“Please don’t.” I try to keep my voice level but lose the battle as Eve’s exuberance brings out my own.
She casually leans back in her chair while a wicked smile cuts into her perfectly made-up face. “Rave, you may be handing over your V-card by the end of the day.” She flips her straight, long blond hair. “I think UFL actually stands for the Universal Fu—”
“Eve!” My eyes dart around the room. I’m hoping no one can hear my very loud, equally tacky friend.
She shrugs her shoulders, a smile splitting her face. “What? I’m just saying . . .” Her eyebrows bounce beneath her perfect bangs.
“Oh, stop it. He’s like my boss or something.”
“Or something,” she mumbles through a chuckle.
Evil butterflies churn in my chest at the thought of being touched by Jonah again. A simple handshake had me drooling like a dog in heat. A kiss would probably send me into a seizure.
“It’s no big deal. He’s just a guy who needs help with a renovation.” Now if I could just get myself to believe that.
My mind has been in a permanent state of shock since Jonah left the garage. I went through the rest of my day on autopilot as I tried to come to terms with what I’d agreed to do. I’m a bunny rabbit who’s stumbled into a bear cave.
“No big deal? No big deal!” I’m in for it now. Her voice gets uncharacteristically serious. “You’re going to be working side by side with Las Vegas’ most eligible bad boy. He’s been linked with every actress, model, and showgirl in town. And you are superduper hot, girl. ‘The Assassin’ is going to take notice of you.”
“But like you said, he has every woman in Vegas at his fingertips.” Jealousy flares in my gut at the thought of Jonah with a woman. “I bet he doesn’t even notice women who aren’t wearing miniskirts and six-inch heels.” Beautiful, glamorous women whom any man would be proud to have on his arm. I take in my current wardrobe: nothing beautiful or glamorous here. Working on cars all day doesn’t exactly call for anything other than denim and cotton.
“Just make sure he pays you.” Eve’s demand takes me from my self-pitying thoughts. “He can certainly afford to. No more working for free.”
“I don’t work for free.” My words are laced with the acid of my envy.
Eve’s eyes get soft. She leans across the table. “You know what I’m talking about. What about that guy who couldn’t pay you to fix his alternator? Or the lady who couldn’t pay you to rotate her tires and change her oil? Hmm?”
I roll my eyes and blow an errant hair from my face. “They didn’t pay me money. They traded. The guy gave me my tattoo as payment, and that lady was a single mom.” I play with the fraying threads on my jeans. “She gave me that chair in my apartment.”
“I swear, Rave, you’re good through and through. Not a bit of bad in that sweet ass of yours.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Maybe you can pull out a little naughty for ‘The Assassin.’ Work out some kind of trade for your services.” She waggles her eyebrows.
I suck in a breath on reflex. I know she’s kidding, but the joke hits too close to home. I thought moving out of my mom’s house would distance me from her line of work, but, apparently, geographical distance doesn’t equal emotional distance. She reads my expression and mouths a quick sorry. I wave her off and smile. It’s not her fault I’m damaged.
“So what time is ‘The Assassin’ expecting you? Wouldn’t want to leave a hot piece like him waiting.” She moans and rolls her eyes back in her head. “He’s so sexy.”
“Stop calling him ‘The Assassin.’ It’s Jonah or Mr. Slade to you,” I tease, kind of, and then slurp down the rest of my coffee. “I better get going. I told him I’d be there at nine-thirty.” My stomach flips as my own words sink in.
“You better call me as soon as you’re done.” She flashes an evil grin and a wink. “And I want details.”
*
Jonah
“You heard me, Blake. I’m not saying it again.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, praying for patience.
“So, let me get this straight. You’re cleaning your kitchen because a girl is coming over. Like a real one, over to your house. Is that correct?” His Perry Mason tone has me grinding my teeth.
“Yeah, bitch. Except it’s not a girl. It’s a mechanic who happens to be female.” Why I’m even wasting my time to explain is beyond me. I remind myself to never answer phone calls from Blake again.
“Potato fucking poe-tah-toe. God, you’re testy. Are you on the rag? I tell you what, grab a Midol and a brownie and call me in five to seven days.” He’s laughing at his own joke.
“Moron.” I shut the dishwasher door and hit start.
“I’m just stating the facts. You never have chicks over. It’s weird.”
“News flash, pickle dick. The person who decorated my house was a girl. My cleaning lady, also a girl. This is no different.”