A black Ford pickup with green flames coming up over the hood and down the sides was parked next to his car, and he took a moment to look it over. It was good. Really good. If the rest of their work was anything like this, these guys had talent, and lots of it.
The outside of the place was nothing special, but it’d been treated to a makeover as well, given a fresh coat of paint in the same migraine-inducing, retina-searing purple.
“Jesus.” Shoving his keys in his pocket, he strode through the doors and into the workshop.
At this point he hadn’t decided on a game plan other than sizing up the competition, and that’s what they were. He could see that now. Yeah, they were small and they were out of the way, but they weren’t amateurs playing around. They knew their stuff, and if they were stealing his customers, they were a threat regardless of their size.
A guy in coveralls sat on a crate on the other side of the workshop, full welding mask covering his face, welding a patch of steel over a spot that had rusted almost all the way through. He knew this because he knew that car. The powder blue, ’55 Ford Customline had been in his garage a few weeks ago. He’d been the one to look it over and had done the quote himself.
Motherfucker.
He scanned the rest of the workshop, spotting an English Wheel, rollers, and various other tools you’d use if you did things old school. These guys worked hammer and file, from the ground up. These weren’t rush jobs.
They made their own custom panels, weren’t buying them in, and they were doing it well. Folks didn’t mind paying extra green for this kind of workmanship. It took longer, but if the end results were anything like he’d seen so far, the extra time would be worth it for a lot of people.
This, he hadn’t expected.
He looked around again, took in the place with fresh eyes, mind ticking over. Hell, excitement pumped through his veins, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
The determination he’d felt on the drive over shifted, becoming something else entirely.
As R.I.P. had grown, gotten busier, he’d moved away from this kind of detailed, hand-tooled work. They bought in rather than doing it themselves, to save time, to get more cars through the door. Not many did it like this anymore. This is what he wanted to bring back to his own business.
There was a hole in the market—he knew this, had known for a while—but training staff in this type of work took time, time he did not have. Man, if he could offer both options, this being higher priced and fully customized…
It took him all of ten minutes to decide he wanted West Restoration—and the staff that came with it.
The crackle and bright flickering light of the MIG welder stopped suddenly, and Reid turned to the guy across the room. He stood from the low crate he’d been sitting on and flipped the mask up, then pulled it off completely.
Long, fiery red hair fell free, thick and wavy. His gaze shot up and landed on the most exquisite face he had ever laid eyes on. Wide almond-shaped eyes, like fucking clear emeralds, met his and held.
A woman. An unbelievably hot woman.
She walked toward him, and his gaze was drawn to the serious sway of her slim hips, her long legs, and back up to what had to be an amazing rack hidden under those coveralls.
What in the hell?
Planting her hands on her hips, she stopped in front of him, tilting her head up so she could meet his stare. She was tall, but nowhere near his six-foot-four.
And yeah, there was no other word for it. She was stunning. Full lips, made to wrap around a man’s cock, high cheek bones, a perfect little nose, and those eyes, those bend-me-over-and-fuck-me eyes had his tongue stuck to the roof of his goddamn mouth.
“Yo,” she said in a loud voice. “You want something?”
Was she for real?
Her eyes narrowed, and she clicked her fingers in front of his face. “Yo, dude.” Then, shaking her head, lips twisted in disgust, she muttered, “Shit…seriously?”
The woman had the face of an angel, and he’d go out on a limb and guess she also had the cussing abilities of a sailor. He found that such a fuckin’ turn-on it wasn’t funny. With effort, he pulled himself together enough to smile down at her.
“What do you want?” she said slowly, punctuating each word like he was dim-witted.
Biting the inside of his cheek so he didn’t laugh, he arched a brow at her. “You work here?”
This earned him some serious eye rolling. “No, I get off on wearing coveralls in the middle of freakin’ summer.” With that she yanked down the zip at the front, slid them off her shoulders, and knotted the sleeves around her waist.
What she revealed was a skimpy, clingy, white tank, and the amazing rack he knew she had hidden. And when she crossed her arms—which were covered in bright ink from shoulder to wrist, flowers and leaves and birds all twined together beautifully—there was no way to miss the grease under her fingernails and smearing her forearms.
This woman was the physical embodiment of every fantasy he’d ever had….and that included the attitude.
He crossed his arms as well. “Nice way you talk to your customers.”
Her spine straightened, eyes narrowing. She was itching to tear him a new one, it was written all over her face. He’d managed to piss her off just by opening his mouth, and he was enjoying the hell out of it. “Your boss around?”
She uncrossed those beautifully inked arms and planted them back on her slim hips. “Yep.”
His cock filled, hardened, started to throb behind his fly. The more attitude she threw his way, the more turned on he got. The urge to kiss that smart mouth was nearly overwhelming. He mimicked her stance so he wouldn’t tug her closer despite the go-crawl-under-a-rock-and-die vibe she was throwing his way. What he wouldn’t do just to watch her unleash the fiery temper he suspected matched all that gorgeous fucking red hair. “Can I speak to him?”
“You’re speaking to her right now. How can I help you, sir?”
She smiled, a shark’s smile, showing off straight white teeth, and yeah, that turned him on as well. She could take a bite out of him any damn time she wanted. “You own this place?”
“Yep.”
“On your own?”
“I have partners.”
“Ahh.”
“Ahh what? What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. “They here?”
“Alex will be back in a few minutes.” Her lips lifted on one side, and he noticed how the top one was fuller than the lower. Plump and bitable. “Maybe that would suit you better, sir?”
It would, but only because he couldn’t think past the throb in his groin with this hot piece of ass throwing all that attitude his way. “Sure.”
“Go park it over there, then.” She pointed to the other side of the workshop, where a couple chairs sat against the wall. “You won’t have long to wait.”
Then she spun on the heel of her steel-toed boot and continued to go about her business like he wasn’t there.
He chose not to sit, and instead leaned against the wall, unable to take his eyes off her. Lifting those toned, inked arms, she gathered her red hair up off her shoulders and tied it in a messy ponytail, revealing more ink at the back of her neck, one perfect red rose. The skin there glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, and he groaned under his breath, then tried to subtly adjust his cock, so it didn’t look like he had a freaking heat-seeking missile down the front of his jeans.
She went back to the Customline and started working on the headlights. She was frenching them by the looks. When she finished, they’d be set in rather than stick out, giving the car a sleeker appearance. The fine muscles in her arms and shoulders moved as she worked, sexy as hell, and proving she worked hard. He already knew she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty.