Fender Bender Blues (10 page)

Rick slowed to a stop beside Craig’s Corvette and parked. He gazed at Craig, as if waiting for conversation. Craig grunted in answer and got out, shutting the door behind him. The night was cool and damp. Rain was coming.

Rick rolled the window down and said with a smile, “Did you kiss her?”

Craig’s glare and hurried retreat was as good as a verbal confession. He heard Rick chuckle as he slid behind the wheel of the vintage car. He shifted into drive and whipped out into the street, flooring the accelerator and cursing again as the image of Rach flashed through his mind. He had no idea what had come over him in her apartment, but the kiss had been enough to make him forget about everything else.

Chapter Eleven

“So you kissed him?” The excitement in Leah’s voice grated Rach’s nerves. There hadn’t been a conversation since she met Rick in which Leah didn’t mention Craig’s name at least five times. It was crystal clear now—Leah was trying to set her up with the enemy.

Not a freakin’ chance.

“I’m not interested. And he kissed me, not the other way around,” she stressed and yanked her closet door open. She hesitated over a light gray, short sleeved blouse with tiny pearl shaped buttons.

“Sounds like you guys are in love,” Leah sing-songed, causing Rach to shiver and not because of the chill in the morning air coming through her open bedroom window.

“
Right
. I suppose you get that from the way we were practically scratching each others’ eyes out, huh?” Even she could hear the sarcasm dripping from her words but she knew Leah would ignore it. She put the gray shirt back. “I can’t stand the jerk. We both had too much to drink last night, that’s all. Do me a favor—don’t invite him out when I’m there.”

“He’s available,” Leah solicited. “Rick says Craig’s ex made his life hell the few months they dated and he’s been single ever since.”

Rach’s ears perked up. Anyone who gave Craig hell was golden in her book. She wondered what his ex had done—then shook her head.

“What would I give a hoot for?” she mumbled to herself, and Leah asked, “Huh?”

She tried to not ask any questions, she really did, but it slipped before she could bite her tongue. “What’s she like, the ex?”

“Blonde, tall, slim, looks great in a suit. She’s a loan writer for the dealership’s finance department. Must be some big shot. When I met her she couldn’t get her nose far enough out of the air to see my face.”

Rach tugged on a pair of navy blue dungarees and caught her reflection in the mirror on the closet door.
Well, I look great in a suit
. “Where did you meet her?”

“I went to lunch with Rick and Craig yesterday at a restaurant across the street from Craig’s work and she came in. I had to watch her gush all over Craig about how he could have told her he was going to lunch, she could have used the break from work with nice company, blah, blah, blah.”

“That’s all wonderful to hear, but I’m not interested.” But it felt like a lie. She was still curious. She was having trouble buttoning up her white blouse and fumbled with the task, switching the cell to her other ear. Before she could stop herself, she asked, “Wait, how long did they date?”

“About six months. Rick didn’t say exactly what happened but Craig dumped her when she started to get too serious.”

“Charming. So he’s a creep with commitment issues, what a catch.”

“He’s a nice guy,” Leah sighed. “You should try to be kind to him. He’s my boyfriend’s brother and he’s going to sell me a new car in a couple months.”

“Wow, sounds like the beginning of a beautiful relationship.” Rach slipped into her sandals and said, “I can’t believe you thought I’d be interested in a car salesman, those guys are scum. Can’t trust ‘em as far as you can throw ‘em. I’d like to have a few hot words with the guy who sold me that wreck.”

“He’s not really your typical salesman.” Leah paused for a moment before saying, “And quit stereotyping, it’s horrible.”

She shrugged and checked out her reflection in the full length mirror on the closet door. The outfit was dynamite and she was glad she’d snagged it from the clearance rack the week before.

“I’m sure he’s made employee of the month before, and that’s great if you like that sort of thing. I’m not impressed—I think he’s an ass. Most salesmen I’ve met are cocky and he’s no different. Anyway, I promise to try and play nice as long as you keep him away.”

Leah laughed. “That’s not really trying if you’re never around him. But thanks, you’re such a sweetie. Call me later and let me know if you find anything decent out there today.”

“I think I might have. There’s an ad for a call center data processor. Sounds promising. Not my idea of a dream job, but should be a good stand-in for now.”

“Telemarketing? That doesn’t sound like your kind of thing. Especially not with the way you talk to telemarketers who have the misfortune of dialing your number.” Leah chuckled.

“Funny.” Rach grinned, but Leah was right. She trotted down the stairs to the living room where Tally waited at the door. “It’s says I’ll only be taking incoming calls—piece of cake.”

And the advertisement had read “competitive wages,” which was more than the slave labor of eight dollars an hour she’d been offered at Copy Masters.

“I gotta go,” Rach said, reaching for the front door. “Tally’s doing the potty dance.”

Chapter Twelve

Rach signed her name to the bottom of the application then stood, feeling overdressed as another Dexler employee passed by in jeans and a t-shirt. She handed the app to the receptionist, confident she had this job in the bag. She doubted many employees at the call center had a Bachelor’s degree—most appeared to be college students or retirement age.

She beamed a bright smile at the receptionist who responded with a blank stare. Rach’s smile wavered. “I’ve finished filling out my application.”

The brunette slapped the app down on the desk and Rach jumped, startled. She turned back to the computer screen, dismissing Rach as if she were a mere fly on the wall.

Rach counted to five. After all, she knew what it was like to have a bad day. Maybe she’d interrupted her online chat session or something. It was fine, she could wait.

A minute went by and still nothing.

So, being the patient person she was, Rach leaned forward and said, “Hello…” She craned her neck to read the woman’s nametag, “Jackie?”

“Can I help you?” Jackie seethed with glaring brown eyes set under crinkled brows.

Rach dropped the smile. It wasn’t working and her face hurt from trying. She attempted reason instead. “Um, yes, I just handed you my application and I was wondering if you could tell me if there is a supervisor here I could speak with?”

Jackie bared her teeth in what Rach assumed was an attempt at a smile. “I
am
the supervisor.”

“Uh, okay, um, great,” Rach stuttered and adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder. “So do you have time to take a quick look at my app?”

She glanced at the clock. In under thirty minutes she’d managed to offend the receptionist, who claimed she was a supervisor, and seemed to hate Rach’s guts. Nice. They hadn’t even said one word to each other the entire time Rach sat filling out the application. She had no idea what she’d done wrong.

Jackie lost the jackal grin. “Wow, you really have no idea who I am, do you?”

Rach gave her face a thorough search, hoping to shake free a memory. She came up with nothing.

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?” She was hesitant to ask. Any memory they shared couldn’t be a good one judging from the hostile eye-balling. A foreboding knot developed in the pit of her stomach and Rach swallowed hard.

“We did,” Jackie said through tight lips. “Haven’t seen you in ten years. Funny to meet you here, looking for a…phone job.”

Okay, so a call center wasn’t the same as, say, owning a successful business, and it wasn’t performing surgery or feeding the starving children of Africa, but Rach didn’t think an employee should degrade a job to another potential employee. In her opinion, that was bad business. Seeing as she was the one on the other side of the counter, though, Rach adopted the smile again, hoping to impress the angry receptionist with her warm personality and professionalism. It was time to try a little charm. “Yeah, funny meeting you here…”

Jackie sneered and said, “Yeah, real funny.”

And suddenly it dawned on her—
Jackie in the Box, everybody-gets-a-crank.
Not the most original of jokes but the high school football team hadn’t been very clever. Their feud had begun senior year when Leah had picked up the broken pieces of Jackie’s ex-boyfriend. She gave him a shoulder to cry on when he’d found out Jackie had slept with one of his friends—and then half the football team—and the heartbroken boy had swiftly fallen in love with the beautiful, kind, pixie-faced Leah who was the complete opposite of the bitchy, pushy, mean cheerleader Jackie with a chip on her shoulder. She hadn’t taken kindly to her ex-boyfriend moving on to something better and in retaliation she’d chosen to make Leah’s life hell. Rach, being the loyal friend she was, had made it her mission to protect Leah from Jackie’s snotty attacks. Jackie then turned all her high school torture tactics onto Rach for having the nerve to stick up to her.

Senior year hadn’t been a walk in the park. She remembered all the name-calling, the dumped lunch trays, the nasty notes left on her locker for all the students to walk by and snicker at and the pregnancy rumors. The clearest memory was of Jackie and her cheerleader minions chanting “fire-crotch bitch” after a football game. The name stuck and Rach became “Fire Crotch” the rest of senior year. She hadn’t let it get to her…too often. Being a redhead she’d endured lots of tacky name calling. She’d been able to tune most of it out and after graduation she’d gone on her merry way, not giving Jackie another thought.

“Well, you look great,” Rach chirped. A lie and they both knew it. Jackie the Cheerleader had turned into Jackie the Overweight Angry Receptionist. She was still pretty, but not with her face screwed up into a homicidal expression. “Well, you have a great day. I look forward to hearing from you about the job!”

She walked out the double glass door with Jackie’s sneered, “Don’t hold your breath,” following in her wake.

Her dad’s car gleamed under the bright, sunny sky and was easy to spot in the sea of modern vehicles. She supposed with so much time on her hands she could keep her promise and wash her dad’s car. She still needed to pick the Buster’s bag off the floor.

Which made her think of Craig. Did he feel bad for kissing her then acting like a creep about it? Probably not. She didn’t peg him as a guy with a ton of feelings, especially not ones in which he felt remorse for anything he did. She doubted he’d lost any sleep or sold any fewer cars because of it.

And thinking of cars...

The next task on her To-Do list was to find out what was going on with her car. She dialed the body shop from her cell phone and it was answered on the second ring.

“Dick’s Repair, You Crash It We Patch It.”

She rolled her eyes—everything was a damn slogan anymore. “I’m calling to find out if the estimate’s been done on my car.”

“Can I get your name?” the man barked through the phone. She winced and eased it away from her ear.

“Rachel Bennett.” She turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. She longed for a nice, quiet car with a CD player. Life was dull without Prince to keep her company. Her dad had offered to let her borrow his eight track collection, but the idea of cruising the streets listening to Rush was more disturbing than the cool her dad thought it was.

“Oh…” The ominous tone to his voice made Rach pause in her move to grab the sunglasses off the seat beside her. How was it possible for one word to sound like Doomsday?

“What?” she asked, snatching her shades up and slipping them over her eyes. She checked the rearview mirror, looked right and left, checked her side mirrors, and backed out of the parking stall, her dad’s words of warning playing like a broken record in her mind, “
You better not wreck my car!
”

“Well, Pete finished the estimate...”

In his hesitation to elaborate, Rach asked, “And?”

“And there’s a problem.”

Unconsciously she gunned the engine and whipped out into traffic, cutting off a minivan. The driver swore and flipped her off, and Rach gave an apologetic wave out the window.

“So what’s wrong with it?” she asked.

If he didn’t get to the point soon, she would scream. Ever since the fender bender, nothing had gone in her favor. Now the guy at Dick’s Repair who sounded like he’d eaten gravel for breakfast was giving her the runaround.
I’m not taking this crap today!

“When you wrecked your car you cracked your radiator,” he stated.

“I was hit, someone hit
me
,” Rach interrupted, letting the embellishment spill in the heat of the moment.

“—and you broke the alternator bracket—’’

“
I
didn’t break it, the guy who hit me broke it,” she stressed, swinging into the Buster Burger drive-thru. She needed burger therapy. “This day is a
nightmare
.”

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. “And not to mention the entire front clip and the driver’s side fender needs replaced. Also, the motor mounts in the engine compartment were busted.”