Page 6 of Saving the Last Heir
“Dom,” I cut him off. “I’ve made my decision.”
He didn’t cry, which was good because I would’ve felt like shit. His face simply went limp and emotionless as he slumped back into his chair. He was devastated, I could tell. The program he’d been admitted to was a special scholarship that allowed him to earn credits toward trade school by working at a certified business during his last two years of high school. It would make everythingmuchcheaper when he graduated and moved on to an actual trade school since he’d already have accrued credits. It wasn’t an easy thing for him, either, since he was working here, going to school, and helped to take care of his younger brother.
“As of today,” I said, speaking slowly, “you are no longer an employee at Tuyuc Auto Services.”
Dominic sighed, but straightened and pulled his shoulders back. “I understand. You can’t keep a job when you’re always late. You’re making the right decision, Ms. Witmer.”
“I’m not done yet,” I said. “You signed a contract for a twelve-month apprenticeship, and I honor all contracts I sign. My father was the same way, and that’s who I learned from. I willnotbe notifying the school that your apprenticeship has ended.” Dominic’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as I continued on. “Your contract stipulated the pay scale as well, and that too will continue to be honored through your weekly paychecks, though at seventy-five percent rather than one hundred, unfortunately. In your employee files, I will also be placing a note that you are eligible for rehire this summer when your schedule opens back up.” I grinned at him. “I hope to see you next summer, Dom.”
His jaw fell open. Dominic was working his ass off, and he deserved to have weekends to study and be a kid. Even with how tight things were, if I could afford this small kindness, I’d call it a good investment in the future.
“You…you’re gonna pay menotto work?” Dominic said dumbly.
“Seventy-five percent pay. It’s the best I can do with our finances being what they are. Sorry about that but?—”
“No!” he exclaimed, holding his hands up. “That’s fine. That’s, like, more than fine.” He let out a deep sigh that sounded like it came from a weary man three times his age. “Ms. Witmer, you didn’t have to do this. I promise I’ll be back to work with you guys next summer. For real.”
“You’ve always been a man of your word, which means I look forward to seeing you then. But”—I gave him a warning look—“I better not hear anything about you sleeping through classes. Got it? If you want this deal to stay in place, I want to see you on the honor roll. You can text me when you get your grades each semester. Me and the guys will post them out in the garage like proud parents.”
Dominic burst out laughing, the tension in his posture vanishing. I smiled at him, my heart aching pleasantly with that warm fuzzy feeling you got when you did someone a kindness.
“I will,” he said when he recovered. “I promise.”
“Good boy,” I said as I stood. “Now get the hell out of here. Go home and take a nap or study or something.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dom said, then shocked the hell out of me by rushing around the desk to wrap me in a hug. “You’re the best boss ever.”
The kid was scrawny, and I was—by my own and everyone else’s description—quite muscular for a woman. For a moment, I felt like a mother hugging a child, even though I was barely twelve years older than Dominic. I patted his back awkwardly.
“Go on,” I said. “Get out of here before one of the guys sees us hugging and makes a joke.”
When Dominic pulled away, there were tears in his eyes, but a huge smile on his face. “Thank you, Shyanne—Ms. Witmer,” he said.
My own eyes stung a bit when I heard the pure, unadulterated emotion in his voice. I waved at the door.
“Get going, before I start blubbering. Go. Shoo.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” He chuckled as he moved to the door.
“Dom? My dad and I are having a big neighborhood cookout this evening. You want to come over? We’d love to have you.”
He grinned. “That sounds awesome. Can I bring my little brother? Mom works the late shift tonight.”
“The more the merrier.”
“Sweet. We’ll be there. Thanks again.”
After he left, I stared out the window, watching him run out to his car. I smiled at how happy he looked. Heaving a sigh of relief, I gave myself a mental pat on the back.
“Job well done,” I said.
The sounds of work out in the garage drifted in even through the insulation of my office. Something about thewhizz-whizzsounds of pneumatic impact wrenches, the hum of car liftsgoing up and down, and the never-ending roar of voices calling back and forth was comforting. That, along with the strangely nostalgic scents of rubber, motor oil, and the faint hint of gasoline, transported me back to childhood. I could remember toddling around in this very office while my dad—or the only dad I’d ever known anyway—did business. All I wanted was to restore this garage to what it had been before he had to retire early.
Tamping down my melancholia, I went out to the garage to join the guys in work to get my mind off of my dad. At five-seven, I wasn’t the tallest in the garage by any means, but I held my own. Again, my strength helped me here as I carried tires and heavy alternators back and forth, the muscles in my arms flexed and bunched, burning with exertion. By the end of the day, I was pleasantly sore and starving.
“All right,” I said as the guys put away the tools and began locking up for the night. “Who’s coming to my place for dinner?”
“Does that mean we’re invited?” Carlo asked as he shut the toolboxes.
