Chapter 15 (1/2)

THE NEXT MORNING I’m a little anxious about going on my first business trip and begin to panic. Plus I forgot to get someone to fix my car. I look up the nearest mechanic and call them. I’ll probably have to pay them extra to keep my car for the weekend, but that’s the least of my worries right now. I don’t mention it to the friendly man who answers in the hopes they just won’t bother charging me for it.

I get myself ready, curling my hair and putting on more makeup than usual. I choose a navy-blue dress that I haven’t worn yet, something I bought because I knew Hardin would love the way the thin material hung on my curves. The dress itself isn’t revealing at all; the hem reaches just below my knees and the sleeves go halfway down my arm. But the way it fits makes it look really good on me.

I hate that everything makes me think of him. As I stand in front of the mirror, I imagine how he would be looking at me in this dress, the way his pupils would dilate and he’d lick his lips before pulling his lip ring between his teeth while he watched me adjust my hair one last time.

A knock on the door brings me back to reality.

“Ms. Young?” A man in a blue mechanic’s uniform asks when I open the door.

“That’s me,” I say and pull open my purse to grab the keys. “Here, it’s the white Corolla,” I say as I hand them to him.

He looks behind him. “White Corolla?” he asks, confused.

I step outside. My car is . . . gone.

“What the . . . Okay, let me call the front desk and see if they had my car towed for leaving it here yesterday.” What a great way to start my day.

“Hello, this is Tessa Young, room thirty-six,” I say when the front desk guy answers. “I think you had my car towed?” I’m trying to be nice, but this is really frustrating.

“No, I didn’t,” he replies.

My head is spinning. “Okay, well then, my car must have been stolen or something . . .” If someone took my car, I am beyond screwed. It’s almost time for me to leave.

“No, your friend came and got it this morning.”

“My friend?”

“Yeah, the one with . . . all the tattoos and stuff.” He says it quietly, as if Hardin could actually hear him.

“What?” I know what he said, but that’s all I can think to say.

“Yeah, he came with a tow truck this morning about two hours ago,” he says. “Sorry, I thought you knew—”

“Thanks.” I groan and hang up. Turning to the man before me, I say, “I am so sorry. Apparently someone has already had my car taken to another mechanic. I didn’t know; I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

He smiles and assures me that it’s okay.