Wren
The dealership smelled like lemon polish, new leather, and… anxiety. Not mine, surprisingly. Damon Vale, billionaire titan of industry, looked profoundly out of place perched on a cheap plastic chair while a perky saleswoman named Brenda chirped about torque ratios.
“and the all-wheel drive handles like a dream in snow! Perfect for those mountain getaways!” Brenda beamed, clearly directing her pitch at Damon.
He didn’t even glance up from the brochure he was pretending to read. “Miss Hartley is the buyer. Address her.” His voice was calm, but the undercurrent of ‘Try ignoring her again, I dare you’ was unmistakable.
Brenda blinked, momentarily flustered. “Oh! Right! Of course, Ms. Hartley! So, the snow handling…”
I tuned her out, focusing instead on the sleek, slate-grey Volvo
