An Unexpected Beginning
Cora Rose
Chapter one
Avery
There is no way Dean is going to miss the purple bruise on my cheek. It stands out like a beacon. There is no way those keen eyes will miss it. I even tried to cover it up with makeup, but to no avail. Somehow, it just made it more noticeable.
I sweep my long, dark-blond hair over my face as I move into the spacious garage, hoping that my boss doesn’t look too hard.
Oh god, don’t let him look at me.
“What the fuck is that?” Dean says almost immediately, and I sigh. Well, that took all of two seconds. So much for my hour spent in the car, trying like hell to cover it up. What a waste of time. I could have slept in. Not that I can really do that—being homeless now and all.
Slowly, I turn toward him, adjusting the straps on my overalls and meeting his dark brown eyes.
“Just a…tiny mishap,” I say calmly.
Dean stalks toward me, his worn jeans hugging his delicious thighs, the muscles in his tattooed arms bunching and flexing beneath his t-shirt as he comes to a stop in front of me.
His index finger reaches out and touches my chin, tilting my face up, and that one simple contact lights my entire body on fire.
Oh, hell. This is becoming a problem.
“You have a bruise on your cheek,” he says, those dark eyes meeting my light grey ones in a clash of color.
“Yes, well…mishap. Like I said.”
His gaze narrows and his lips pinch into a thin line. “Office, Avery.Now.”
And then his hand drops and he’s stalking off in the other direction, his tight ass looking delectable in those jeans.
Pulling my gaze away, I glance over and see Dean’s son, Ben, sitting at a small wooden desk in the corner of the shop. He has a book open in front of him, his petite body curled over the tabletop, his lips muttering something unintelligible. Cash and Ford are here somewhere in the large garage, working on the slew of vintage cars and motorcycles that occupy the space.
Dean, Cash, and Ford own and run this place together. They restore old cars and motorcycles for clients who are willing to pay through the nose for their talents. And because they’d much rather have fun rebuilding shit, I was hired to help Dean with the nitty-gritty details of running a business this large.
With me taking care of the office work, he can focus on doing the things he loves—like messing around with engine parts and making motorcycles ridiculously loud.
Ben, his son, has stepped up a lot too. He comes in when he’s available between his college classes to help do simple things, like filing paperwork and sweeping the floors. He and his dad seem really close, so I’m not surprised to see Ben here. And honestly, since I started working here, I’ve noticed that there may be other reasons Ben is so eager to spend his time around the shop. Two very large, tattooed male reasons.
“Avery,” Dean says loudly, and I jump slightly, picking up the pace. That man has the patience of a three-year-old some days.
Ben glances up from his textbook at the cutting tone of his father, and I send him a wave. He smiles sweetly at me just as Cash rounds the corner, his eyes fixed on Ben.
Oh, that poor boy. He has no idea that these men are after him too.
Bless his little heart.
I move into Dean’s office and close the door, my arms immediately folding across my chest. I need to take a defensive stance so Dean knows I won’t be barreled over. I mean, really, Dean could bend me over any day, but I’m not a doormat.
“Spill,” Dean says, like he has any authority over me, like he’s my father.
He could be, technically. He’s old enough. I’m a measly twenty-two and he’s almost forty.
And straight as an arrow too. It’s a damn shame this man will never veer off course…even though I imagine that he does sometimes.
Most times, really. I just wish he’d pull a big fat detour, right into my ass.
