“You’re going to find another job, that’s what.”
Jenna’s no nonsense answer made a chink in Bellamy’s spiraling dread, and she blinked up at her friend. “What?”
“Bellamy, listen to me. I know this is scary, but it’s not the end of the world, I promise.” Jenna knelt down to look Bellamy in the eye. “We’ll head home tonight, and you can think it through. If you feel like you made a mistake, you can go from there, maybe file a complaint with HR. Your boss was both unreasonable and unprofessional as hell. Yeah, you quit, but it’s not as if her ridiculous behavior didn’t warrant some kind of drastic reaction. Plus, your track record speaks for itself, and it’ll go a long way toward giving you options if you do decide to leave the company.”
“Is one of my options to throw up?” Bellamy asked, her voice wavering.
“I guess if you need to. Just watch my slippers, would you?”
She loved Jenna more than words right now.
Tears burned in Bellamy’s eyes, and she swallowed hard as she did her best to blink them away. Jenna was right. This wasn’t the end of the world. It couldn’t be.
Unless Bosszilla was already on the phone with HR in a pre-emptive strike, and on second thought, Bellamy might throw up after all.
The unmistakable sound of Bellamy’s phone ringing from where it lay half-buried on the duvet made her heartbeat skyrocket. She dropped her face to her hands, unable to think clearly yet.
“I can’t talk to her right now, honestly. Please, just turn the damn thing off.”
Holly sprang into action, plucking the phone from the bed. “I’ve got you covered,” she said, scooping up the phone to take it away.
“Bellamy, I mean it.” Jenna sat down next to the spot where Bellamy slumped against the bed frame with her elbows propped on her knees. “You’re smart and experienced and tough. This is going to be okay.”
She gave up a tiny nod that felt more like the tremble of her chin than anything else. “I know, it’s just…” Her words stopped short as she caught sight of Holly’s expression, both puzzled and reticent. “What?” Bosszilla couldn’t have cleaned out Bellamy’s desk that quickly, could she?
“No. Uh, that wasn’t your boss.” Holly exchanged a glance with Jenna—probably one she hadn’t meant for Bellamy to see, but she had, and oh, no.
“Okay. Who was it?”
“It was Grady’s Garage. And whoever called left a message.”
13
“Hi, you’ve reached the voice mailbox of Bellamy Blake. I’m not available right now…”
Jesus. Even pre-recorded, she sounded hot as hell.
Shane shifted uncomfortably in the archaic desk chair in the office, watching the steady snowfall on the other side of the frost-edged windowpanes. As Bellamy’s voicemail let out a soft beep, he straightened in his seat as if she could see him.
“Hey, Bellamy, it’s Shane, from the garage. I’m, ah, afraid I have some bad news about your transmission.” His eyes flicked over the information he’d gotten from the distributor’s website, and he frowned. “I know I promised your car would be done by Friday, but I’ve run into a bit of a problem, so if you could give me a call when you get this, I can get you up to speed. I’ll be at the garage.”
Shane left the number, then pressed the button on the landline to end the call. He knew she was already pretty irritated about how long the repairs would take, and this wasn’t going to do anything to make him more endearing. Not that he had any say in the matter.
Shane had already given fast-talking the manager at the distributing warehouse his best shot, trying to nice-guy him into putting a rush on the order. But Bellamy’s new transmission was stuck in the same snowstorm that was currently doing it’s damndest to sideline a good chunk of the East Coast. Far be it for Shane to mess with Mother Nature. That tranny would just have to wait, and irritated or not, Bellamy would have to wait right along with it.
Making sure the ringer on the landline was turned up high, Shane flipped the radio on. Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 drifted from the speakers, loosening the morning’s grip on his muscles. He looked at the Mustang, its lines stark in the overcast shadows thrown through the windows, and something tightened in his chest. Running his palm down the driver’s side quarter panel, he walked alongside the car with reverence, taking his time to look at it from every angle.
He knew the money he’d get from working on Bellamy’s car was a temporary fix, a delay of the inevitable. The Mustang would have to go, and even then, it wouldn’t be nearly enough. When he’d come to Pine Mountain, there were no grand illusions, no intentions of anything permanent. No plans for it to become what Shane had known, deep down, he’d been made for from the beginning.
Funny thing about life. Sometimes it did its own thing and you were just at its mercy, hoping you came out okay once the dust cleared. Of course, there was one way Shane could make the whole thing disappear, erase the problem as if it had never existed and right the debt he’d struggled to repay.
No. The option was a non-option. He’d sell the car. Hell, he’d sell everything he owned including the shirt off his back before he sold the one thing that meant the most to him.
After all, his soul was the only thing Shane had that he couldn’t buy back.
He popped the hood and started tinkering with the car, just grateful to have it under his hands. It was harder than usual to slip into a calming groove, but after a while, his mind let go and he gave in to the feel of the sleek steel and intricate details, as if he could memorize them by touch.
A dual slice of halogen high beams cut through the front windows of the garage, snapping his head up in surprise. He squinted through the glass, trying to make out the vehicle in the lot through the thickly swirling snow.
“Jackson. Gotta be,” Shane muttered, pushing off from the car.
Jackson had called about an hour ago to say he’d left his wallet behind when he’d tossed it on the workbench to help Shane spread salt. He was probably coming by in the plow to grab it. The snow was really coming down now, so whoever it was had to be driving one hell of a truck, or better yet, a tank. The mountain roads were merciless in bad weather, even for the locals. Without four wheel drive, you didn’t have much beyond a prayer.
The side door banged open on a gust of wind, and Shane’s brows nearly lifted off the top of his head at the sight before him. Bellamy Blake stood as tall as her five-foot-six frame would let her, with her hands on her hips and her slush-coated boots planted firmly over the concrete floor. Big, fluffy snowflakes lay scattered throughout her blonde curls, and her face was flushed with what looked like a mix of anger and cold.
“What do you mean you’ve run into a problem?” she demanded, pressing her lips into a thin line.
Shane opened his mouth, but his vocal cords were non-compliant. Had she seriously driven here in the middle of a snowstorm to pick a fight with him over her car?
And was he seriously turned on beyond measure at the sight of her?
“The parts are stuck in Ohio,” Shane managed, and she narrowed her eyes.
“But you said they’d be shipped today,” she said, her voice shaking slightly.