Page 13 of Saving the Last Heir
“Well… I didn’t think that was a big deal. It was a simple job, and I know how tight things have been for you and Marquel, so I?—”
“No,” I said, standing up and planting my palms on my desk, my arms flexing as I did. “I don’t give a shit how tight things are. If my people do work, then they get paid for it. It’s that simple. Things aren’t that bad, and I don’t need you staying almost six hours past your shift unpaid. I’m not running a sweatshop here. I’m adding the hours to your timesheet. Got it?”
He nodded and flashed me a smile. “Fair enough. I’m heading home. You want me to wait for you?”
I shook my head as I sat back down. “Nah, I’ve got a little more work to do.”
“The linebacker?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.
I snorted a laugh. “Yeah. The linebacker. Go on, get out of here,” I said, waving a hand at him.
“Fine. See you tomorrow.”
A few seconds later, I heard the front door shut as he left. I let out a heavy sigh, my smile fading. Yes, if we did a good job with this star athlete, it might very well help with marketing and name recognition, but that didn’t change the fact that we were still in the red. Dad and I prided ourselves on taking care of our people and helping the neighborhood, but that came at a cost. The whole IRS debacle had only been the start of it. Dad had a thing about doing free work for people in a bad spot: single mothers, elderly folks on limited income, the handicapped—basically anyone who had a hard time paying butneededa running car. That was fine, but parts and labor had to be accounted for. Without a constant influx of the high-paying people who owned luxury sedans, classic cars, and supercars,we were limping along doing the same work Dad had started out with. No amount of brake jobs or dent repairs on minivans would get us back in the black.
The one way we could have shaved costs was letting go of some of our senior people like Carlo. Some of them had been working for us for over a decade, and we’d always made sure they were paid well and got raises each year and Christmas bonuses. Keeping them on was a huge financial burden, but I wasn’t willing to let them go, no matter what. All we could do was do the best job we could and hope things worked out. Since taking over from Dad three years ago, I’d managed to claw our way out from the brink of bankruptcy, but things were still touch and go.
My gaze drifted to the wall, where I’d hung the group photo taken five years ago. All the guys from the shop were huddled around Dad and me—everyone was smiling, Carlo was pouring a bottle of water on Brent’s head, and Reggie had an arm wrapped around Dad’s neck. I was holding the big custom chrome wrench Dad got me as a gift for taking over the shop. That had been the day of Dad’s unofficial retirement. He’d stayed on as an assistant manager for another two years while I got my feet under me, but he’d handed the reins over to me that day. We all looked so happy. The garage had become a pseudo family for us. Not one person in that picture shared any blood with me, but they were as close as any people could be to me. No. There would be no layoffs. I’d do whatever I needed to keep this place going.
Almost on cue, my phone rang, the vibrant chirp startling me out of my thoughts. There was only one person who’d be calling me this late at night.
“Hi, Dad,” I said.
“Girl, when are you coming home? You better not still be working,” he muttered, his voice thick as if he’d barely woken up.
“Go back to bed, Dad,” I said, using my free hand to click and save the stuff I’d been working on before closing the windows on my computer.
“Is Carlo or Reggie or someone there with you at least?” he asked. “I got up to pee, and you weren’t here. I…I got worried.”
My weariness faded in an instant, replaced by sadness and a little bit of shame for making him worry. Of all the people in the world I didn’t want to disappoint or upset, it was my father, Marquel Tuyuc. He’d done so much for me and hadneverhad any reason to.
Unconsciously, my gaze shot over to another picture on the wall. Marquel at twenty-five, with his arm around a scared and pregnant sixteen-year-old girl—my mother. The older man had taken her in after her parents had kicked her out and disowned her. From some of the rumors I’d heard, it had been a bit of a scandal. Everyone had believed him to be some sort of creep who was taking advantage of an underage girl with nowhere to go. I’d read my mother’s diary, though. Marquel hadneverdone anything inappropriate. Instead, he’d acted as a surrogate father to her throughout her pregnancy, paying for doctor’s visits, prenatal vitamins, and stocking up on diapers for her. There hadn’t been a single moment when she’d thought he wanted anything more than to help her through the toughest time of her life.
When she died from complications after my birth, he’d stepped in and adopted me. He’d taken on a responsibility he didn’t have to and given his heart to a child who didn’t belong to him. He was the best man I’d ever known, and the only father I’d everhad, though I couldn’t imagine anyone doing a better job than he had done.
“Carlo just left,” I said.
“But you’re still there?”
“I am.” I sighed. “I had a few things to finish up.”
“I think that could have waited until tomorrow morning,” Dad said.
“It could, but I need to get that quote to Damian Walker as soon as possible. We need his business. It’ll be huge for us.”
“Ah,” Dad grunted. “The linebacker. The newwhalecustomer I’ve heard so much about. You know he’s dog shit, right? Terrible player.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re just saying that because you’re a fan of his rival team.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s not true. Now I have more reason to hate him, since he made my daughter stay up until all hours of the night when she should be home in her bed.”
“You know how big this will be. Since Mr. Torrence moved away, most of our high-end jobs have dried up. I hate to say it, but we won’t survive on nothing but filling washer fluid and replacing headlights.”
Mr. Torrence was a multi-millionaire car collector, who’d found Dad at random years ago and made him his go-to repair guy. Lots of his buddies followed suit, and the garage had entered a time of prosperity none of us had ever known before, but five years later, Mr. Torrence retired and moved to Europe, leavinghis business to his son. With his departure, our funnel of rich-guy cars had dried up.
“I wish Nico had talked his buddies into continuing to use us.” Dad sighed. “Mr. Torrence was a great man, but his friends left us high and dry once he was gone.”
“That’s what I’m saying. Let me get this quote sent out, and I’ll be home. Okay?”
