Page 22 of Until Ireland

When I got out of the car, Sia’s powerful, shaky vibrato echoed through the garage. Hunter must’ve left early, and Landon now had control of the music. His taste was as eclectic as mine.

Jackson, as if reading my mind, muttered, “Hunter has a hot date tonight.”

I cocked a brow. “Someone we know?”

It was a joke, since none of us really knew anyone in the town unless they were our customers.

“Nope,” he said popping his p. “Some chick he ran into at the deli department at the grocery store the other day.”

“How cliché.” Although, I guess not any less commonplace than meeting a customer for dinner at his restaurant.

Jackson chuckled. “Right? Said the same thing when Land told me.” He pulled the heavy stock blue folder/envelope from my desk.

Hunter had made sure to have their work orders printed on them. It allowed them to place all the correspondence in a secure place during and after the work was done. The customer was also required to sign off on it after reading and understanding any warranty they may or may not provide.

Jackson chucked the folder at me, and I caught it. I glanced at the clock. Even though I wanted to go home, get some dinner, and chill out on the couch for the night, now that I’d driven the Aston, I needed to begin work on it. Which meant I’d have to get everything written up and the part order in. Hopefully, I’d have all the items to begin work in the next couple of days. Some things I’d be able to do without delay.

Like check out the transmission up close.

It bugged me that the auction house told Mack the transmission was slipping when it was an easy and less expensive fix of just adjusting the clutch. Anyone who drove the Aston would’ve realized this was the issue, which confused me more. Nevertheless, until I got a personal look at the transmission, I wouldn’t know the full extent of why the clutch was out of adjustment, or worse, never had been.

“You going home?”

Jackson scratched his chin. “Was thinking about it. Landon is still here.” My overprotective brothers refused to allow me at the garage alone once night began to fall. I loved them for it, but I could take care of myself. “How long you going to be?”

“At least an hour…hour and a half.”

He nodded. “Want me to get us a couple of pizzas and wings for dinner tonight?”

I contemplated the spicy heavy meal and if my stomach would accept it. “Yeah, that’ll work. We can watch End Game again. Also, can you make sure to order an everything special for me and can we go mild on the wings tonight instead of inferno?” I paused at his chuckle. “Can you get me some soda too? We’re out, and I’m not having anything remotely resembling alcohol tonight or the next month.”

“Got it.” Jackson jingled his keys as he walked toward the door between the garage and the reception/office area. “I’ll let Land know about our dinner plans.”

I waved him off, already busy making notes of the parts we’d need on my scratchpad. Once that was done, I headed toward the office and the lone computer sitting in the middle of the desk we all used. This was the tedious part of the job I hated. I’d been harassing Hunter for the last three months to hire someone, perhaps a kid from the local high school to fill out the forms and attach the amounts. He was dragging his feet. If he didn’t get it together, I was going to take on hiring someone myself and get it done.

I tallied the amount of the parts, scribbling it on the folder, and keyed everything into the system. Figuring out labor was the bitch. I didn’t want to undercut the number of hours, because doing so meant we didn’t get paid for our work. The other side of the coin was if I inflated the hours, we ran the risk of having Mack, or any other customer, walk away and we’d lose the work.

I played around with the figures for a good half hour before adding a little cushion. The Aston was an older car, and unexpected shit always happened. I made sure to note on the file that the billable hours could increase, depending on what happened once the work started.

Unable to delay the inevitable anymore, I dialed the number Mack had left. After the third ring, I prepared myself to leave a message. I wouldn’t say I was bummed I couldn’t talk to him or anything, but hearing his voice would’ve been the cherry on the top of this mini sundae of an afternoon.

When I heard the abrupt, “Yeah,” on the other end, it threw me. The tone didn’t sound at all like Mack’s. I pulled the phone away, confused by the timbre and anger radiating from the person.

“Mack?” I asked.

“No.” Again, it was hasty, bordering on perturbed, setting me on edge. “Hold on.”

I could hear some conversation in the background. I swore Mack asked who it was, and the angry guy replied, “Some chick. Didn’t ask her name.”

“Hello?” Mack’s husky voice had me unexpectedly shifting in the hard office chair Hunter refused to get rid of. His voice was a suave contrast to the abrupt person who’d answered. My stomach did that funny little flip of excitement again.

“Ireland, is that you?”

I blinked, attempting to pull myself out of the dazed and confused stupor of hearing him. I cleared my throat, trying to steady myself so I didn’t sound like some love sick puppy. “Hey, Mack, it’s me.”

“Hey, cupcake,” he cooed, and I had to bite back a moan of pleasure as I shivered in need. I hadn’t realized how much I would enjoy his little pet names until now. Crazy how that worked, particularly because I’d only known him for a few days. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been checking out the Aston, and I wanted to go over everything with you before I placed the order, and we started the repairs. Is now a good time?”

---