He watched her walk away, her hips swinging just the way he remembered them. He had a peculiar discomfort in his chest, like he needed a drink, or a smoke—and he didn’t smoke.
Jesus, this wasn’t him, this guy who wanted to smoke or squeeze the life out of something. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had gotten away from him as fast as Leah had just done. But he damn sure could remember what it felt like when a female was repulsed by him, and he didn’t like the feeling that gave him in the least.
Leah’s aversion to him was enough to make most grown men bow out, to turn around and walk the other way. But it was having a curious effect on him. He was now more determined than ever to win her over—he just needed a better angle. Plan A, in which he had envisioned telling her the truth and watching his second chance at happiness fall into his lap, had been a total bust.
Therefore, it was time to move to Plan B. He’d have to get right on that and come up with a plan.
But luck was with Michael, because he inadvertently got a Plan A-and-a-half later that afternoon, an hour or so after the women were released for the day. He’d stayed behind to talk to the guys about some budget problems that were cropping up, and they hung out for a while, running through some contingency plans. When Michael left, the guys were still talking about something the women had done that day that baffled them, but personally, he didn’t want to rehash it—he had other things on his mind.
As he walked out to his car he noticed that, along with the autos of a few production staff stragglers, Leah’s clunky old Escort was still at the far end of the lot. The hood was up, and beneath the hood, bent at the waist, wearing a denim skirt and a small T-shirt that didn’t quite cover her belly, was Leah.
Michael stopped, glanced heavenward, and grinned at the opportunity that had just been handed to him on a silver platter.
He strolled up to her car, unnoticed by her, primarily because she was talking on her cell phone and poking around under the hood. “Stupid-ass car,” she muttered, and bent her head at a funny angle, trying to see something beneath a couple of cables. “Okay, I see the thingie you’re talking about. I think,” she said, and paused, listening to the person on the other end. After a moment, she said, “I hope you are right, because, dude, there is no way I can afford the cab fare home—huh? The what? Hey, wait,” she said, and grabbed something deep in the bowels of the engine and made a strange grunting noise. “I wonder if it’s this thing?”
“Maybe I can help,” Michael said.
She came up so fast at the sound of his voice that she banged her head on the open hood with a thump. “Shit!” she hissed, and emerged from beneath the hood, one hand on the top of her head where she had banged herself, the other still holding the phone. Her eyes narrowed when she saw him. “Oh. Michael,” she said, her voice gone flat, and repeated into the cell phone, “Michael. Just a guy I used to know.”
Ouch. “Looks like you could use some help.”
“No, I’m—huh? No, Brad, it’s too much of an imposition,” she said to the phone, dragging her fingers through her hair. “He’s too busy and too . . .” —she glanced at Michael from the corner of her eye, her gaze flicking the full length of him— “nicelydressed,” she muttered softly.
Michael ignored her and moved so he could see under the hood. He could smell a mix of sweet soap and perfume as he stood beside her, and wished to heaven that his body wouldn’t react so quickly to just a scent. “I can take a look,” he said, and leaned over the engine, bracing his hands against the frame of the car.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to help.”
Leah sighed. “Okay, he’s looking,” she said into her phone.
Michael had no idea who this guy Brad was, but he wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible. Fortunately, he instantly spotted Leah’s problem—a battery cable was loose. A good guy would fix it in about a nanosecond and send her on her way. Too bad for Leah, because he wasn’t a good guy—he damn sure wasn’t going to fix her car and send her off to Brad. So he didn’t say a word, just poked around, inspecting the most obvious parts, and then finally straightened up and sighed deeply.
Leah was standing completely still, like a statue, staring at him and holding the phone to her ear.
“You have a problem,” he lied solemnly.
“He says I have a problem,” Leah quickly repeated, her eyes widening with terror. “Okay,” she said, nodding in response to whatever Brad had said. “Just a second.” She lowered the cell a minute. “What is it?”
He made a grim face and looked down at his hands. “Do you have something I could wipe my hands with?”