Don't Need You - Lilian Monroe Page 0,88

rule. But he’s just like everyone else. Out to help himself. Doing what’s best for number one.

What did I expect?

Everyone leaves. Harold’s no different.

The old man lets out another long breath as Rae tries the ignition again. A sick sort of satisfaction twists in my stomach as the car refuses to start.

“Benji? Let me buy you a beer tonight. I’ll tell you everything.” His voice is soft, and it grows even softer. “I’m sorry, son.”

Anger spears me right in the middle of the chest. I’m not angry at Harold. They probably offered him millions for a dirty, old garage. He’s been wanting to retire for over a decade. He lost his wife a few years ago, and he hasn’t been the same since. I can’t be mad at him. Not truly.

The person I can be mad at, however, is currently banging her hands on her steering wheel in frustration.

“Fine. I’ll call you back,” I say, hanging up the phone.

A cruel, satisfied smirk tugs at my lips as I amble over to her door. I rap a knuckle on the window, relishing the anger in Rae’s eyes when she swings her white-hot gaze over to me.

I arch an eyebrow, leaning toward the window so she can hear me. “Need a hand? Or is this place too much of a pig sty for a fancy vehicle like yours?”

2

Rae

Heat rises up my neck, spattering my cheeks with red. I try the ignition one more time, already knowing the car won’t start. My parents bought me this car for my sweet sixteen, and it’s been making a weird clunking noise for a year and a half. I haven’t had the money to get it fixed, though. All my money goes to my sister, Lucy, her son, and the savings I used to buy this place.

I’ve needed to save every penny to make sure Lucy had what she needed, and to start making a plan to provide for her and her son. A new vehicle just didn’t seem like a priority.

As my car whines, though, I’m starting to think that was a mistake. I was supposed to leave this car behind for Lucy when I went back down to Houston in six weeks’ time. The car won’t be much use to my sister if it doesn’t start.

Glancing over at the mechanic standing next to my window, I school my features to try to hide my embarrassment.

Benji’s lips are curled into an insolent smirk. I know the kind. I’ve seen it before, every time someone finds out my last name. My father has a reputation as a shrewd businessman who’ll stop at nothing to close a deal. He inherited the oil and gas business from his father, and his cutthroat attitude is what helped the business grow to the empire it is today. Everyone thinks I’m the same.

This mechanic obviously does, too. I can’t blame him. I walked in here with the deed to this garage, waving it in his face and demanding to see my brother.

Maybe my father and I aren’t so different, after all.

But I’m here for a reason, and I’m not going to let some disgruntled employee get in the way of me helping my family.

Still, when my eyes move to take in Benji’s, my stomach clenches. There’s something about him that reaches deep into my body and shakes me awake. Makes me feel like I’ve been missing something in all the years I’ve been on this earth.

Maybe it’s the messy hair. The chiseled jaw. The grease rag hanging out of his pocket. Maybe it’s the rough, broad hands that drum on his big biceps when he crosses his arms. He’s all man. Nothing at all like the sniveling, trust-fund suitors my parents try to parade in front of me.

Benji is real.

And he hates me.

Can I blame him?

The mechanic arches an eyebrow, keeping his eyes on mine as I move to open the door. When he steps back, my eyes drift down to his broad chest, where a little sprout of blond chest hair pokes out above his work uniform.

No, he’s not like the guys I usually see.

He’s rough and dirty—in a good way. As I open the door and step out of the car, I allow myself to stare. Benji’s coveralls are tight across his chest, the little badge with his name bright white against the dirty, navy fabric. He’s got shaggy, dark blond hair, and a smudge of grease across his cheek. I catch myself thinking I like it.

I usually date