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WREN
I opened the French doors and walked into the house. If it was good enough for Tate to let himself into my house, I could do the same.
“Tate?” I called. My voice echoed through the large space and received no response. Wondering where he could be, I went in search of him, calling his name the entire time so he’d hear me and not fall off a ladder. My butt still ached from that, and I’d no doubt have a massive bruise there by morning.
Where could he be?
And then it hit me. The garage. No. Surely, he couldn’t be trying to get into the garage after I’d told him it wasn’t on the lease. Besides, there was a smaller garage at the other end of the driveway that he could use. I had even given him the key for that one.
The other one? No!
That was mine.
That was my dad’s. His car collection.
My heart sank, and I ran back through the house and outside to find Tate still covered in paint—serves him right—trying to break into the garage.
“What are you doing?” I huffed as I screeched to a stop, and Tate turned to face me with an amused expression.
“Trying to get into the god damn garage, Wren. I need to put my car in there.” He rolled his eyes.
“Hasn’t bothered you before,” I said, blowing a strand of hair out of my face.
“That car is Rachel’s. I couldn’t give a shit about it. Do you really think I’d drive a fucking convertible?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest so his shirt strained across his firm biceps.
I angled my head and assessed. Yes. I absolutely thought he’d drive a convertible. He had that air about him. Obnoxious. Pretentious. As though he was better than everyone. Newsflash: He wasn’t. Not even his looks could make up for his personality. “Thought you might have had dice hanging from your mirror, though.”
Tate tensed.
“That’s not for you.” I pointed over my shoulder to the other one. “You can use that one.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious.” Tate stood there with his arms crossed and watched me curiously as though trying to see if I was bluffing or not. I wasn’t.
“Why?”
“Because it’s my garage.”
“Your car is parked in the fucking driveway. You don’t even use it.”
“This isn’t up for discussion, Tate. That garage is off limits.”
“Give me one good reason why, and I’ll leave it alone.” He stepped forward and looked down at me. His jaw tense. “I am paying a god damn fortune for this place and want a reason why I can’t use the garage.”
Sighing in defeat and knowing he wouldn’t give it a rest until I showed him, I shoved him out of my way and crossed over to the pin pad beside the garage door. I typed in my birthday—the code Dad used for everything—and waited for the mechanical whir of the roller doors as they lifted slowly, then I turned and walked away.
“Stop,” Tate called out.
I stopped but refused to turn around. I couldn’t look in the garage. I hadn’t been in there since they died. It hurt too much. Those cars were Dad’s most prized possessions. Aside from me and my mother, there was nothing he cherished more.
“This...” Tate stopped. “What? Umm. Wow.” He was at a loss for words.
Taking a deep shaky breath, I twisted my fingers together and willed the tears away. My throat was aching, and my eyes stung from fighting the grief that was beginning to take hold inside me. I didn’t let myself cry too often, and I certainly wasn’t going to now. Not in front of Tate. “They’re my dad’s,” I said softly, my voice barely a whisper. I wasn’t sure Tate could even hear me.
“They are fucking incredible, Wren. I mean, these are rare as...” He paused again and let out a deep breath.
I knew they were rare. Dad spent half his adult life collecting rare vintage cars.
“Fuck. Is that what I think it is?” His voice took on an awed tone. Bewilderment. Surprise.
I was sure he’d spotted the Porsche 550 Spyder in the far corner of the garage, in a locked cage, separated from everything. My dad was superstitious and wasn’t willing to take a chance the car really was cursed.
“Yes.” I nodded. It was the only car Nelson wouldn’t touch. The only car I wouldn’t let him near. I didn’t believe it was cursed, but my dad did, and so did Nelson, apparently. The clear plastic cover kept it clean, but there was no way the engine would start now.
“Holy fucking shit. Do you know what this is?” Tate asked.
“Of course, I do. I’m not stupid.”
“I thought it was lost forever. It disappeared without a trace years ago.”
“I know.”
“How? How is it here?”
I wanted to go back to my house and wait for my pizza delivery. I wanted to eat my weight in pizza, not talk about my dad’s car collection or the fact he spent far too much money and resources hunting down James Dean’s missing car.
“Wren? How the hell do you have Little Bastard in your garage?”
I bit my lip and closed my eyes. “My dad was a car collector. He found it. Collected it. Stored it in the garage.”
“I can’t believe it. This is incredible.”
I still didn’t turn to face him when I spoke again, “Yeah. Shut the door when you’re done ogling.” And with that, I walked away.
***
NICO KNOCKED ON MY door right on time. I was starving. I smiled at him from my position on the floor and waved him in. The scent of cheese and oregano filled the room and had my mouth watering. I pushed my laptop aside and stood up to greet him. The man of my dreams. He was barely a man. Only just turned eighteen, but he brought my pizza, and if there was one way to make me happy after the terrible afternoon I’d had, it was through food.
And money.
Not a lot of money. I wasn’t a spoiled brat, but just enough for me to survive and keep up my twice-weekly rendezvous with Nico and pizza, would make me the happiest girl alive.
But job hunting was hard work and so far, it hadn’t been paying off. If I could just find something to keep me going. Something to get a little cashflow and maybe some savings, then I could start my own business. A gallery. But with my luck, I’d be waiting until I was twenty-five for my inheritance before that happened.
“You look bothered,” Nico said and leaned against my counter. He was a sweet kid.
“I’m annoyed. No one is returning my calls. And I just want a job. I’d do just about anything right now.” I pouted and Nico slid the pizza box my way. Why couldn’t he be a few years older? He understood me. My needs. My wants.
“Want me to speak to Joe?” He shrugged as if it were no big deal, but it was. It was a huge deal. He got me.
And I may have squealed. My eyes widened and my mouth dropped open. “You think he has a job going?” I rubbed my hands together gleefully.
“For his number one customer I think he’d find something.”
“That would be amazing.” I threw myself at Nico and wrapped my arms around his neck. I wasn’t above working in a pizza restaurant, hell, even delivering pizzas would be better than nothing. “Thank you.”
The sound of a throat clearing, followed by the deep baritone rumble of Tate, interrupted my happy moment and dampened my excitement immediately. “Am I interrupting something?”
I released Nico and stepping back, I turned to face Tate with my arms crossed over my chest. I was still annoyed with him over the garage incident earlier. I knew it wasn’t his fault, but it still didn’t stop me from blaming him. I hadn’t opened that garage since their death, and the fact he wouldn’t take no for an answer annoyed me so much that right then I didn’t want to see his stupid, sexy face.
“What do you want, Tate?”
He smirked and produced a document from behind his back. “This needs to be signed.”
He placed the paper on the counter and tapped it with one finger. “A.S.A.P.” Then he strutted his annoyingly perfect behind out of my house.
“He’s a real charmer, isn’t he?” Nico scoffed once Tate was gone.
“He’s a giant pain in the neck. And if I didn’t need his rent money so bad, I would have kicked him and the wench out.”
“The wench?”
“Rachel. His girlfriend.”
“Oh yeah.” Nico sighed with a dreamy smile on his face. “She’s pretty hot.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Think she’s home?”
“Down boy. She parties all the time. It’s Friday night, there’s not a chance she’ll be home.” Why were we even talking about them? My pizza was getting cold and we were in the middle of getting me a job.
“And Tate stays home? Weird. If my girlfriend looked like Rachel, there would be no way I’d let her out of my sight.”
I rolled my eyes, grabbing a slice and looked at the document Tate left, knowing exactly what it was. I didn’t want to discuss his relationship with Rachel any longer, and I was pretty sure he was confident enough in himself that he was sure Rachel wouldn’t dare stray.
Who would? Honestly. He was so handsome it was almost painful to look at him sometimes. Though his personality, which I was beginning to see more of, left a lot to be desired. His and Rachel’s relationship was none of my business, and I knew if Nico kept pushing me then I’d say something I shouldn’t, and Tate would likely sue my perky butt for breaking the NDA that he decided to get me to sign the day after Eva signed hers.
Can you say trust issues?
Like I’d blab to the media that he was here. The last thing I wanted was weirdos hiding in the hills with long-range camera lenses. There was no way they were getting in the gate, but I’d known from experience that it wouldn’t stop them getting the pictures that would rake in the big bucks for them.
But Tate had me curious, that was for certain. He was hiding something. He had to be. Something big, and it was the reason he didn’t want anyone to know he was here. His whole relationship with Rachel was weird too. In the few weeks they had lived here, she spent more time out partying with her girlfriends and throwing parties on the weekends than she did with Tate. The gossip columns were on high alert, there was speculation that Tate and Rachel had split. That he was on drugs and she was cheating on him with his best mate. As far as I could tell that was all it was. Gossip. Tate didn’t react to the reports about him and never seemed too concerned about any of it.
But the way he was so secretive of his living here had raised a red flag.
“So, what’s with the paper?” Nico interrupted my thoughts.
“Tate wants you to sign this.”
“What is it?” He frowned and reached for a slice of pizza. I slapped his hand away which made him chuckle.
“It’s an NDA. Basically, means you agree not to tell a single living soul that he lives here in this house, this town, or anything. You are sworn to secrecy or you shall pay with the blood of your firstborn.”
“What? Seriously?” Nico’s eyes widened as he gasped.
I laughed. “No. Well, yes. The secrecy bit is true. But the blood of your firstborn, no. Though he could sue you for everything you have.”
“I don’t have anything. Just a rusty piece of junk that I use to drive around town and deliver pizza.”
He’d totally take that from Nico. “Better sign it anyway and just don’t tell anyone that he’s in town.”
“Or living in your house?”
“That too. I don’t want my house swarmed with photographers.”
“Only for you,” Nico said as he scribbled his signature on the back of the form. “Better go. See you Tuesday.” He dropped the pen and gave me a high five and walked out the door.
Suddenly remembering what we’d been talking about earlier, I ran to the patio and called after him, “Don’t forget to ask Joe.”
Nico raised a hand in the air in acknowledgement.