The quiet of the small office—and my productivity—is shattered by the sound of mechanics busting through the door.

“I’ve been fixin’ cars since you were just a wriggling sperm in your daddy’s ball sac, you little punk,” Shelley calls out across the shop. She’s been giving our new guy, Mikey, shit since he started a year ago. He’s a few years younger than me, in his early twenties, but he’s baby-faced and naive as fuck. An easy target.

“And you look it too,” Mikey taunts back. Dumb move, kid. I’m pretty sure Shelley’s killed a few men before. I bet they were all assholes that deserved it, but point is not to fuck with a woman who knows where to hide bodies.

“The fuck you just say to me? You’re asking to get your ass beat, boy!”

Childish giggling is followed by the unmistakable clatter of tools hitting a cement floor.

Sean, the older and calmer one, chimes in with, “Don’t kill ’em, Shel. He’s so pretty to look at.”

I grumble at their bullshit, despite indulging in a small smile that no one can see while I’m hunkered down in the office. “Knock that shit off before customers show up!” I shout at them like a dad threatening to turn the car around.

The scuffling continues, although a bit muted now. At least they’re trying to hide it, which is something. A knock on the door draws my attention to Sean waiting to talk to me.

“Got a second, boss?” he asks.

I’m not the boss, but I run the place, so that’s what everyone calls me.

“Sure. What’s up?” I ask the weathered old mechanic.

“I was hoping to take Tuesday off next week.”

I push down a sigh. So much for that fucking schedule I spent an hour making this morning.

“I would, but Shelley asked for Tuesday off first.”

Sean’s head tilts to the side and he calls out, “Shel, you want Tuesday or Wednesday off?”

“Wednesday. Championship for league bowling night,” Shelley calls back.

“Well, fuck. I guess that’s sorted then.” I tear up the schedule and start writing a new one from scratch.

“You all right, boss? You look like shit.” Sean means well, but I don’t have time for this. Doesn’t matter if I’m all right or not—shit still needs to get done and there’s no one else to do it.

“Yeah, Sean. I’m fine. You can have Tuesday off, but I’ll need you to work overtime on Wednesday so Shelley can go to her league night.”

“No problem. Thanks, Dev.”

Sean disappears and I focus again on the million other things I’ve got to get done today. I growl at the unwelcome sound of my phone buzzing. What the fuck is it now?

“What?” I answer.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine!” Austin, my best friend and colossal pain in my ass, sings out. “You need to get laid, man. Bad.”

“I got work to do. This call have a point?”

Austin laughs. “You coming to my game tonight?”