PART 2:

” Claire blinked. That was more words than she’d expected and approximately 17 more technical details than she cared about. “So, that’s a yes?” Nate Rhodes looked at her for another long moment, then passed her to where her Valkyrie sat in the middle of the bay like a sleeping predator.

She watched his eyes trace the lines of the car, reading it like text. “Maybe,” he said finally. “Let me look at it.” “Now?” “You want it tomorrow, don’t you?” It wasn’t quite an answer, but Claire Montgomery didn’t get where she was by accepting half measures. “Fine. Look at it, then tell me if you can fix it.” Nate stood up from the creeper and Claire realized he was tall, maybe 6’1, with the kind of lean build that came from actual physical work, rather than expensive gym memberships.

He wiped his hands on a rag that was already so dirty it probably made them worse, then walked past her toward her car without another word. Claire followed, irritation and curiosity fighting for dominance in her chest. By the time she reached the Valkyrie, Nate was already inside it, sitting in the driver’s seat with the door open, his grease-stained hands moving across the dashboard with surprising gentleness.

He pressed the start button. Nothing. Tried it again. Still nothing. Then he closed his eyes. Claire watched, confused, as this strange mechanic sat in her $3 million car with his eyes closed like he was meditating. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Listening,” Nate said without opening his eyes. “To what? It’s not making any sound.

” “Everything makes sound, Miss Montgomery.” “Claire Montgomery.” “Everything makes sound, Miss Montgomery. Even silence tells you something.” Claire wanted to roll her eyes, wanted to snap that she didn’t have time for Zen philosophy, but something stopped her. Maybe it was the complete certainty in his voice.

Maybe it was the way his hands rested on the steering wheel like he was reading braille. After what felt like an hour, but was probably only 2 minutes, Nate opened his eyes and got out of the car. He walked around it slowly, studying it from different angles, occasionally crouching to look underneath. “Well?” Claire’s voice had more edge than she intended.

Nate straightened, wiping his hands again, a nervous habit maybe, or just practical. “The diagnostic computers are right. There’s no obvious fault. But the symptom pattern suggests a voltage drop somewhere in the primary power distribution. Could be a bad ground connection, could be a failing relay in the junction box, could be a short in the harness that only manifests under specific conditions.

” “In English, please.” “It’s like having a blackout in your house, but only in certain rooms and only sometimes. The problem isn’t that there’s no power coming in, it’s that the power isn’t getting where it needs to go.” “Can you fix it?” Nate looked at the car again, then back at her. “Probably, but it’ll take time.

” “How much time?” “To do it right? 2 days, maybe three.” “I need it tomorrow.” “Then you need someone willing to guess and replace parts until something works.” “That’s not fixing it. That’s gambling. And with this car, gambling means you could create new problems worse than the one you have.” Claire Montgomery took a step closer to him, close enough that most people would have stepped back.

Nate Rhodes didn’t move. “Mr. Rhodes, I’m not interested in explanations or excuses. I have a dinner meeting tomorrow night that I cannot miss, and I will not arrive in anything less than my own car. So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to fix this car by tomorrow evening, and you’re going to do it right.

And if you can’t, then you’re wasting both our time.” Nate met her eyes, and for a moment Claire saw something that looked almost like amusement. “You must be really important,” he said quietly. “Excuse me?” “The car. The attitude. The assumption that the laws of physics bend to your schedule.” He shook his head slightly. “You must be really really important.

” Claire Montgomery had faced down boardrooms full of hostile shareholders. She’d negotiated with foreign governments and stared down corporate raiders. She was not accustomed to being mocked by men in coveralls. “I don’t think you understand who you’re talking to,” she said, her voice dropping to the temperature of liquid nitrogen.

“Claire Montgomery, CEO of Montgomery Industries, net worth somewhere north of $2 billion, depending on the stock price. Youngest woman to ever helm a Fortune 500 company, known as the Ice Queen by Business Insider and the Barracuda by your competitors.” Nate recited the facts like he was reading a grocery list.

“Did I miss anything?” Claire stared at him. “How do you Google. You’re not exactly subtle with that custom license plate.” She looked back at her car. He was right. Her vanity plate read C M O N T G 1. Subtle had never been her brand. “So, you know who I am,” Claire said, recovering her composure. “Then you know that disappointing me is bad for business.

” “Is it?” Nate tilted his head slightly. “Are you going to leave bad Yelp reviews, get me fired, destroy my career?” There was no anger in his voice, no fear, just genuine curiosity. “I could.” “You could,” he agreed, “but you won’t get your car fixed by tomorrow. See, Miss Montgomery, here’s the thing about machines.

They don’t care about your net worth, they don’t care about your meetings or your deadlines or your threats. They work on their own timeline, and if you try to rush them, they break, sometimes permanently.” Claire felt heat rising in her chest. Anger, yes, but something else, too, something she didn’t have a name for. “So, that’s a no?” she said icily.

👉 [Tap here for the Next Part ] 👈