His Uptown Girl. Gail Sattler

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      As she pictured herself actually working there, the things she knew she could do bubbled in her mind. “When people come in and they don’t know what’s wrong, if you just hired a bookkeeper, you’d have to stop what you were doing and listen to them. If you hired me, I would get a pretty good idea of what was wrong right off the bat, even if I wasn’t the one to do the actual work.”

      Bob raised one finger in the air. “But—”

      Her words tumbled over his protest. “Then you’d have the option of being able to use me in the shop or the office, wherever I was more needed at the time. Or I could—”

      Bob put up his hands. “That really wasn’t what we had in mind.”

      She narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying a woman couldn’t do this job?”

      “No! That’s not what I’m saying at all…”

      “I might be a woman, but I’m a good mechanic, and that’s what you’re hiring. I would do a good job for you. For both positions. I could even start Monday.”

      “Monday? Really…?” Bob’s voice trailed off. He closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bart and I never discussed this possibility. We have to think about it. Why don’t you fill out the application, and when you’re done I’ll call him in here so we can talk about it?”

      Georgette tried to calm her racing heart. It was a possibility. Thoughts of her father’s vehement disapproval slammed into her, but she pushed them aside. If Bob offered her the job, she would come up with a way to deal with her father. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted more than this job.

      The chime sounded behind her as another customer walked in. Georgette slid to the end of the counter to fill out the application, using her race track friends as references, though she had to list her father’s holding company as current employer.

      When she finished writing, she waited for Bob to complete the work order for his current customer whom she could hear describing the problem he was having with his car.

      After the man left, Georgette spoke up. “It’s the coil,” she said. “Sounds faulty.”

      “You think so? I was just thinking the same thing.”

      Before she could respond, Bart walked into the lobby, wiping his hands on the back of his coveralls. “You here for the office job?” he asked.

      Bob glanced at Bart, then back to Georgette. “You may not believe this, but she’s here for both jobs.” He handed Bart her application along with the newest work order. “Pull this one into bay four. If it’s the coil that’s causing the problem, we just might have found ourselves a new mechanic. And bookkeeper. Bart, this is George.”

      One of Bart’s eyebrows raised. “George?”

      She stiffened. “It’s short for Georgette. My friends call me George.”

      He scanned the application, and gave a slight nod when he saw her racetrack references. “This is good. I know Jason from the track. I’ll talk to him. But I know I’ve seen you somewhere before. Do you go to Faith Community Fellowship?”

      Georgette shook her head. “No. I attend a church nearer to my house. I don’t live nearby. But I buy most of my parts here.”

      “Must be it.” Bart walked back to bay four with Bob.

      Her heart pounded as she watched them check her assessment, nodding as they discussed the faulty coil.

      When they returned to the lobby, she couldn’t hold back any more. “Was I right?”

      “Looks like it. As soon as Bart puts a new coil in and test drives it, he’s going to watch the front desk so you and I can go into the office and discuss the details. You said Monday is good?”

      “Monday is great.” She marveled at her calm tone. “But I want to do my first official duty right now.”

      One eyebrow quirked.

      Without waiting for him to respond, Georgette turned, walked to the cardboard sign in the window, and flipped it into the garbage can.

      She had a job. A real job. And she’d done it without her father.

      Chapter Two

      The early-morning spring breeze drifted into the shop, doing its best to combat the smells of gas, oil and lubricants.

      Bob had just reached down to check the power-steering belt of the car he was working on when an expensive sports car with tinted windows stopped in front of the bay next to him and began to back in.

      Bob straightened, wiped his hands on the rag from his pocket, and watched the door to the car open.

      A sleek, spike-heeled shoe poked out, followed by a slender, shapely leg. A swish of soft fabric brought the flow of a skirt, followed by the rest of the beautiful blond driver.

      “Hi, Bob. I brought my tools. Where should I put them?”

      Bob’s heart pounded. He stared openly at his new mechanic. If she hadn’t spoken, he wouldn’t have recognized her, she was always so casually dressed the other times she’d come into the shop with her blond hair tied up in a ponytail, probably an attempt to make herself appear taller. Today, George wore makeup and a hairstyle fit for a magazine cover. Her outfit was nicer than most women he knew wore for special occasions. It was probably more expensive as well.

      He didn’t want or need a fashion model. He needed someone who could change a head gasket.

      Bob wondered if he’d made his decision to hire her too impulsively. He tried to think of how to tell her that maybe he would have to reconsider, when George reached into the car, pulled out a duffel bag, and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back. I have to change into something more suitable before I start working.”

      Before he could think of a response, she dashed off, the click of her high heels echoing against the concrete as she ran.

      Bob checked his watch. It was fifteen minutes before her agreed start time. If he told her he’d changed his mind before she actually started, that might not count as actually firing her. It would probably be less painful that way.

      She reappeared in minutes in comfortably worn jeans, a T-shirt proclaiming the tour of a popular Christian musician, and appropriate steel-toed safety boots. Turning as she spoke, she tossed the duffel into the back seat of her car. “I didn’t know if you had coveralls that would fit me, so I brought my own. I hope that’s okay.”

      “Uh…yeah…”

      Bob shook his head to clear it. At least he would see what she could do. “Ready?”

      “Soon as I unpack my tools. They’re in the trunk.”

      Bob turned to stare at her car, which was probably worth at least triple the sticker price of his. “Nice,” he said, positive she’d been driving something else when she’d applied for the job. He couldn’t see why someone who could afford such a car would apply at his simple shop, she was obviously used to living СКАЧАТЬ