I groan and chase after her. Without looking up, she sidesteps and dodges my searching hands. We dance around the small shop, me lumbering after her and her gliding just out of reach like a seasoned boxer. Fuck, she’s slippery.

Every time she evades my clutches, the corners of her lips curve up. Her gaze snaps to the bays, searching behind me where everyone is busy working. And I’m in here playing keep-away with a co-ed. I manage to corner her, but she slides the clipboard behind her back. She let me catch her. I reach around her and grab her wrist. I’m forceful, but she resists. She’s deceptively strong and all I manage to do is pull her body against mine.

She runs hot and her skin burns into mine through our clothes. My head tells me to step back, but I am too stubborn to let her win this little game. I peer down at her. I’ve made men piss their pants with this look, but Jessie just smiles up at me, happy as a pig in shit.

“You know why that’s funny?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Why?” I ask, my voice huskier than I’d like.

In one swift motion she shoves the clipboard into my chest and steps back. “Your schedule is wrong.”

I’m searching the list, checking it against the cars out in the service bays. Jessie skips—fucking skips—over to the counter, clicks a couple of buttons on the computer and prints out a new schedule.

She slaps the paper down in front of me, pointing to the yellow highlighted Buick that isn’t on my schedule.

“The guy with the F-150 canceled, so an internet appointment was slated in its place about an hour ago. Better keep up, Big Man.”

I toss the clipboard down on the counter and retreat to the office. I sit down in my ancient office chair and start poring over yesterday’s invoices. Her system is supposed to handle all the invoices and inventory too, but for now I was able to convince Rob to keep up the paper system that’s always worked. She can try her experiment, and when it fails and she leaves, I’ll still keep us going.

Jessie props that perfect ass against the desk beside me, her hip brushing against my forearm. I don’t move. Don’t react. I’m not giving in to her. She’s done pushing my buttons.

She waves the paint swatches in front of my face. “I’m thinking I can take Mikey to pick up the paint with me tomorrow afternoon and we can paint after we close. It’s a small enough space. It should only take a few hours.”

I give her a low hum in acceptance. She swings away, tucks the samples into her back pocket and saunters out of the door.

“Change is good, Big Man. You’re gonna like it. I promise,” she sings from the front of the shop. Doorbells jingle and I let out a deep sigh, knowing she’s gone.