“Knock, knock,” Summer calls out as she walks into my garage. I moved in here a little over a year ago. Made sense with all my tools. Plus, my apartment is above it, which makes commuting to the office that much easier.
I step back and put my stuff down before I lower the music. I might have had a moment once or twice when I required medical treatment because I didn’t power everything down or put it back in its place, even for a second before taking a break. My stuff isn’t paint. If you touch it, it doesn’t just ruin clothes. It can cause serious injury from the sharp points or even burn off body parts. Thankfully, nothing too bad has been burned. Just a few fingerprints. And really, it’s more of a blessing if I think long term and decide a life of crime is more to my liking.
I lift the visor of my welding mask and give my girl a nod to let her know it’s safe to come in farther than just the open bay doors. Again, another lesson learned after the fact.
“You know it’s winter, right?” she says as she makes her way over to me.
I grab my thermos and take a healthy dose of my still-hot hot chocolate. So yummy. Best gift Summer ever gave me. It’s not just a pretty thermos with a skull and crossbones flipping people off in pink and purple—it’s also self-heating if I remember to charge it the night before. Which I did, for the first time in a week. Whatever. It’s a good day, and I refuse to be in a bad mood. I fully believe in manifesting. If you believe something, it will happen. If I believe today will be good, it will be. If I think the opposite… well, shit, that’s just not something I’m going to do.
“You know I work with fire and have to be close to it all day, right?”
If she wanted to come over and bitch about the weather, she could have done it after I close up shop. I keep the bay doors open when it’s not snowing or raining. I need air to circulate in here. This place gets to feeling like I’m the oneon fire and not setting things on fire. It’s been a few weeks since we’ve had a decent amount of sunshine and the temps got to just above freezing. One degree makes all the difference in my book. So yeah, I have the bay doors open. All three of them. This place was a literal garage before I turned it into my workshop. I enjoy having the room, and it was already equipped with the insulation and noise suppression if I wanted to run a cleaning machine in one area and take a call or speak to a customer in the office. And while I might not advertise my shit on social media much, only using one ad that’s been a breadwinner since the start, I do get steady interest from people who drive by if my doors are open.
“Well, time to close up shop, so get to shutting the doors,” she snaps at me a second before she plants her ass on one of my tables.
“Oh, when did you become my boss?” Me putting away my stuff right now has everything to do with my plans today and nothing to do with her telling me to.
“When you stopped answering your phone. And Mack needs an answer ASAP.”
“If Mack needs something, he knows where I am. And the phone hasn’t rung the entire day, so you can stop pretending I’m ignoring anyone.”
“That’s only because you blocked him at Christmas. He’s been calling you every day since then apparently. Now he’s calling me.”
I stop what I’m doing and give her a look. One that says she’s crazy, and she returns it with one of her own that basically says“try me.”
With a sigh, I grab my phone and look up Mack’s number. Sure enough, I blocked him. Don’t know when I did. Not thefirst time I’ve done it. Mack is the guy you don’t want to work with but have to. He’s not the caring type and usually tells you to work harder, even if you’re busting your ass. He has zero social skills. But our relationship works only if I answer when he calls and he only calls when he needs something. Usually, he does so with an attitude. Hence being blocked multiple times.
“Oops.” I unblock the number but don’t call him. Summer’s here. She can relay the message.
I look at her expectantly, and she shakes her head at my childish antics. “He wants you to work New Year’s Eve.”
I huff at that. “Original.”
“Right?” She leans back on her palms and swings her legs. Who’s the childish one now? “Guess the whole ‘after the holidays’ thing didn’t mean all of them.”
“What’s the take?” I don’t know why I ask. It never changes.
“Standard 45 percent after fees. You get an extra 3 percent if you show up in a dress and heels.”
“Seriously?” This has me looking over at her with an eyebrow raised.
She shrugs. “It’s a request. Don’t have to if you don’t want to. But we all know you will.” She snickers, and I throw my hands up in defeat. She knows me too well. I’m not poor, but I never give up a chance at free money. I’ll even show up in a clown suit if it means an extra 3 percent.
“Ugh, fine. What time and where?” I coil the cords and sweep off my workspace.
Summer gives me time to clean and then clears her throat. “Yeah, so that’s the part that’s different. Eight o’clock, and….”
I don’t even think to ask why she’s dragging it out as I go over my space once more with my cleaner and a rag. “And what? Spit it out, Summer.”
“They want to pick you up.”
I’d been leaning over the table for my last swipe but stand tall at her reply. I take a second to see if I misheard her before looking over my shoulder at her. “At my house?”
She nods.
“No.” I turn back to my stuff and finish putting the tools away, then move to the lockers where I keep my work coveralls.
“I told them that. Mack says the client is willing to offer you an extra 15 percent.”
