“Has Grant ever actually fired someone over a late invoice? Don’t answer that.”
“It’s the principle.”
It was always the principle with Carter. The man had feelings about process that bordered on religious.
“Monday,” I promised. “Nine a.m. You have my word.”
He studied me, then relented. “Fine. Monday. How’s it been around here this week?”
“Busy. Three restorations behind schedule, one parts delay, phones ringing off the hook, and I spent half of yesterday explaining to a man that no, we could not turn his Tahoe into a Ferrari.”
“So the usual.”
“The usual with paperwork.”
“You need someone steady up front. I’ll get HR on it. What else?”
“That’s about it.” I picked up the wrench.
“Uh-huh.” He looked from the Chevy to the speaker and back to me. “So. Woman.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve turned that bolt into a what-not-to-do situation, and Jazmine Sullivan on a Tuesday? Really?”
“She’s the voice of her generation.”
“Hale.”
I leaned back against the fender. “Tell me about Sophie. What’s going on there?”
Carter frowned. “What?”
“Sophie. Thursday night at Grant’s. Y’all left together. I risked Ava’s wrath to make that happen. You better have followed through.”
“I had to hear about it for two days,” he said. “Apparently I’m a shitty friend who fucked up her plan and stole your last chance at happiness.”
I grinned. “Worth it?”
“Obviously.”
“That mean you’re seeing her again?”
“We’re getting dinner Fri—” He stopped. Pointed. “No. Stop with your Jedi mind bullshit. We’re talking about you.”
Christ.
Time was, I could redirect a conversation without anyone noticing. Keep talking, keep smiling, point them at someone else’s drama and slip out the back. Worked on women, worked on cops, worked on my old man, but apparently it didn’t work on Carter anymore.
Or Nico.
Or Ava.
Or Yasmine.
I swore under my breath. “Alright, fine. You got me. I’m tripping.”
“So a woman.” Carter relaxed. “And don’t bother to deny it. It’s always a woman with you. For a smart guy, you’re really dumb about them.”