Chapter 5: Too Many Jobs, Too Little Patience
528 Words
Elara yawned so hard it felt like her jaw might detach. Reception shift done, garage shift looming, bills piling, mother’s illness weighing on her mind, and loans threatening to scream at her from her phone. Yep, she was officially a walking disaster with a spark of genius stuck somewhere under exhaustion.
She muttered under her breath, quoting herself like it was some pep talk that would make her less tired. “Keep it together, Elara. You can survive anything. Probably.”
The garage smelled like oil, rubber, and despair. Or maybe just despair. Either way, she tried not to think about the BMW sitting under the fluorescent lights. It was still his, it was still perfect in his eyes, and it was still somehow her problem.
“Carter must think I have superpowers,” she whispered to herself, rolling her eyes. “Or that I moonlight as a wizard who can fix everything while exhausted. Spoiler alert: I am not a wizard. Yet.”
She was elbow-deep in a stubborn engine when she heard the familiar voice. “Oh, you are back.” Adrian. Smooth, infuriating, perfectly irritating.
She straightened, hands greasy, ready to glare. “Yes, I am. Lucky you.”
His smirk was infuriating. “I was hoping you survived yesterday,” he said, walking closer. “Did you?”
She wiped her hands on her coveralls, muttering under her breath. “Barely. Thanks for asking like you actually care.” She added out loud, “I am fine. And the car is fine. Mostly.”
Adrian crouched slightly to inspect the engine. “Mostly?”
“Yes, mostly,” she said, her voice firm. “You want perfection, go buy another car. This one survives, I survive, everyone wins. Except your ego, obviously.”
He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement passing through his normally rigid expression. He tried to ignore it. He really did. But he found himself studying her how she moved, how she handled tools like extensions of her own hands, the way she did not bow to him or his money.
“Do you always talk to yourself while working?” he asked, genuinely curious despite himself.
“Yes, actually,” she said, muttering under her breath again. “Otherwise, life is too quiet and sad.” Then louder: “Now, unless you plan on giving me a medal for surviving your perfection standards, please leave me to work.”
Adrian straightened, suppressing a smirk. She was funny. Sharp. Annoying. And somehow, she made him feel like he was playing a game he could not cheat in. That realization did not thrill him, but he could not deny the respect creeping into his thoughts.
Elara turned back to the engine, shaking her head. “I swear, working with rich jerks should be a sport. I would win gold, silver, and bronze. If I had time for medals, that is.”
Adrian cleared his throat. “Gold, huh?”
She glanced up, smirked, and muttered again, “I am too busy surviving to care what you think.”
Enemy status confirmed. Respect level rising. And the war was far from over.
- Writer
