It was a low blow, but Jess had been aiming low ever since I’d met her and she obviously hadn’t changed. I was looking for a fight though; I’d admit that. Seeing her face right next to my thrashed Z didn’t exactly make me feel warm and fuzzy.

“Okay, okay, let’s be nice,” Manson said, getting between us. I innocently put up my hands and stepped back, letting him do his job. It was his shop so if he wanted Jess as a client, he could fucking have her.

But having her as a client still meant we all had to deal with her. Hence the brilliant payment idea I’d told to Manson earlier. If Jess was going to be coming here as our customer, we needed to make it worth our while. And if she didn’t have cash, then we needed something else.

Lucas finally joined us, stalking into the garage, looking like he wanted to kill something. He was wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt and his good jeans — the ones that didn’t have massive holes and grease stains all over them. When the hell was the last time he wore something with buttons?

I sniffed as he stood near me, arms tightly folded across his chest.

“You’re wearing cologne,” I said.

His expression didn’t change. “Maybe you should consider doing the same thing. I can smell you from here.”

I glared at the side of his head but still gave myself a quick sniff when he walked away. Lucas went over to Jess, wedging her between himself and Manson in front of the car.

“You guys can fix this thing, right?” she said, her tone eager as she looked between the two of them. I rolled my eyes, perching myself on a stool to watch the show. I already knew what they were going to tell her and she wasn’t going to be happy about it.

“You’re going to need a new engine,” Lucas said, his face contorting with disgust when he peeked inside the oil cap. “And there will be labor costs.” He whipped a small towel out of his pocket, cracking it repeatedly in the air as he stared her down. “There’s a lot of labor involved.”

She sighed heavily. “Okay. Great. How much is this going to cost?”

The laptop we kept in the garage was looking a bit worse for wear since the night of the break-in, but at least it still worked. Manson brought up the spreadsheet I’d made to simplify pricing for the shop, plugging in numbers and estimated working hours. I noticed him input far more labor hours than would likely be necessary, but I didn’t say a word.

He printed the quote, and I grabbed the paper, presenting the estimate to Jess with a flourish. She sharply sucked in her breath.