“I’ll teach you how to do what I’m currently doing.”
He looks at me. Serious. And surprised.
“What about Harper?”
“She’ll keep her job. You’ll work with her and do my work. I’ll show you how. This way, I can focus on other projects.”
“And you stay out of my life?” he asks incredulously.
This is the hardest promise to make and also the least likely to keep.
“Yes. I’ll stay out of your life. You can fuck anyone you like, hopefully not for money,” I say.
He cocks his head to the side.
“Let me rephrase it. I’ll stay out of your life, and you stay out of mine. What about that?” I toss at him.
He nods, his eyes gleaming with a mysterious smile.
“One rule, though. We don’t bring people here,” I say.
“Okay,” he says, his quick answer taking me by surprise.
“It’s two grand a week, board and food included, incidentals covered.”
His eyebrows arch slowly. That’s a lot of money for a job, and it’s the same amount I’d pay anyone else to do it, yet he doesn’t seem impressed, or perhaps, I can’t read him.
“It’s less than you make with fucking someone... I’m sorry. But it’s a job. That’s what you wanted.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he says.
“Good. Here...”
I pass by him, snatch a key from the counter and push through the door, entering the garage. He follows me.
Several cars fill the space. A couple of SUVs and a few classic cars. I walk across the room and stop next to a vintage Camaro similar to mine.
He swivels his head, taking in the cars.
“Do you know how to fix them?” I ask.
He nods.
I hand him the key.
“This is yours if you fix it. For any parts, I’ll cover the cost. It needs extensive work. I kept postponing taking it to a mechanic, leaning toward selling it as is. So if you can make it yours, I’d be more than happy to sell it to you for a nominal fee.”
His eyes rove over the Camaro.
“You’re quite the collector...” he says.
It’s hard to miss the glaring undertone.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Do we have a deal?”