“So it’s me, then?”
“I don’t like being indebted. To anyone.” She grips the handle to her mammoth cart of makeup. “I need to get to work and I really don’t owe you an explanation.” She turns and begins walking.
I admire the view a long moment before calling after her. “What time do you get done?”
She twists and meets my gaze. “Pardon?”
“What time do you finish work?” I enunciate clearly, then hold up my hands at the return of her angry glare. “It’s only a question, sweetheart.”
“I should be done by six.”
“I’ll be back then to pick you up, and I’ll call you with any updates from the mechanic.”
“I—”
“Don’t try to argue with me, Rachel. I always get what I want. See you at six.”
“I—”
But I don’t stick around to give her further chance to debate. Instead, I turn on my heel and head back to my ride with more pep in my step than I’ve had all year.
“Okay, pups. You ready to go see your new home?” Excitement thrums through my body as I weave my way back onto the main road, and it has nothing to do with the payday coming once I deliver the mongrels. No, it has everything to do with the promise of more face time with my sultry, feisty, reluctant hitchhiker. I’ll win her over. My mechanic will fix up that hunk of metal, and Rachel will be so appreciative she’ll have to agree to a date. If I’m lucky, she’ll beg for it. I wasn’t lying when I told her I always get what I want. Right now, I want her.
6
Rachel
Jared: OMG what’s with the hottie? I’m taken, but he’s yummy.
Jared: Rae! Text me back.
Jared: I know you’re working today, but I need you!
Jared: It’s an emergency
Jared: Not a 9-1-1 emergency (don’t want you to worry)
Jared: Call me!
A slew of messages from my brother lay waiting on my phone when I finally have an extended break on set. I skipped lunch; there wasn’t time. But now I’m out of snacks, and I can’t leave until they finish shooting for the day. I grab a banana from the craft table and peel it as I walk outside to call Jared back.
“Finally! Jesus! What does a guy have to do to get you to call him back?”
I cringe a little at his choice in words. My brother can be dramatic. He has a flare for making everything about him. I am, after all, the one who was stranded on the side of the road not ten hours ago. Without a doubt his emergency won’t top mine, yet I can’t find it in me to be annoyed. “What’s going on?”
“I’m elbow deep in a cashmere catastrophe.”
“Is that some new sex position?” I say through a bite of banana. “Your husband is a lucky guy.”
“Shut up, Rae! This is serious. My new sweater is ruined, and it’s all because of Marilyn’s viper lip stain.”
“It was easier to deconstruct your ramblings when we lived in the same state.”
“Lip stain, bloody fucking lip stain marred my cashmere sweater. Tell me I’m not trashing a hundred bucks. Give me hope.”
“Send me a photo of the damage and I’ll ask around. There’re a few people on set who might know.”
“You’re my hero. You know that? Even two thousand miles away and you still save the day.”
