REBEL, a New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) (4 page)

“Okay then, college girl, you know then that this particular neighborhood is populated mostly by immigrants.
 
And they come from places where they don’t speak English, so if you want to work here, you have to be able to do the basic things … you know … like
communicate
.”

I snort.
 
“Right.
 
Like you speak Spanish.”

He looks over at the lady standing near the dryer.
 
“¿Cómo va todo por allí? ¿Necesitas ayuda plegado que la ropa? Tengo una niña con estudios universitarios dispuestos a ayudar por aquí.”

She cackles in response as my face flames red.

I jump back in, determined not to be the dumbest person in the room.
 
“Yeah right. It’s not like you speak Russian or anything, though.”

 
He doesn’t even bat an eye before opening his mouth.
“Vui predpolagaetse mnoga o chelovieke, s kotorim vui ni znakomui.”

Who’s the asshole in the room?
 
Yeah.
 
That’s me.

“I’m going to leave now.”

“Good luck with the job hunting.”
 
He laughs as he draws back into his office and sits down in his squeaky chair.

I’m pretty sure my humiliation is complete as I walk away, but then I’m proven wrong when the round lady speaks up as I open the door to leave.

“Hasta la vista.”

My eyes cross with the effort of not replying out loud.

Yeah.
 
Fuck you too, big-ass panty lady.
 
The laundromat door hits me on the heel on the way out and causes me to trip my way across the sidewalk back to my Beetle.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THOROUGHLY DEMORALIZED, I GET INTO The Beast and just drive. I start crying again, but three blocks later make myself quit that crap.
 
I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some alien assholes make me feel like a smeared street turd.
 
I might have been raised in the lap of luxury most of my life, but that doesn’t mean I’ve internalized that stuff.
 
I’m fully capable of working a job in this part of town and doing it well; I just need someone to give me a chance.
 
Someone different.
 
Someone who thinks outside the box.
 
Someone who…

I leave off in mid-thought when I see the sign.
 
Angels from up on high sing down at me in one giant harmonized chorus.
 
Glory be.
 
This
has
got
to be the place for me.

“
Rebel Wheels,”
I say, my blood pressure going up with my excitement.
 
“
I
have rebel wheels.
 
What could be more rebellious than a ’68 Volkswagen Beetle?”

Feeling really good about this one, I pull off the road and into the commercial area that the sign is pointing to.
 
I’m so going to beg for a job from this outfit.
 
Maybe to convince them, I’ll show them how I can check my own oil; that’ll impress the hell out of them.
 
How many chicks can do that?
 
Almost none, that’s how many.
 
I was born for this job.
 
This job that might not exist.
 
No, screw that.
 
There’s a job for me here, I can feel it.

Pulling into a spot outside the main doors of the place, I check my face in the rearview mirror.
 
Fumbling around, I get the thing to turn in my direction, but then it snaps off in my hand.

My voice moves into a register that only dogs can hear.
 
“What the fuck?!” The mirror falls into my lap, landing at the perfect angle for me to take in my bloodshot eyes and swollen nose.

“God
damn
it!”
 
I grab the mirror and throw it into the passenger seat where it bounces off the vinyl cushion to land on the floor. Stunned and pissed, I sit there staring out the front window at the beige wall of Rebel Wheels.
 
More than anything, I’m impressed by how thoroughly the Fates have destroyed my life.
 
Even The Beast is abandoning me now.
 
“Fuck me with a whole entire box of fuck.”

“That sounds interesting,” says a voice off to my left.

I forgot my window was down.
 
Looking over at the source of the voice, I try to smile through my pain.
 
“Uh, sorry about that.
 
It’s French.
 
I speak a little French.”
 
Time to pad the resumé, bitches.

I peg him to be around twenty-five.
 
He’s skinny, blonde, and hot as hell.
 
Definitely your class-A bad-boy type.
 
Not my cup of tea, but I can see Quin getting her panties in a twist over him. He probably does illegal warehouse fights for money or something equally bad-boyish.

He shrugs.
 
“No big.
 
Can I help you with something?”
 
He gestures with his chin.
 
“Maybe fix that mirror for you?”

I open the door and try and put my best foot forward, pretending like I didn’t just unload the holy terror of cusswords at his front door.
 
He’s wearing a Rebel Wheels t-shirt, so I know he works here.
 
Hell, he’s probably Rebel himself.

“Maybe,” I say.
 
“But I can fix it myself.
 
I’m very handy like that.”
 
That’s a lie.
 
I’m going to lie my way into a job and not regret it one bit.
 
I’m desperate.

“Really?
 
Okay, then.
 
Anything else?
 
Tune-up maybe?
 
Engine sounds rough.”

“Nah, that’s how Beetles sound.”

He gives me a half grin that almost has me changing my mind about what type of guy I’m attracted to.

“Is that so?” he asks.

“Yeah.
 
So … listen … I have a confession.”

“This oughta be good.”
 
He crosses his arms and leans back on a car behind him.
 
“I’m all ears.”

“I’m looking for a job.
 
I can do just about anything, and you don’t have to pay me a lot.”

“Can you do an engine rebuild?
 
We need a mechanic.”

“Uh … no.
 
But I can learn?”
 
I know I sound weak as hell, but I’m serious.
 
I will fucking build an engine from scratch if I have to.
 
I’ll get grease under my nails and armpit stink all over this place.
 
I am so ready to work my ass off.

He stands straight, letting his arms drop to his sides.
 
“You can come in and talk to Rebel, but don’t hold your breath.
 
He doesn’t hire people he doesn’t know.
 
And we need a mechanic with experience.”

I frown as I follow him through the front door.
 
“How can he only hire people he knows?
 
Does he have that many friends?”

“Rebel knows people,” is all he’ll say.

I’m too distracted by the interior of the front office to ask any more of the questions that are swimming in my mind.
 
Talk about dirty.
 
Holy crap, this place should be condemned.
 
There are pizza boxes stacked up in all four corners of the room.
 
One of them is half-open and there are petrified crusts inside.
 
Dirt covers every square inch of all the surfaces I can see.
 
It’s impossible to tell what color the floor is supposed to be.
 
Is that carpet?
 
Or a thick layer of fuzzy dirt?

My mystery host leads me through the office and into the main part of the building where several cars are in various states of repair.
 
It’s actually cleaner in here than it is in the office, which makes zero sense.
 
There’s one car jacked up on a high lift and a big guy working under it.
 
He’s got coveralls on, but they’re unzipped and the top half is hanging down by his legs, leaving his upper body bare.

I nearly choke on my own drool.
 
Holy mother … please do not tell me this is Rebel, because if it is, I will not be able to talk to him.
 
Gorgeous does not even begin to cover what I’m looking at. Muscles? Yeah.
 
Everywhere.
 
Tattoos?
 
Check.
 
The one on his thick right arm looks like the Virgin Mary if my eyesight isn’t failing me.
 
Body fat?
 
None that I can see.

I instantly begin to sweat from every pore on my body.
 
Not attractive at all.
 
Did I remember to put deodorant on today?
 
Ack!
 
I pray to any god who might be listening that she will have mercy on my sorry ass and hold off any pit-stink coming from my direction until after I’m gone from here.

“Rebel, this is …”
 
My host turns to look at me.
 
“Sorry.
 
Didn’t get your name.”

“Teagan.”
 
My voice sounds like a chipmunk, so I repeat myself, lowering it down.
 
“Teagan.
 
Cross.
 
Teagan Cross.
 
That’s my name.”

“Cool.”
 
He looks back over at the man ignoring us under the car.
 
We’ve stopped just in front of the spot where the edge of the vehicle is almost above our heads.
 
I make sure to stay back a little, just in case the thing comes crashing down.
 
“This is Teagan, and she’s looking for a job.”

“She a mechanic?” Rebel asks, turning the tool he has in his hand but not bothering to look over.

“No. But she can fix rearview mirrors, apparently.”

Shame turns my face beet red, but I open my mouth and vomit words on them anyway.
 
“I can check oil too.”

“We need a mechanic,” Rebel says, still not looking at us.

“Yeah. I told her that.”
 
The other guy turns around, probably expecting me to follow him, but I’m not giving up this easily.
 
I haven’t seen a single gold tooth yet, and if the only thing I have to worry about is cleaning up a few pizza boxes, I’m all in.
 
Especially with all this eye candy around.
 
I realize in that moment that I have a sweet tooth.

“But I can do all kinds of other things,” I say.
 
“I can clean that holy terror of a mess you call an office, I can talk to customers, I can manage your accounting …”

He stops working and looks at me. The rest of my resumé gets caught in my throat at what I see.

“What’d you just call my office?”

My mouth opens but the words seem to have gotten stuck next to my larynx.
 
He’s so gorgeous.
 
He looks like he’s in the Russian hot guy mafia. I’m so sad that I don’t speak Russian right now like that motherfucker laundromat guy.
 
I’m so flustered, the only sound that will come out of my mouth is not really human and definitely not attractive.
 
“Garrrr…”

“It’s a shithole, Rebel, you know it is,” says my savior from behind me.

Rebel goes back to looking at the bottom of the car.
 
Apparently, he’s done talking.

And now I’m lost.
 
Should I keep trying to convince him?
 
Beg?
 
Cry like a giant baby?
 
Give up and walk away?
 
Drive over to the Boobie Patch and try out for a pole-dancing job?

I shake my head, refusing to give in to defeat.
 
This is so not going to go down like this.
 
I won’t let it.
 
“I’ll tell you what, Rebel.
 
You keep working on that … whatever it is you’re working on … that transmission or whatever … and I’m going to start cleaning up that office.
 
We’ll call it a probationary period.
 
If you don’t like it, you can just tell me to fuck off.
 
I mean, to go to hell.
 
I mean, … shit.
 
Never mind.”
 
I turn around and walk swiftly away, passing by the guy who brought me to Rebel, ignoring the fact that his eyebrows are almost in his hairline.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I reach the office and haven’t heard a single word of disagreement from anyone.

CHAPTER EIGHT

FOUR VERY SWEATY AND SMELLY hours later, I have turned the beast into a beauty.
 
Brand new cleaning supplies that I found unused in the full bathroom - a nasty health hazard harboring what is surely some sort of Udengi fever bacteria - spiff up all the surfaces in the room until they’re shining.

Using boxes I located in a closet, I organize all the errant pieces of paper and half-used file folders into various piles to be gone through later.
 
The only thing I’m not able to fix is the carpet.
 
Yes, it is carpet, but with a thick layer of black grime over the top of it.
 
I find a single clean spot under one of the desk legs, so I know at one point it was avocado green. Now it’s a giant heap of toxic waste out in the dumpster, since I decided the only way to save it was to put it out of its misery.

I’m standing in the middle of the freshly-mopped, tile-floored room with my hands on my hips and a smile of satisfaction playing on my lips when the skinny guy comes in.