That Kind of Girl (Fillmore & Greenwich Book 2) (13 page)

"So what are you going to do about it?" she asked, standing toe to toe with him. "Nothing, right? You're going to let the next person go through the same thing, because you work for the man. The man owns you."

"You worked for the man."

"And the man screwed me over!" she exclaimed. She poked him in the chest. "He's going to screw you over, too."

"Probably," he replied cheerily.

"This isn't the last you've heard of me." Storming out of his office, she said over her shoulder, "I'll be back."

"Call me crazy," he called after her, "but I'm looking forward to it."

George stood outside the garage, staring at the tarp that covered the entire façade.

The scaffolding had gone up the morning after Fabio had first come by, and then the entire building had been mummified. The only thing that could be seen was the garage door. Otherwise, nothing was visible from any angle, even down below.

George had no idea if anything was going on under the tarp. It'd been days, but she hadn't seen any sign of anyone.

Maybe she should peek.

She looked around, wondering if Fabio would have rigged a camera to catch her.

"Are you casing the joint?" a masculine voice asked from behind.

She jumped, whirling to find Pete, in all his fireman's glory, smiling at her in humor.

"Because I happen to know the owner doesn't have a security system," he continued.

She rolled her eyes. "I don't have anything to steal."

"But security systems come with fire monitoring," he said. "I know you have fire hazards in there."

He really took his job seriously. "I kind of hope that the fire station across the street will get to me in time if anything happens."

"Well, there's that, too. Are you having it painted?"

"Sort of." She faced him. "How's it going?"

He sobered. "Did you hear about Dolores?"

"Aw jeez." She'd forgotten how close Pete and Dolores had been. She touched his arm. "You okay?"

"I can't believe it," he said, his eyes moist. "We'd just gone out last week. You know she and I went to the opera together."

"I didn't know you were into opera," she said, looking at him in a new light.

"I wasn't." He grinned crookedly. "Dolores loved it. I went with her to keep her company, because it made her happy. Somehow she taught me to love it, too."

George smiled sadly. "She was probably parading you around to find you a wife."

"God, she loved to matchmake." He laughed. "No one escaped her clutches."

"She tampered with someone's engine once to have him come see me," she confessed.

Pete whistled. "I want to think that's urban legend, but it's something she'd totally do. To quote her, she was a pip."

"She was something."

Turning to look at the ramshackle little house next to the fire station, they had a moment of silence in Dolores's honor. Then Pete faced George. "My car's making a strange noise."

"What sort of noise?"

"Like this." He growled and coughed deep in his throat.

"Sounds like it has a hairball," she diagnosed.

"I know." He grinned. "Which is why I thought I'd bring it by."

"I'll come to you," she said. Her bays were full now that her Black Shadow was parked in there.

"Great," Pete said, waving as he headed back to the station. "See you soon."

Glancing at her mummified garage, she went inside to make some calls for her new project.

Finding parts for a rare vintage motorcycle wasn't easy.

As she called the last place on her list, George was even tempted to call it impossible, except she didn't want to jinx herself. She tapped her foot on the floor as she waited for someone to pick up.

No one answered, so she left a message about the parts she needed. She'd fudged the mechanics a little, replacing what needed to be fixed with modern counterparts that made it run infinitely smoother. Alex had taken it out for a test drive and had simply said "Whoa" when he came back.

Poppy wouldn't have loved it, but he'd have gotten over the modifications once he felt how smoothly it ran. But she couldn't do the same with the body—she knew she had to get original parts.

She spent the day working on a Honda that needed new brake pads despite what its thrifty owner thought. Toward midafternoon, she washed up, changed out of her overalls, and went to meet Sebastian.

He was already at In Vino Veritas, talking to Bronwyn, when George arrived. She sat down next to him and nodded at Bronwyn.

"You look nice," Sebastian said as he kissed her cheek in welcome. "Are you going out?"

She hated that she blushed. She also hated that she changed her clothes just in case Remy stopped by again. "No, I'm not."

"Hmm," was all he said in reply.

Bronwyn set two glasses in front of them and pulled out a bottle from the fridge. "How's everything coming along for the party?"

"Good," Sebastian said. "The furniture is going to be delivered this week, and then it'll just be the mural left."

George looked at the wine. "What am I drinking today?"

"Pinot grigio," Bronwyn said. "I'm feeling summery."

Sebastian grinned. "I already pointed out that it's fifty degrees today."

"I'm calling in summer," Bronwyn said, her chin set with determination. She frowned at George. "You want this, or are you leaving?"

"I want it," George said quickly. Bronwyn was a loose cannon, and she knew better than to antagonize her. "I want it bad."

Sebastian snorted next to her.

Waiting for Bronwyn to finish the pour, she lifted her glass and held it out toward Sebastian. "To friends who send you the right people, unlike mothers who send stalkers."

"Stalkers?" he asked, sitting up as he clinked his glass to hers. "What stalker?"

She took a long swallow of wine to fortify herself. "The one I tried to hire to paint the mural."

"Fabio?" Sebastian said, looking concerned.

"No, I hired Fabio. I mean Remy."

"Who's Remy?"

"The man who showed up first." At Sebastian's confused look, George shrugged. "Remy came to the shop when the artist you recommended was supposed to come by. I thought he was the muralist you'd recommended, but it turns out he's just a stalker my mother sent."

Sebastian sat up, alert. "Is this guy harassing you?"

She pursed her lips, thinking about the way he hadn't kissed her the night before. She'd spent half the night hating that she'd wanted him to and the other half wondering if he hadn't because she'd had onions in her sandwich at lunch. "I'm definitely harassed."

Sebastian took out his phone. "Do you know his full name?"

"Remy Savage."

"Remy Savage?" He paused, looking up at her. "The sculptor?"

"Yeah." She frowned. "You know him?"

Muttering to himself, Sebastian bent his head over the phone, his thumbs flying. Then he held it out. "Is this him?"

She looked at the screen. On it was a picture of Remy in a tux, with his arm around his petite blonde wife. She looked like she'd stepped out of a fashion magazine. He looked happy instead of brooding, and that made George's heart sink. As if she needed more evidence that he'd loved her. "Yeah."

"Remy Savage, sculptor," Sebastian repeated. "I saw one of his shows in New York. His wife was a socialite."

"Really?" George suddenly felt inadequate.

"She died a few years ago." Sebastian set down the phone and picked up his wine. "It was tragic, some sort of accident. I don't remember much after that because I'd gone in to the hospital myself."

Sebastian had battled a brain tumor. He was healed now, but he'd had a long road to recovery from what Ariana had told her.

"Savage is very talented," Sebastian continued. "Did you say you hired him to do the mural?"

"Yeah."

Sebastian shook his head. "You wouldn't have been able to afford him."

"Money's not what he's after," she mumbled.

"What does he want?"

Her. But she couldn't say it out loud, especially after seeing his wife's picture again. How ridiculous was it that he'd want a grease monkey Amazon?

"How did you meet him?"

"My mom. She sent him."

Sebastian sat back. "Well, if Remy Savage agreed to do your mural, then it's a coup, because that'll increase the notoriety of the garage completely. He's respected, George. The New York art scene hangs on his every word. Or at least it used to. He hasn't been as active lately, as far as I know."

She pulled at her ponytail. Then why did he want her to dance with him? She needed to ask him. She had no idea how to contact him, but she knew who would. "He doesn't want to do the mural. Fabio is doing the mural. I think."

"I hope so." Sebastian frowned. "So everything is okay?"

"I think so." She had no idea what
okay
meant anymore. Her stool screeched in protest as she pushed it back to stand. "Thanks. This has been real."

Sebastian smiled wryly. "It always is."

Bronwyn sauntered over, her eyebrow raised. "Are you leaving without paying again?"

"Put it on my tab."

"You don't have a tab."

George put her finger to her chin. "I
don't
?" she said with exaggerated confusion. She ducked as her friend wadded a napkin and threw it at her, hurrying out before Bronwyn cursed her.

Walking with a purpose, she headed toward her garage, but as she turned the corner she ran straight into Esme.

"Oof," the smaller woman said, reeling back.

George grabbed her arm. "You okay?"

"It's not me I'm worried about." Esme looked up at her with her strange pale eyes. "You seem agog."

George blinked. "Agog?"

"Highly excited by curiosity or anticipation," she answered as if reading the definition. "It was one of the Words of the Day last week."

"Esme, you're so weird."

The woman made a face. "Can't we call it charming instead?"

George looked her over, head to toe, from the pink scarf covering her hair to the millions of bracelets jangling on her arms, to the gypsy skirt that covered her lower half. She shook her head. "I don't think that we can."

"Oh well, I'll work on it." Then she pointed at George. "And
you
."

Uh-oh
. She took a step back. "What about me?"

"Don't rush to wear the dress," Esme said, her eyes clear and piercing. "You'll know the right time."

"What dress?"

But Esme just waved, muttering something about grooming as she walked away.

"What dress?" George yelled after her uselessly. Shaking her head, she pulled out her phone and went back into the garage to call her mother. "Siobhan, what does Remy Savage want with me?"

"
Mi corazón
, what a lovely surprise," her mother purred. "Your father and I were just talking about you and Remy."