CHAPTER 4

River

My twin sister, Sierra, and I have vowed to make sure that nothing else is taken from our dad, Tomás, but the vandalism keeps increasing in severity, so I am afraid about what the future holds for our store.

My white father married a Mexican immigrant years ago when marrying someone like that wasn't something you were proud to brag about. We were shunned by both worlds, but we did have a small niche in the world where people were too busy fighting to make it to bother caring what went on behind our door.

Until now.

Yesterday, I had to clean off yet another racial insult on our glass window. At least my dad did not see this one. For as much as tolerance is taught these days, it is rarely practiced.

Tomás and I work eighty hours a week fixing cars while Sierra runs the office. Although we love American muscle, it's the imports that pay the bills, so we worked hard to be the best there is, and that's why I don't even bat an eye at fixing that Maserati.

I pull into the shop's parking lot and smile as I catch sight of my dad's legs sticking out from under his project car. He works on it around an hour every day each day despite all else we have going on.

"Hey, Pop. I've got those frozen tamales you like. You ready for lunch?"

Sal's Superstore is the last place that sells these, and I'm still undecided about whether the exercise was worthwhile. My dad gives me a thumbs-up but doesn't venture out. He'd go hungry half the time if we didn't give him food.

Running into the office, I see my sister working on something at the computer, and I put my bags on the counter next to her.

"Hey, Sierra. Can you check the books and tell me when I can fit in a front quarter panel replacement on a Maserati?"

She glances up in astonishment. "You're kidding, right? You guys have work until Christmas."

I like working here and glad we're not just scraping by keeping the lights on like a lot of the other locations in this complex, but a day off now and then would be great.

"Yeah, well, this one's gotta be done. I kinda collided with this moron who wasn't watching where he was going. The Screaming Eagle destroyed the front end."

Sierra laughs, rolls her eyes, and shakes her head as she starts thumbing through the books. She thinks it is ridiculous that I baptize my cars.

"If you can hold off on that McLaren and if I can acquire parts, you can do it next Thursday, but you'll be putting in fifteen-hour days over the weekend."

I sigh. "Nothing out of the ordinary there. Thanks, Sierra."

"What year?

"Shit. I don't know. Looked new. I'll text him and ask."

Sierra gives a nod and continues working while I bring the groceries into our small breakroom.

He added his name into my phone as Julian Ashford. I reprinted it and laugh when I pull up the contact.

River 12:48pm

Hi, this is River from Moreno Custom Garage. What year is the Maserati?

Maserati Douche 12:50pm

Hi River. It's this year's model.

River 12:51pm

Ok can you bring it by next Thursday?

Maserati Douche 12:52pm

Fine. What time?

River 12:53pm

It doesn't matter. I'll have to keep it a few days though.

Maserati Douche 12:54pm

Alright. I'll bring it by around 4.

The rest of the week, the weekend, and start of the following week all seem to go by together. I've lost all the friends that I used to have because I'm never free to hang out. I'm in the shop seven days a week. And yet, vandals discover it when I'm not there. And before Thursday rolls around, it seems like only twenty-four hours have passed.

I'm elbow deep in an engine block with my favorite rock band, Glass Saints, blaring through the Bluetooth speakers in the shop when I see a flash of white out of the corner of my eye. I head shake. Who is going to buy that car in white? I rein in the judgment quickly, recalling all too well how it feels when people assume they know you because of your name, your color, or what you drive.

The memory of the car I had collided into comes into my mind in a flash, and I notice the guy resembling a Calvin Klein model exiting the driver's side door.

His gaunt frame—salmon and broccoli is all he has to survive on, it seems—his light brown hair, dark brown eyes, and clean-shaven face all scream trust fund. Another suit. The way the material sits at his wrists and ankles puts me pretty much in a position of certainty that he had it specially made. I suppose if mine was as defined as his, I wouldn't be hiding it behind a beard either, I reckon.

Wiping my hands on my pants, I walk over to the open garage bay to meet Julian Ashford.

"Nice place," he states, shaking my hand.

I want to bristle, but I don't hear any sarcasm or condescension in his tone, so I try to relax. What is it about this man that puts me standing on tiptoes?

"Thanks. You got the keys?" He places them in my palm but doesn't let go with his fingertips on my palm as he releases them. "I'll take good care of her. I promise," I reassure him.

He shakes his head. "It's just a car. I'm not worried about it."

I snort. "Spoken like someone who has an extra hundred grand to lose." Damn River, calm the fuck down.

He's looking at me the same way he did in the supermarket, and I hope I was able to read what that look meant. His stare is almost deliberate, like he's rehearsing every word in his head before opening his mouth to speak. He takes a deep breath, his shoulders squaring with the gesture under his designer suit.

"Speaks like someone who's glad they didn't drive their '69 'Vette into Sal's Superstore last Monday.".

My eyes bulge out of my head at his words. Less because he has my dream car, and more because he does seem to know how much it is worth. "You know cars."

"I know a lot of things," he replies aggressively, throwing into sharp relief my asshole attitude.

I blow out another breath thinking this has to be over before this guy figures out he doesn't want me putting my hands on his car and charging him some outrageous f*e for dealership work.

They'd mess up this automobile anyway.

"Right. I'll call you when she's ready."

I watch him climb into the passenger seat of an Audi SUV I hadn't seen pull up behind him. Shoulder-length blonde hair adorns a pretty woman who is driving and smiles at him as he buckles his seatbelt. I wish I could do what he does and feel that confident and secure in my existence. I'm positive Julian Ashford has never awoken to feel anything missing.

Julian

I require an I.V. of caffeine so desperately I can hardly stand myself. I've been awake since three-thirty this morning on a conference call because Trenton Vale wasn't concerned with the east coast of the U.S. to Japan time difference. And, to top it all off, I was on-call at the fire station the night before last, and I never sleep when I'm there.

Add trying not to think about that slice of River's taunting skin I caught sight of yesterday, and I'm basically a zapped-out zombie.

The phone call with Trenton had not been as successful as I would have wished, and trying to sleep now would be pointless. So I shower so that I can go into the workplace.

Willing myself to consolidate, I go about my routine as usual, stopping by the coffee cart in the building's lobby where my family lives. But then when I go to charge for my salmon bagel and Americano, I realize that I left my wallet back in the Maserati after I dropped off the car.

Can you charge this on the company account, Mara? I left my wallet at home." I smile at the beautiful barista who never fails to be cheerful even if she has to cope with self-centered fools like my father.

"No problem, Mr. Ashford." She smiles and hands me my morning breakfast.