Part 9:
She crossed her arms, looking way too much like her aunt. I’m not a baby. I know things are hard. Ethan pulled her into a hug, feeling the familiar weight of failure press down on his shoulders. Things are fine. I promise. You’re lying again. Yeah, I am. They stood there in the doorway of the shop, and Ethan wondered when his daughter had gotten old enough to see through him so easily, when she’d stopped believing that parents had all the answers.
The Jaguar pulled into the parking lot at 11:30. Ethan was under the Subaru, tracing a mysterious rattle that seemed to move every time he got close, when he heard the distinctive purr of the British engine. He rolled out from under the car, grabbed a rag to wipe his hands, and there she was. Vivien Hart, stepping out of her vintage car like she was arriving at a charity gala instead of a run-down repair shop in Georgetown.
She wore jeans today, actual jeans, and a simple white shirt, but she still looked like money. It was in the way she moved, the way she carried herself. Sophie appeared from the office like she’d been shot from a cannon. Is that her? Is that the date lady? Sophie? Hi, I’m Sophie. Are you my dad’s girlfriend? Viven’s expression flickered through several emotions before landing on amused.
I’m Vivien and we’ll have to see about the girlfriend part. That means yes, Sophie informed her father. That means nothing. Ethan shot his daughter a look that she completely ignored. Sorry, she’s eight and has no filter. I have a filter. I just choose not to use it. Vivian laughed and the sound was different than it had been at the diner. lighter.
I like her already. You say that now. Ethan gestured toward the shop. You actually came. I said I would think about it. I thought about it. Here I am. She walked into the bay and he watched her take in the cramped space, the ancient equipment, the oil stains that had probably been there since the 70s. To her credit, her expression didn’t change. It’s small, she said.
That’s a generous word for it. But it’s yours for now. Something shifted in her expression. What does that mean? Ethan glanced at Sophie, who was pretending not to listen while very obviously listening. Nothing. Just business stuff. Dad’s shop is closing, Sophie said matterofactly. The bank is taking it. Sophie, what? It’s true.
I heard you on the phone. Viven looked between them and Ethan felt heat crawl up his neck. This was not the impression he’d wanted to make. Desperate mechanic, failing business, eavesdropping daughter. It’s not closing, he said firmly. We’re just having a rough month. Three rough months, Sophie corrected. I count the envelopes on your desk.
Why do you Never mind. Go back to your homework. But homework now. Sophie huffed dramatically, but retreated to the office, though she kept glancing through the glass with obvious interest. Ethan turned back to Vivien, who was still standing in the middle of the bay, looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “Sorry,” he said.
“She’s going through a phase where she thinks being brutally honest is a personality trait.” “She’s not wrong, though, is she?” “About which part?” “The bank, the foreclosure.” He could lie. Should lie probably, but what was the point? 60 days pass due, he admitted. They want payment by end of month or they start proceedings.
How much do you need? I’m not That’s not why I told you. I didn’t say it was. I asked how much you need. Ethan shook his head. Vivien, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not taking money from someone I just met. It wouldn’t be a gift. It would be a loan or an investment in a three-star auto shop in Georgetown.
That’s a terrible investment. Let me worry about my portfolio. She walked closer and he caught that same expensive perfume from last night. How much, Ethan? 15,000 to catch up and buy some breathing room. She didn’t even blink. That’s nothing. It’s everything to me. I know. Her voice was soft. That’s why I’m offering.
Pride and desperation war in his chest. Pride was winning, but barely. I can’t. If I take your money and the shop still fails, then we’ll deal with it then. Vivien pulled out her phone. What’s your bank account number? No, Ethan. No. He said it firmly enough that she stopped. I don’t want your money.
I want to earn my way out of this. That’s admirable and stupid. Yeah, well, I’m good at both. They stood there in the shop, the Subaru between them, and he could feel Sophie watching from the office. The rattle he’d been chasing seemed to have vanished, like even the car was holding its breath. “Fine,” Vivian said finally. “No money.
” But let me ask you something. How many bays does this shop have? Two. And how many mechanics? Just me. I had a guy, but I couldn’t afford to keep him. So, you’re doing everything yourself? oil changes, brake jobs, diagnostics, everything. That’s how it works when you can’t pay staff. She walked around the Subaru, examining the space with the same calculating look he’d seen corporate types use when they were deciding whether to buy or demolish.
What if you had more work than you could handle? Would that help? Sure, if I had 8 more hours in the day and didn’t need sleep. What if the work paid enough to hire someone to actually expand? Ethan wiped his hands on the rag again, a nervous habit. Where are you going with this? Hard Industries has a fleet, about 200 vehicles across our Seattle operations, trucks, vans, company cars.
