engine lands on my ears. I snap my head to glance at the living room window. A sporty red car cruises up the long driveway.
Livvy squeals. “It’s here now. I’ll be right back.”
She pops up at the speed of light and race-walks to the car before the driver can even cut the engine.
I whistle under my breath. Damn. That sleek beauty looks better than any Corvette should have a right to look. I don’t even like Corvettes, but this one makes me want to get my hands on it, under it, and inside it.
“I prepared a sandwich for you, too.”
The voice is soft and eager. I tear my gaze away from the window and meet Ariel’s eyes. She crosses the room and hands me a small brown shopping bag—the classy kind, like my sister buys when she gives gifts to her friends.