But he did, he couldn’t help it. He liked her curious gaze. The stubborn set of her shoulders so when she unrelentingly went after what she wanted, and right now, what he was pretty sure she wanted was to have a conversation with him.
It was his own fault.The last twenty-four hours of their marriage.
Where the fuck had that come from?
His throat had wanted to close up after he said it, and he’d gone mean to cover that up.
Fuck.
He still felt a little mean. Like she hadn't earned a conversation with him, like he wanted to make her watch him work forever.
He exhaled. When did he become this bitter? If she were telling the truth and this surprised her a few days ago, just as much as it did him, then of course she wanted to talk about it.
Monica wanted to talk about absolutely everything.
And once upon a time, he had loved to stretch out on his back, have her perch on top of him and chatter endlessly about everything.
He loved the sound of her voice, especially when she was excited and full of questions and ideas. God, that woman had more ideas than any single human being had any right to.
Is that really your core promise, though?
He slid the last brake pad into place and shot a glance in her direction. “What exactly is your new business?”
She slid her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and pushed off the wall where she’d been leaning. “I work with small but nimble businesses who are at critical pivot points, and need an outside perspective on who their customer is and what that person wants.”
He nodded. “That’s…”
She grinned. “Yes?”
“Impressive.”
Her smile softened. “Thank you.”
“And also confusing.”
She laughed. “The shorter version is, I help companies figure out what works and what doesn’t.”
“Nice.”
“It is. I mean, for me, and for them. It’s rewarding.”
“How’d you get into that?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Right place, right time.”
He gestured.Out with it.“You don’t need to hide that stuff from me. Despite what it looks like, I didn’t revert to a country hick who will be scarred if I find out how the business world works—or high society.”
That got him a roll of her eyes. “Hardly high society.”
“People call you a racing heiress, Mon.” He held up his hands. “Not me, of course. Just people.”
“People on TikTok, maybe.”
“Yeah. People.” He winked at her. “Average, ordinary…”
“Shut up.” But she said it softly. “My first client happened to be at a dinner party I was invited to the week I quit Fischer Racing. I was a little…extra that night. Full of vinegar, my grandpa would say.”
Josh had met the elder Fischer Racing scion a few times, when he first started working there. Ronald Fischer had retired not long after that, and his son Michael—who had been groomed to be the next CEO—took over. He chuckled, remembering the grizzly old man. “Pretty sure your grandfather would have saidfull of piss and vinegar.”
