Joy Ride

“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.

“Thanks. Appreciate that.”

“It’s turkey with avocado and artichoke. It’s my specialty,” she says, her lips curving into a smile. “I hope you like it. I have lots of specialties.”

Yeah, and I might like to get to know them, but that can’t happen.

“I’ll dig in on the ride back to the city.”

The snap of the hood popping open catches my attention, and I peer outside again. I can’t help myself. No matter the make, no matter the model, when someone pops open the hood of a car, I have to look. I have to drop everything and check out the engine. It’s an affliction all car guys suffer from, but it’s one we never want to cure.

Must. Stare. At. Engine.

Livvy and the builder are obscured behind the hood, which gives me an even better view for ogling. Fifteen seconds later, I cross the driveway and walk up to the car.

“That’s a gorgeous 16-valve V-8 if I ever—”

My blood goes cold. It turns to an arctic chill as a brunette in combat boots, a short jean skirt, and a black T-shirt steps out from behind the open hood.

Her.

Henley’s deep brown eyes go wide as moons, and her red-lipsticked mouth parts. Then, she presses her lips together as if she’s holding in all the insults she wants to fling my way.

Livvy jumps in. “Max Summers, this is Henley Rose. She specializes in hot sports cars.”

“I bet,” I bite out. Why the hell is she here? Did she find out I worked with Livvy and snag the last-minute gig away from me before Livvy even gave me a shot at it?

“Henley, this is Max. He’s done my entire fleet.”

My one-time apprentice, who wasn’t fucking ready to leave on her own, arches an eyebrow. “Is that so? I bet he’s great at doing a whole fleet.”

I seethe inside from her off-hand comment. Look, when she worked for me, I never hit on her. But that doesn’t mean I was a choirboy in general. And that doesn’t mean I did a good job hiding my late-night activities. But I’ve learned over the years how to be discreet. Now no one but me needs to know how very much I enjoy variety in the ladies.

“He is great,” Livvy adds. “He’s simply been fantastic with all my automobiles.”

“He sure does know his way under the engine, doesn’t he?” Henley remarks. “I’m a huge fan of his work,” she adds.

Livvy nods enthusiastically. “This man knows how to make a car sing. How to make her purr. How to make her roar.”

Henley’s jaw drops, as if Livvy has said the most salacious things, and she kind of has. “Purr? Roar? Wow. He must have some serious skills.”

I can’t have Henley twisting shit around again. “I should take off. It was lovely spending time with you, Livvy.”

Livvy gestures from Henley to me. “I hope you don’t mind, but since I have Peter driving you back to the city, I thought he could take you both together.”

My shoulders tense. That is not going to happen. No how. No way.

“You know,” I say, giving my best casual, unperturbed shrug of a no-big-deal shoulder, even though this situation is the definition of a big fucking obstacle I must avoid like a video game character jumping across lava pits, “I really don’t mind taking the train. Let Henley have the car all to herself.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary at all,” Henley says in a far-too-chipper tone. If she’s even one-quarter as annoyed as I am, she’s excellent at hiding it. “I’m more than happy to take the train.”

A soft voice pipes in from behind me. “I can drive you, Max.”

I turn to see Ariel standing a few feet behind us. “My shift ends in thirty minutes, and I live in Queens.”