Katherine Vaughn had paid four men a combined one hundred and eighty-six thousand dollars to tell her that her father’s Ferrari was probably finished.
The fifth man charged her nothing to tell her they were either incompetent or lying.
She decided within thirty seconds that she disliked him.
The feeling became inconvenient five minutes later when she realized she was attracted to him.
James Cooper stood on the opposite side of the Ferrari’s raised hood with both forearms resting against the red bodywork, studying the exposed engine with the same concentration Katherine had seen surgeons give operating tables. He wore faded blue coveralls stained black at the elbows, the sleeves pushed above his forearms. Grease ran across one hand, another dark smear marked the side of his jaw, and his brown hair looked as if he had run dirty fingers through it twenty times since breakfast.
Nothing about him matched the polished specialists Katherine usually hired.
Those men wore embroidered shop jackets and spoke beside spotless lifts under architectural lighting. They delivered diagnostic reports inside leather folders. They used phrases like preservation integrity and originality standards while sending invoices large enough to buy small houses.
James Cooper worked inside a garage in Cedar Falls, Georgia, whose sign had lost the letter C in “Cooper Automotive” three winters earlier.
A faded pickup sat behind the building.
A dog was sleeping beneath a workbench.
Somebody had taped a child’s math test to the refrigerator beside the office door.
Katherine looked around once more and wondered whether grief had finally made her irrational.
James pointed into the engine bay.
“Who touched the ignition system last?”
Katherine crossed her arms.
“That question has been asked four times.”
“Then answer it a fifth.”
She stared.
He finally looked up.
His eyes were gray-blue.
Annoyingly clear.
“The last full restoration inspection was at Marlow Heritage Motors in Atlanta.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“They remove the distributor?”
“I have no idea.”
“You paid them.”
“I paid them to repair a car, not educate me about every screw they touched.”
James’s mouth shifted.
Not quite a smile.
Katherine disliked that too.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You made a face.”
“I have several.”
“The condescending one.”
“That one costs extra.”
Katherine leaned closer across the engine.
“I drove a three-million-dollar car two hours on a trailer because someone told me you were the only mechanic in Georgia arrogant enough to claim everybody else was wrong.”
James looked down at her white zip-front top, then immediately returned his eyes to her face.
“Who told you that?”
“Samuel Price.”
James paused.
That changed something.
“You know Sam?”
“He served on my father’s board.”
“Your father was Robert Vaughn.”
Katherine’s expression cooled.
“Yes.”
James straightened.
Until that moment, she had given him only a first name.
The trailer driver had handled delivery paperwork.
James walked around the Ferrari slowly.
“Robert Vaughn from Vaughn Mobility?”
“My father.”
“And you're Katherine Vaughn.”
She removed her sunglasses.
“You read business pages?”
“No.”
“My daughter does.”
That answer was not what she expected.
“How old?”
“Twelve.”
“And twelve-year-olds follow transportation companies?”
“She follows successful women.”
Katherine blinked.
James turned back to the car.
“She thinks you're terrifying.”
“I hope that's a compliment.”
“With Olivia, usually.”
Katherine looked at the sleeping dog.
“Where is she?”
“School.”
“You're a single father?”
James glanced over.
“Is that relevant to the Ferrari?”
“No.”
“Then you're getting distracted.”
She almost laughed.
Instead, she planted one hand against the fender.
“Fix my father’s car before that smug mouth makes me regret trusting you.”
James lifted a small brown distributor component from the tray beside him.
“Careful, sweetheart.”
Katherine’s eyebrows rose.
He continued before she could object.
“Keep staring at me like that and I’ll think the engine isn’t the only thing overheating.”
For the first time that afternoon, Katherine genuinely smiled.
It was brief.
Dangerous.
Then she reached across the engine and caught the front of his coveralls between two fingers.
She pulled him half an inch closer.
“Find the problem first.”
Her voice softened.
“Then maybe I’ll decide whether that confidence deserves a reward.”
James looked at her hand.
Then at her eyes.
He did not move backward.
“You always negotiate like this?”
“Only when someone annoys me.”
“So constantly.”
She released him.
“Back to work.”
“Yes, boss.”
“I am not your boss.”
“Best news I've had today.”
James held up the distributor component again.