Don't Need You - Lilian Monroe Page 0,90
people doing what you say, aren’t you?” Benji’s tone is colder than it was a second ago.
It’s like a switch flicks, and he’s stone-faced. I know what he sees in me. He thinks I’m just some rich heiress from the big city, here to mess his life up. He thinks I have a sense of superiority just because I was born into money. He thinks he’s morally better than me because he has to earn his crust.
He doesn’t know what I’ve been through. He doesn’t know what I’ve done for my sister. For Sawyer. For everyone in my family. The sacrifices I’ve made—and ones I still make every day. He doesn’t know a damn thing about me, and he has no right to make me feel small.
I straighten myself up, jutting my chin out at him.
“I expect employees to do their job.”
“I’m going to need to see that famous paperwork,” he says, widening his stance. “You might have to un-shove it from your ass, though. As it is now, I don’t believe you bought this place at all.”
My eyes drift down to his biceps and the fabric that’s pulled tight across them. I snap my gaze back up to his face, not wanting to entertain the thoughts that are threatening to invade my brain.
Like what that chest looks like without clothes on, for example.
I mean, fine. Benji has a kind of rough sex appeal. He’s got this attitude and he’s looking at me with a bit of a snarl on his face. I can tell he doesn’t like me.
Why is that so hot?
Fire licks the edges of my stomach, roaring hotter as Benji takes a step toward me. I try to swallow my feelings down, ignoring the heat firing in my veins. The mechanic steps toward me, his chest nearly brushing against mine. His blue eyes gleam, and a part of me melts at the sight.
He smells like grease—but there’s something else. Worn wood and leather. Sandalwood and musk. Man. I turn my head away from him, not wanting to acknowledge the heat burning in the pit of my stomach.
I watch Benji lean down over the driver’s seat and pop the hood of the car. My eyes drift to his ass. Apparently, coveralls do something for me, because I can’t look away.
Clearing my throat, I cross my arms and glance around the garage.
I don’t know the first thing about cars. I know how to run a business, sure, but I don’t belong here. If only Sawyer had stayed, I could have told him what was going on. I could have extended that olive branch and explained what happened three years ago.
But no. He ran away. Again. And once again, I’m left holding the bag. I’m the bad guy.
Benji looks under the hood, then glances at me. “I’ve got some jumper cables. Might just be your battery. You’re not supposed to leave your lights on overnight.”
He says it so casually, so off-handedly, that I almost feel like I’m back in my father’s offices. I’m used to getting talked down to by stuffy, gray-haired executives. I’m used to being underestimated—but it never fails to make my blood boil.
I’m his boss, whether he wants to believe it or not. I own this place, and I don’t like being spoken to like I’m some sort of bumbling idiot.
I grind my teeth, shooting daggers at him. “I did not leave the lights on.”
Benji shrugs, reaching into his pocket to pull out a packet of gum. He extends the pack of gum to me, arching an eyebrow.
I just stare at him until he pulls it away.
“Suit yourself,” he says, putting a piece in his mouth. I watch him amble toward the other side of the garage, where he grabs a few jumper cables off the wall. With his other hand, he takes a battery off a shelf and heads back toward me.
I feel useless. I watch him hook them up to the battery in my car to the good battery on the floor. He walks toward me, his big, broad body dominating over mine.
Extending his hand toward me, he arches an eyebrow.
I don’t know what he wants. Is this some sort of peace offering? Did he have a change of heart? I stare at him for a second, slowly reaching my hand out to shake his. The minute our palms touch, a sizzle of electricity sparks up my arm. I clench my thighs together, feeling my blush deepen.
Benji stares at me as we shake hands, a