REBEL, a New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) (8 page)

I slap the paper to my side. “So?
 
So, that’s proof it’s
my
fucking ID, so hand it over,
Bud.”

He lifts an eyebrow but says nothing.

It’s more than frustrating; it’s infuriating.
 
I lose my cool pretty quickly, downshifting into threatening him with juvenile delinquency.
 
“I’m not kidding, Rebel.
 
Give me my fucking ID or I’m going to waste this place.”

“Waste it?”
 
He has the nerve to almost smile at me.

“Yeah.
 
I’m going to
waste
it.
 
I’m going to put it back exactly like it was before, and you can go back to living in a shit-hole.”

His almost smile is gone.
 
“Good.
 
Maybe then I’d be able to find stuff.”

I cannot believe his attitude.
 
He has some nerve.
 
“Do you not have a single manner in your entire body? I worked my ass off yesterday for you.
 
Organized every single thing in this office.
 
For
free
.
 
And what do I get in return?
 
Shitass attitude.
 
Thievery.
 
Total
bullshit
, that’s what.”

“Thievery?”

“Yes!” I screech.
 
“You stole my ID!”

“You said you organized stuff.”

I’m not expecting this particular reaction, so I just stand there breathing heavily.
 
I’m ready to walk over and slap his stupid rock steady jaw.
 
He has no expression, save one: cold.

I have this irrational need to see an expression on his face, any expression other than the one I’ve seen so far.
 
Maybe if I set his pants on fire that’ll do the trick.
 
I dig around in my tiny backpack for a lighter.

“Did you or didn’t you organize my papers?”

I control my sudden impulse to combust a somewhat innocent man and leave my backpack exploration to answer his question.
 
“Yes.
 
I said that.
 
Are you a deaf thief now?”

“I’m looking for an invoice.”

“How is that my problem?
 
I don’t work here.”
 
I cross my arms, instantly loving the fact that he’s lost.
 
I smile, I’m so happy about it.
 
I grin so big it makes my face hurt.

Rebel is not sharing my glee. “It’s your problem because you made it your problem when you walked through my door, uninvited.”

His anger only makes me that much happier, and I totally don’t care that he’s calling me uninvited.
Eff him.
I shrug, completely powerless to remove the shit-eating grin from my face.
 
“I guess we have more in common than I thought.”

He says nothing, but I don’t care if he wants to hear it or not.
 
I’m going to give him a double-barrel of reality.
 
This is my world, asshole.
 
I own it, says Quin.
 
“You’re my problem and I’m yours.
 
What do you say we make a deal?”

“I don’t make deals.”

“Sure you do.
 
You fix cars for money.
 
Those are deals.
 
How about you hand over my ID, and I’ll tell you where the invoice is.”

“You don’t know where it is.”

“Bullshit, I do too.
 
I organized them by date and number.”

“Where are they?”
 
He steps into the room, but I hold my ground.

“Where’s my ID?”

He stops a few paces away from me, and now I can finally get a really good look at his face.
 
Holy mother of all mothers.
 
Talk about chiseled good looks.
 
This guy left gorgeous behind a long time ago and now lives in just plan beautiful.
 
He must be from some exotic foreign country because he looks nothing like any man I’ve ever seen.
 
“Where are you from?” I say without thinking.

He wrinkles up his eyebrows for a second.
 
But he ignores me, because apparently his mind has one track, and right now that track is labeled
invoice
.

He reaches behind his back and I remain completely still.
 
I want to race out of this place and never come back, but I’m caught in a weird magnetic force that’s drawing me in and keeping me there.
 
No matter what, I want to see what he’s going to do next.
 
I pray it’s not take out a knife and gut me like a fish.

From the back pocket of his jeans he pulls out my ID.
 
Holding it in front of my face between two fingers, he says, “Where’s the invoice?”

I snatch my ID out of his hand and spin around, heading for the door at Mach 2.
 
“It’s in your ass,” I say as I jump outside the door.
 
I make it almost to my car before he catches up to me.

He doesn’t touch me, but I halt in place.
 
I can practically feel his breath on the back of my neck.
 
Turning around, I find him just a few inches away.
 
He’s angry and maybe a little surprised.
 
I like that I got one over on him, and I only feel a tiny bit guilty about leaving him high and dry.

“I need that invoice,” he says in a very calm, very low tone.
 
It gives me a shiver.

I stick my chin out.
 
“And I need a job.”

“I don’t do blackmail.”

“Neither do I.
 
I do deals.”

He stares at me and I stare at him.
 
Both of us are breathing heavily and I’m definitely sweating.
 
Deodorant, don’t fail me now.

“Tell me where the invoice is and I’ll think about it.”

“No deal.”

“Tell me where the invoice is and I won’t have you arrested.”

I laugh.
 
“For what? Cleaning your office?
 
They’ll give me a medal of honor for that.
 
Probably the key to the city, too.
 
That place was a health hazard.”

His expression loses just a fraction of its hard edges.
 
“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Sure, if you consider outhouses not that bad, it wasn’t.”

A motorcycle pulls up next to my car and the engine shuts off.
 
The driver pulls off his helmet and I see it’s the twig.

“Hey, what’s going on?
 
Back for more?”
 
His grin is infectious.

“Nope.
 
Just came to get my ID.”

“She came to tell me where the Jack invoice is.”

I turn to face Rebel again, feeling very confident.
 
I’m almost sure he’s ready to buckle.
 
“I came for a job and I got fucked over.
 
But I’m willing to forgive and forget if you’re willing to hire me.”

“I don’t need you here.”

“Sure you do.
 
You need that Jack invoice and I’m the only one who knows where it and all the others are.
 
And by the way, your books are a total mess.
 
You’re missing out on tons of deductions.”
 
I had no idea that my accounting class would come in handy, and I’m not absolutely sure I’m right about what I just said, but whatever.
 
All I need is a chance to prove myself and everything else will fall in line.
 
I know I can be a valuable employee no matter where I work.

His nostrils flare as he stares at me.

I fire back in response to his silent threat.
 
“Maybe this works on other people, but it doesn’t work on me.” I lift my chin a notch higher to bring confidence that I’m not feeling to my words, praying I can pull this off.
 
I can practically taste that paycheck already.

“Maybe
what
works?” he finally asks.

“I don’t know … that whole Russian mafioso tough-guy silence-of-the-lambs thing you have going on.”

Twig walks over and claps Rebel on the back.
 
“She’s got your number, Reb.
 
Listen, I’m going to get started on the Camaro unless you want me on something else.”

“Fix her mirror,” Rebel says, not taking his eyes off me.

“No. I can fix it myself,” I say, not mentioning that there will be copious amounts of duct tape involved.
 
“Go ahead with the Camaro.
 
The parts came in Monday for it.”

Both the twig and Rebel stare at me.
 
Then the twig smiles.
 
“How’d you know that?”

“I know all, I see all.”
 
Because I handled pretty much every piece of paper that made its way into their office over the last two years, which included inventory packing lists.
 
Hah!
 
Eat that, Dolph!

It’s in this moment that I realize why I find this jerk Rebel so attractive.
 
He looks way too much like my eighties movie-star crush Dolph Lundgren to deny.
 
Dammit
.
A real, flesh and blood Rocky contender.
 
Be still my heart.
 
The Siberian Express’s twin lives here in LA and owns a car repair shop.
 
I’m in so much trouble.

“Dude, you should hire her,” says the Twig. “You could sic her on Olga.”

Something that might pass as a smile flickers on Rebel’s face for a brief moment.
 
“Fine.
 
You start today.
 
Find me that invoice.”

“Whooop!” I do a quick fist pump before high-fiving the twig.
 
“What’d you say your name was again?” I ask, as Rebel walks away.

“Mick.
 
And you’re Teagan, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool name.”

“Thanks.”

“Can you really fix your mirror or do you want me to do it?” Mick asks.

I wait until Rebel is back in the building, using a low tone that won’t carry to his ears.
 
“If you could fix it for me, it’d save me a lot of money in duct tape.”

He laughs.
 
“You got it.
 
Good luck by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re gonna need it,” he says, as I walk back to the office.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MICK SOMEHOW MANAGES TO WRANGLE fifty bucks out of Rebel’s pocket so that I can buy some office supplies.
 
Six hours after I’ve returned from the store, I finally have every single piece of paper that used to be floating around the room that I now consider my domain filed, labeled, and put in a cabinet that used to hold greasy auto parts.

The organization has a secondary benefit beyond just making the place look better; I now know quite a bit about Rebel Wheels itself.
 
They do custom muscle cars for the most part, and an occasional motorcycle.
 
They seem to prefer the Camaro, Mustang, Buick GSX - whatever the heck that is - Charger, Firebird, Pontiac GTO, and the Chevelle.
 
I haven’t seen most of these in the warehouse area, but I’m sure I will.
 
Last year alone, they restored about seventy cars, and as far as I can tell, it’s just Rebel and Mick here.
 
Maybe that’s why they’re looking for a new mechanic.

“Doesn’t look that different,” says Mick from the doorway.

I snort.
 
“That’s because you’re blind.” Pulling open the cabinet drawer, I step to the side so he can admire the glory.
 
I wait for his applause.

“What’s that?” he asks, walking over.

“That is the paper trail of what you’ve been doing for the past year or so.” I continue to wait for the applause.

He pushes his lips together and nods.
 
“Pretty decent.
 
Better find a way to make Rebel think that’s worth paying you for.”

My heart plummets and my organizational high disappears like a puff of smoke.
 
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a total drag?”

He grins.
 
“Actually, no.
 
Never.”

“Somehow I find that hard to believe.”
 
I slam the drawer shut.
 
“Stay away from these files. You want something?
 
Ask for it.
 
You have paper you don’t want to touch anymore?” I point to the wire bin on top of the cabinet.
 
“You put it in that basket and I’ll file it.”

“Did you pee in the corners of the room too?” he asks.

“Yes, I did, so I don’t recommend you eat your pizza there anymore.”

“Thanks for the warning,” he says, leaving the room.

“You’re welcome.”
 
I walk back to the desk and sit down, totally deflated.
 
I’m like a soggy, used-ass balloon when Rebel walks in.

He’s wiping his hands off on a rag leaving black smears everywhere.

“Put your rags in that basket when you’re done with them and I’ll make sure they get cleaned,” I say, pointing half-heartedly to a bin in the corner of the room.

He tosses the rag in without responding.
 
I should probably try to have a conversation with him, but I’m too bummed.
 
He’s probably here to fire me.
 
I lay my arms in my lap and lower my forehead to the desk.
 
Maybe if I’m not looking at him when he tells me to get lost, I won’t cry in front of him.

The filing cabinet drawer opens and stays that way for a few seconds before I hear it rolling closed again.
 
Then I hear something land on the desk near my head.

“Get yourself on the payroll,” he says.
 
“Here’s for today.”