~TESSA~
It was yet another beautiful day at the bike shop.
The phones would not stop ringing.
“Bishop Motorcycles, Tessa speaking—uh, yes, we do tune-ups. Yes. No, we don’t repaint scooters. Sorry.”
Click.
I sighed and hung up.
Across the counter, Casey smirked and slid over a small, battered notepad. “You’re not allowed to threaten customers until week two.”
“I didn’t threaten him,” I muttered, brushing my hair behind my ear. “I was firm.”
He shrugged. “Never said you did.”
By mid-morning, I’d messed up two invoices, accidentally scheduled a tire rotation for a guy, and spilled coffee.
But still... when Gus walked past, he tossed me a dirty rag and grunted, “You’re doin’ better than the last one.”
I blinked. “The last what?”
“Reception girl. Left crying. Lasted a day.”
“Oh.”
