REBEL, a New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) (12 page)

My hair goes up into a ponytail in an effort to hide its oily condition, and I choose the cleanest clothes I can find in my suitcases.
 
I sigh in disgust as I realize that it’s possible by the time I get this shower in shape, I’ll have to use that engine degreaser on my head
and
my clothes too.

Pulling into the parking lot of Rebel Wheels, I do deep breathing exercises to prepare myself for kicking ass and taking names.
 
I feel like I have to prove my worth every single day for at least a month or I risk losing my cushy position as a … what the hell… I don’t even know what my job is here.
 
Secretary?
 
Assistant?
 
Administrator?
 
Janitor?
 
Paperwork Assassin?
 
Queen Of All She Can File?

Maybe I can just call myself whatever I want.
 
Secretary sucks, I’m not going to use that one.
 
I’m kinda liking the royalty angle.
 
Maybe he’ll let me be the queen bee.
 
I’m smiling when I open the front door, thinking of all my worker bees buzzing around me.

“Where’s the Jack invoice?” asks Rebel, not even bothering to turn around and look at me.
 
He’s got the filing cabinet open and his fingers are poised over the folders.
 
His greasy, dirty, mechanic fingers.

I walk over swiftly and slap his hand away.
 
“Off!
 
Don’t touch with those grody hands of yours.
 
I’ll get it for you.”

“Grody?”
 
He looks at his fingers and then me, either confused or offended.
 
I really don’t care which he is, so long as he doesn’t mess up all that hard work I did for him.

I ignore what’s turning into an annoyed look on his part as I slide my hands across the tops of the folders.
 
“Anatole, Anderson, Beardall, Bird, Bannister, Beatty …”
 
I pause and look at him.
 
“Is that Warren Beatty?”

“Jack,” he says, his eyes flashing.
 
“I’m looking for Jack.”

I go back to my alphabetical search.
 
“Jack.
 
Here it is!” I pull it out and he reaches for it, but I jerk it back.
 
“What do you want out of the file?”

“Just give it to me.”

“No.
 
These are my files now.
 
What do you want out of it?”

He grinds his teeth together, but says only, “Latest invoice,” before walking to the door leading into the warehouse.

“What do you want me to do with it?” I yell out behind him.

“Call him.
 
Tell him his car is ready and to bring a check for the balance.”

I smile. “Will do!”
 
I’m so excited.
 
This will be my first time speaking to an actual customer.
 
I take the file over to the desk and sit down, my hand poised over the telephone.
 
Opening the folder, I search for the invoice and customer information.

I find the paper that Rebel wanted, but not the guy’s phone number.
 
Shuffling through all the other stuff, I realize there’s nothing in this damn thing but the customer’s last name and some prices and receipts.
 
Even the area that’s supposed to describe the work done is mostly blank.
 
I think I can read something that looks like
HEADGAS
but that’s it.

“
How in the hell am I supposed to call the guy if you don’t put his phone number in here?”
 
No one’s there to answer my question, but I have a feeling if I’m going to stay sane in this place I’m going to have to learn to enjoy having conversations with myself.

Walking out to the warehouse with the invoice in hand, I wave at Mick and make a beeline for Rebel.
 
“I’d love to call this guy, but I kind of need to know his phone number.”

“That’s why I asked you to give me the paper,” Rebel says, his face buried inside the open hood of a car.

I draw up even with him and realize he’s taken the top half of his jumpsuit off again.
 
He stands, and I get an eyeful of chest muscles and tattoos.
 
Good lord in heaven, have mercy on my libido.

“Do you
ever
wear a shirt?” I ask before I can stop myself.
 
I blow my bangs out of my face in an effort to cool off.
 
Seeing him half naked makes me seriously sweaty.
 
He can probably see my pulse banging away in my throat.
 
God, I hate when my body betrays me like this.

“His number’s in my phone.”
 
He jerks his head towards the table behind him before going back to the engine.

I guess I’m not going to get an answer to my shirt question.
 
I’m glad; that conversation could have been seriously awko taco.

I walk over and start searching for Rebel’s cell, but I can’t find it.
 
There are about a thousand tools and dirty car parts spread out everywhere, but the phone isn’t among them. “It’s like playing Where’s Waldo, for chrissake,” I mumble.

And then I can sense him behind me.
 
I hold my breath for some reason, which is totally stupid, but it’s automatic.
 
I am not in charge of my body today.

He reaches around me and points to the small shelf above the table without saying a word. His breath blows over my neck giving me goosebumps. It easily makes my agitation even worse.
 
I seriously consider panting to get my breath back.

“Oh. Ha, ha,” I say nervously, my hands fluttering the paper around.
 
“There it is.
 
Right in front of my face.
 
How not observant of me.”
 
I really wish he’d go back to his car and not be so close.
 
I can feel the heat of his body coming through my shirt, or at least that’s what I’m telling myself when I step to the side and turn around.

But he’s nowhere near me anymore.
 
His back is to me again and he’s involved in the car repairs once more.
 
I cannot understand for the life of me why I’m suddenly disappointed. I obviously need some therapy or some good drugs.
 
Maybe a lobotomy wouldn’t be a bad idea.

“What’s his number under?” I ask, looking down at the phone.

“Jack.”

“Do I detect a note of sarcasm in your voice?” I ask as I scroll through the names. “Because you know, people do have first names sometimes.”
 
And then I get to the name.
 
“Oh.
 
Jack O’Leary.
 
That
is
his first name.“
 
I sigh in frustration at myself.
 
“I’m going to go practice my filing now.
 
Maybe eat some chalk too while I’m at it.”
 
I take his phone with me to the office and sit down at the desk, resting my face in my hands.

“You okay?” asks Mick from the doorway.

I speak through my fingers. “I’ve been here for five minutes and I’ve already proven what a complete dipshit I am
twice
.”

Mick laughs.
 
“Actually, I think it’s pretty entertaining.”

“Too bad Rebel doesn’t agree with you.” Dropping my hands to the desk, I sit up straighter, trying to collect my cool.

“You never know with him.
 
He plays his cards pretty close to his chest.”

I want to groan.
 
His chest.
 
His muscley, tattooed, hard-as-a rock chest.
 
Someone help me, I’m falling in lust with my boss who’s like a hundred years older than me.
 
But I don’t groan over it.
 
That would have been the smart thing to do.
 
Instead, I ask a really stupid, really weird question.

“Does Rebel have a girlfriend?” My face turns beet red instantaneously. Before the word girlfriend even leaves my lips, I’m hot pink and on fire and wishing for an earthquake to take this place down to rubble and save me from my self-imposed shame.

“Why, you stepping up to the plate?” Mick asks, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Evasive maneuver, engage!
 
Play it off!
 
Be cool!
 
“Ew, gross,
no
, shut up.
 
He’s
way
too old for me.
 
And he’s not my tyyyy … puhhh.”
 
The air leaves my lungs as Rebel appears right behind Mick.
 
He stares at me in silence for what feels like forever.

You know in movies how they freeze-frame a scene and then move the next part forward in slow motion?
 
Yeah, well, that’s my life right now.
 
Time is almost standing still but not quite.
 
The shame is sinking in nice and deep as the nausea takes hold.
 
I can tell by the look on Rebel’s face that he heard me. Today is the day for making impressions, apparently.
 
Really shitty, embarrassing ones.

Mick looks over his shoulder, smiling like a devious little shit.
 
“Who, Rebel? Nah, he’s not too old.
 
He’s what? Twenty-seven?
 
Thirty?”

“I’m twenty-six, and you’re supposed to be working.
 
Quit flirting and get back on that carburetor.
 
The ‘stang needs to be out of here tomorrow no later than five.”

Mick salutes.
 
“Yes, sir, gunney, sir.” He walks around Rebel and punches him in the arm on the way by.
 
Rebel doesn’t punch him back, he just brushes Mick off like he’s a tiny fly buzzing around.
 
It’s then that I notice the easy way they have with each other.
 
I don’t know why I never saw it before.

“You’re brothers, aren’t you?” I ask.

Maybe his answer will not only satisfy my curiosity but also re-direct his attention away from the fact that I said
ew
and
gross
in relation to being with him.
 
I really didn’t mean it, especially now that I know he isn’t that old.
 
If I’m being honest,
ew
would be the last word I’d use to describe anything about him, but I would never ever in a million years consider doing that … being with him.
 
Seeing him naked and all muscled and stuff would be …
Gah! Stop thinking about it!
 
He’s my boss, and besides … he’s obviously not interested, and I’m not a beggar who runs after uninterested guys. I’d rather stay single and grow up to be a deranged cat lady than act desperate for a man.

“Did you call Jack yet?”

“I was about to.”
 
My face is red all over again.
 
Total fail.
 
I had one job to do today and I blew it already
.

“Tell him I gave him a tune-up on the house.”

The words are out of my mouth before he has time to turn around.
 
“Why?
 
Why are you doing work for free?”

“Because.”

I can tell from his tone he doesn’t want to talk to me about it, but I push anyway.
 
“Aren’t you worried about your profit margin?”

“No.”

“You should be.”
 
I learned that in Accounting 101.
 
What the hell is wrong with him that he doesn’t see that?
 
How can he possibly have a functioning business without even knowing what little I know?

He stares at me for a while and then finally speaks.
 
“Goodwill eventually brings bigger profits than charging for every single thing you do.”

I’m so surprised that he’s actually talking to me, and that what he said kind of makes sense in a confusing sort of way, that I don’t think of responding until he’s gone again.

“I’ll call him right now!”
 
I yell, eager to please him and make him see how bad I want to work here.
 
“Jack!
 
And I’ll tell him!
 
What you said!”

I breathe out a heavy sigh as the echo from my voice dies against the office walls.
 
“Of course he doesn’t answer me,” I say out into the empty office. “He’s already used up all his words for the day.”

“And also tell him he can come anytime after ten,” says a deep voice from the doorway.
 
“I just have to do a couple more things before he shows up.”

When I’m sure Rebel is finally, really gone, I lay my forehead on the desk and just breathe, trying to get my face back to its normal color.
 
If I make it through a full week of work here, it’s going to be some kind of miracle.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I NEVER KNEW THAT FILING paper and making a few simple phone calls could be so exhausting.
 
By five I’m dead on my feet and ready to sleep for a week.

“Time to party,” says Mick, coming into the office. “You up for some beers?”

“Hell to the no,” I say, putting my backpack strap over my shoulder.
 
“Aren’t you tired?”

“Nope.
 
I’m just getting started.”

I look out towards the car bay. “What about Rebel?
 
Does he ever go home?”

“You kidding?
 
This
is
his home.”

“Seriously?
 
Like, he sleeps here?”

Mick points to the ceiling.
 
“Above here he does.”

I look above my head.
 
“In the attic?”

“Nah. There are two apartments up there.
 
Small, but they have showers and stuff.
 
He lives in one of them.”