“I’m not billing eight hours.”
“Why?”
“Because six of those hours were me proving what wasn’t wrong.”
“That is still work.”
Daniel shrugged.
“I don’t bill clients for my education.”
Victoria looked at him for a long second.
Then she reached into her handbag.
She removed a folded stack of hundred-dollar bills.
Daniel stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Paying you.”
“No.”
“You haven’t counted it.”
“I don’t need to.”
She held it toward him.
“Take it.”
Daniel took her hand.
Not the money.
He closed her fingers around the stack.
Her eyes moved toward his hand over hers.
The moment changed again.
He felt it.
So did she.
Daniel released her slowly.
“One hundred thirty-eight.”
“You just saved me from shipping this car to Stuttgart.”
“One hundred thirty-eight.”
“I have spent more than that on lunch.”
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
Victoria's mouth opened.
Then she smiled.
“You are extraordinarily difficult.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“By women?”
“Mostly customers.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Daniel looked at her.
There it was.
Not playful now.
Direct.
Adult.
The distance between them seemed suddenly deliberate.
He could kiss her.
He knew that.
She knew that.
She was waiting to see what he would do.
Daniel leaned slightly closer.
Victoria remained still.
Her lips parted.
Then something shifted in the office.
A small sound.
Blanket against folding chair.
Daniel stopped immediately.
Victoria followed his gaze.
Through the open office door, a seven-year-old girl slept curled on a camp cot beneath a green blanket, holding a worn stuffed rabbit against her chest.
Victoria looked at Daniel.
“Your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“She was here all night?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The softness in her voice made him more uncomfortable than judgment would have.
“School holiday.”
“That answers today.”
Daniel looked away.
“Babysitter canceled.”
“And her mother?”
Silence.
Victoria immediately understood.
“I’m sorry.”
Daniel nodded once.
“Five years.”
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
“You didn’t know.”
Victoria looked back at the girl.
“She slept through that engine?”
“She sleeps through anything.”
The child moved.
Then settled.
Victoria smiled.
“She looks peaceful.”
“She’s dangerous when awake.”
“I believe you.”
Daniel walked toward the workbench.
He pulled an invoice pad from beneath a rag.
Victoria followed.
He wrote.
Diagnostic electrical fault.
Connector terminal repair.
Labor.
$138.00.
He tore off the page.
Handed it to her.
Victoria looked at the number.
Then at him.
“You're insane.”
“Possible.”
“Do you accept cards?”
“Cash.”