Elisse
“Elissseeee. You have to come today.”
I love Clarissa. However, on days like today, I keep playing a thousand scenarios on how to get rid of her. Oops, I didn’t know the car was running. I guess we’re back to only four siblings.
I roll out from under Mr. Grice’s Honda Accord and wipe my hands on my coveralls.
“Elisse, if you hang up on me, I will come to Winter Valley on a broomstick and…”
The mute button on a phone really needs to work both ways. I sigh and lift the device off my chest before I sit up.
“I have to get this car fixed today. I’ve had it for over a week, and Mr. Grice has moved into the waiting area because I’m not done.”
“We have a business. I get that you’re helping Morgan—”
“I’m more than helping Morgan.” The familiar tingle of annoyance creeps up my spine.
No one in my family gets that I want to run the shop. They keep saying they do, but they don’t.
They really, really don’t.
“I’m trying to understand. You have an obligation until we can find a suitable replacement. You’re the one who grew this thing into the monster it is.”
Dramatic.
That’s what our parents should’ve named my sister.
She created the monster. I was just along for the ride, enjoying that I got to work with my best friend. Well, except when she annoyed me. I tried to quit several times, but she wouldn’t let me. Now, I’m trying to keep the shop going and pretending to work with her.
Has she even tried to find a suitable replacement?
Nope, the few people she interviewed didn’t work. “They don’t fit.”
Does she measure them? What’s her criteria? I offered to help her with the process and she told me no.
So, what is it?
I need to help, but only on what she thinks is important?
Okay, I’m too annoyed to continue this conversation. My fingers itch to end the call.
“I’m telling Mom,” she screeches.
I drop my chin to my chest. “Are you three again?”
“If I have to be,” she says petulantly.
I wipe sweat from my brow. It’s the middle of March. I shouldn’t be sweating.
“I told you I’ll be there Friday—”
“That’s two days from now!”
I cringe as she screeches.
“This bridezilla wants to change the entire color palette for the wedding. She’s even making the bridesmaids get new dresses. They’re at a shop in Denver now. Do you have any idea the miracle I had to pull off to make that happen? I’m not a magician!”
Clarissa has a problem, she can’t say no. Her philosophy of let’s give them what they desire has brought a few headaches. Then, she complains because it’s close to impossible to get her what she needs.
If only… but I can’t change who she is—a people pleaser.
I should be there.
I’m torn in two, ripped between my passion and my obligation.
“Give me until tomorrow,” I plead quietly.
“She might change colors six times by then,” she sighs, almost defeated.
“And remind her of the contract she signed. She’ll need to pay the fee for these changes up front.”
“I’ve been so busy freaking out I forgot to bring that up,” Clarissa wails.
“Speak to her parents. They aren’t totally unreasonable. Hopefully, they can put a stop to some of this nonsense.”
“Fine. But you still should be here.”
“I’ll come as quickly as I can.”
She hangs up without another word, and guilt settles in the pit of my stomach.
“Are you planning on going somewhere because we have five cars that need to be finished by Friday?” Morgan looms above me.
“I thought you were going to Boston,” I mutter.
I love my brother but working together is… trying. How am I ever supposed to prove I’m more than capable of running this shop if he’s always hovering?
“Not until next week.”
“Then why are you standing around? We have five cars to fix.”
“Mr. Grice wants to know how it’s going.” He smirks.
I throw a socket at him, and he easily catches it.
“Has he already eaten all the cookies? I’m pretty sure he’s coming here so much because his wife monitors his sugar intake at home.”
He snorts. “I’m pretty sure you’re right.”
“Will you stop bothering me so I can work?”
“From the looks of it, you were on the phone.”
I growl.
“I’m serious, Elisse. You told me you want to run this business, but so far you’re not showing me that. I get it if you need to go back to the event planning, but you need to tell me so I can make arrangements.”
Irritation swirls through me. “Is that your polite way of saying you don’t want me running your shop?”
“Stop twisting my words.” He’s far too calm. “You can’t have both. It’s too much. Maybe you should go help Clarissa and think about what you really want. I can take care of everything here.”
I throw down the wrench—though I wish I had aimed toward him. It clangs on the concrete floor. I want to pick it up and do it again.
Now who’s the three-year-old?
I narrow my gaze. “You don’t think I can do this.” I let anger wash over me because if I don’t, I’ll feel the hurt.
And I can’t stand that.
Not now.
“You’re not doing it.” His voice rises. “When you’re focused, you do a good job. Every other weekend you’re running off for some emergency with Clarissa. I have to have someone here I can depend on.”
A pang of that hurt I don’t want to feel knocks me in the chest. My eyes sting, but no way am I giving my brother the satisfaction of my tears.
“You called for someone dependable?”
I whip my head toward the door.
Cocky grin. Mischievous eyes. Too handsome for his own good.
Theo Foster.
“What are you doing here?” So maybe that isn’t the best way to greet someone. But between my brother and sister, I’m about at the end of my rope for the day.
His smile broadens. “We have to build a race car. In six months. Didn’t Morgan tell you?”