His Uptown Girl (2 page)

He carried himself with confidence as he dealt with his customers. Considering his job, he was relatively tidy in appearance, although his dark hair could use a cut. His olive-green eyes and Roman nose made her suspect an Italian heritage, though, the poster on the wall advertising a discount at Bob's brother's Italian restaurant, was a pretty solid hint, too.

As she stepped ahead in the line, she continued to study Bob.

He was a good-looking man. When he smiled, the hint of crow's feet at the corners of those amazing eyes put him at thirtyish.

After a short conversation, the man ahead of her followed Bob to the opening between the lobby and the shop. Bob called out to Bart, left the man where he was, then returned to his place behind the counter. “Can I help you?” Bob asked as he reached for a blank work order. As he turned to her, his frown turned to a small smile. “Right. I left a message on your cell phone. Your parts are in. I'll go get them. What's your name again?”

Georgette's stomach quivered. “Ecklington. George Ecklington.”

His smile widened. “Of course. George. How could I forget? I'll be right back.”

“No! Bob! Wait!” Georgette called as he took his first step away.

When he turned back to her, she cleared her throat. “Yes, I'm here for my parts, but I see you're hiring. I'd like to apply for the job.”

His smile widened even more. He pulled an application from beneath the counter and slid it toward her. “I didn't have time to make our own applications, so I borrowed a few from my brother. It says Antonio's Ristorante at the top, but just cross it out, and write Bookkeeper in the corner so I'll put it in the right pile.”

Georgette tried not to let her annoyance show. She didn't want the bookkeeper's job. Usually she could understand when people in her father's circle treated her like a frail little tulip, but to Bob, she was a customer—a customer who frequently bought parts, and installed them. Herself. She didn't like his assumption, but she'd had to prove herself at the raceway, too.

However, it wasn't as if she couldn't do the bookkeeping. Having been confined to her father's charities, she'd picked up the skill, including receivables, purchasing and handling the disbursements. She could imagine her father's blood boiling at the thought of his daughter doing work that paid by the hour. But not a dime of the allowance he'd given her was truly hers.

This job and its salary, independent of her father, or of anyone who had any association with her father, would be.

Georgette looked up at Bob, trying to show more confidence than she felt. “Actually, I'd like to apply for both jobs.”

“Pardon me?”

“I can do bookkeeping, but I'm also a light-duty me
chanic. Your sign said the hours were negotiable. Could two part-time jobs add up to one full-time job?”

Bob's smile dropped. “I'm sorry, but we need a real mechanic, not just someone to change oil and check spark plugs.”

“But I
am
a real mechanic. I usually do rebuilds, but there's no reason I couldn't work on current models.”

“Well, maybe you could, but I don't think—”

As she pictured herself actually working there, the things she knew she could do bubbled in her mind. “When people come in and they don't know what's wrong, if you just hired a bookkeeper, you'd have to stop what you were doing and listen to them. If you hired me, I would get a pretty good idea of what was wrong right off the bat, even if I wasn't the one to do the actual work.”

Bob raised one finger in the air. “But—”

Her words tumbled over his protest. “Then you'd have the option of being able to use me in the shop or the office, wherever I was more needed at the time. Or I could—”

Bob put up his hands. “That really wasn't what we had in mind.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying a woman couldn't do this job?”

“No! That's not what I'm saying at all…”

“I might be a woman, but I'm a good mechanic, and that's what you're hiring. I would do a good job for you. For
both
positions. I could even start Monday.”

“Monday? Really…?” Bob's voice trailed off. He closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bart and I never discussed this possibility. We have to think about it. Why don't you fill out the application,
and when you're done I'll call him in here so we can talk about it?”

Georgette tried to calm her racing heart. It was a possibility. Thoughts of her father's vehement disapproval slammed into her, but she pushed them aside. If Bob offered her the job, she would come up with a way to deal with her father. She couldn't think of anything she wanted more than this job.

The chime sounded behind her as another customer walked in. Georgette slid to the end of the counter to fill out the application, using her race track friends as references, though she had to list her father's holding company as current employer.

When she finished writing, she waited for Bob to complete the work order for his current customer whom she could hear describing the problem he was having with his car.

After the man left, Georgette spoke up. “It's the coil,” she said. “Sounds faulty.”

“You think so? I was just thinking the same thing.”

Before she could respond, Bart walked into the lobby, wiping his hands on the back of his coveralls. “You here for the office job?” he asked.

Bob glanced at Bart, then back to Georgette. “You may not believe this, but she's here for both jobs.” He handed Bart her application along with the newest work order. “Pull this one into bay four. If it's the coil that's causing the problem, we just might have found ourselves a new mechanic. And bookkeeper. Bart, this is George.”

One of Bart's eyebrows raised. “George?”

She stiffened. “It's short for Georgette. My friends call me George.”

He scanned the application, and gave a slight nod when he saw her racetrack references. “This is good. I know Jason from the track. I'll talk to him. But I know I've seen you somewhere before. Do you go to Faith Community Fellowship?”

Georgette shook her head. “No. I attend a church nearer to my house. I don't live nearby. But I buy most of my parts here.”

“Must be it.” Bart walked back to bay four with Bob.

Her heart pounded as she watched them check her assessment, nodding as they discussed the faulty coil.

When they returned to the lobby, she couldn't hold back any more. “Was I right?”

“Looks like it. As soon as Bart puts a new coil in and test drives it, he's going to watch the front desk so you and I can go into the office and discuss the details. You said Monday is good?”

“Monday is great.” She marveled at her calm tone. “But I want to do my first official duty right now.”

One eyebrow quirked.

Without waiting for him to respond, Georgette turned, walked to the cardboard sign in the window, and flipped it into the garbage can.

She had a job. A real job. And she'd done it without her father.

T
he early-morning spring breeze drifted into the shop, doing its best to combat the smells of gas, oil and lubricants.

Bob had just reached down to check the power-steering belt of the car he was working on when an expensive sports car with tinted windows stopped in front of the bay next to him and began to back in.

Bob straightened, wiped his hands on the rag from his pocket, and watched the door to the car open.

A sleek, spike-heeled shoe poked out, followed by a slender, shapely leg. A swish of soft fabric brought the flow of a skirt, followed by the rest of the beautiful blond driver.

“Hi, Bob. I brought my tools. Where should I put them?”

Bob's heart pounded. He stared openly at his new mechanic. If she hadn't spoken, he wouldn't have recognized her, she was always so casually dressed the other times she'd come into the shop with her blond hair tied up in a ponytail, probably an attempt to make herself ap
pear taller. Today, George wore makeup and a hairstyle fit for a magazine cover. Her outfit was nicer than most women he knew wore for special occasions. It was probably more expensive as well.

He didn't want or need a fashion model. He needed someone who could change a head gasket.

Bob wondered if he'd made his decision to hire her too impulsively. He tried to think of how to tell her that maybe he would have to reconsider, when George reached into the car, pulled out a duffel bag, and slung it over her shoulder. “I'll be right back. I have to change into something more suitable before I start working.”

Before he could think of a response, she dashed off, the click of her high heels echoing against the concrete as she ran.

Bob checked his watch. It was fifteen minutes before her agreed start time. If he told her he'd changed his mind before she actually started, that might not count as actually firing her. It would probably be less painful that way.

She reappeared in minutes in comfortably worn jeans, a T-shirt proclaiming the tour of a popular Christian musician, and appropriate steel-toed safety boots. Turning as she spoke, she tossed the duffel into the back seat of her car. “I didn't know if you had coveralls that would fit me, so I brought my own. I hope that's okay.”

“Uh…yeah…”

Bob shook his head to clear it. At least he would see what she could do. “Ready?”

“Soon as I unpack my tools. They're in the trunk.”

Bob turned to stare at her car, which was probably worth at least triple the sticker price of his. “Nice,” he said, positive she'd been driving something else when
she'd applied for the job. He couldn't see why someone who could afford such a car would apply at his simple shop, she was obviously used to living on more money than he could pay.

“This car does tend to turn heads. It's my father's.”

Bob's father had never owned such a car. And if he had, Bob knew he would never get to borrow it.

She pushed the remote button on her keychain. The trunk popped open to display a neat array of good-quality tools packed neatly in two boxes.

“I wasn't sure what to bring, so I brought just the basics.”

Bart chose that moment to appear. He immediately walked to the car and picked up George's power wrench testing the heft with visible appreciation.

“Do you have a tool caddy for me?”

“We've got four bays,” Bob answered. “Since you're the one who's going to be answering the phone most of the time, you take Bay One, which is closest to the lobby. Put your tools in the shelving unit on the wall over there.”

In only minutes they had George's tools packed away in the appropriate place.

Bart stood beside Bob as George moved her car away. “I hope we're not taking this ‘trusting God' thing a little too far.”

“I don't know. All day yesterday at church, I kept thinking that God was sending us someone who really needed the job, but obviously she doesn't. I wonder if this is some kind of test.”

Bart shook his head. “Let's not ask for more trouble. If nothing else, she'll look good when customers come in. Too bad she took her hair down and wiped off her makeup. Yowsa.”

Bob stiffened. “I won't resort to the trick of hiring only pretty girls, like some of the places that deliver parts. I hired her because she immediately identified that coil problem.”

“Okay, she knows something about mechanics. But can she balance a spreadsheet? Did you notice that she only had those track references? It probably would have been a good idea to check out her former employer, but that would have made things difficult for her if they hadn't known she was interviewing. Anyway, now it's too late.”

“There's only one way to find out what she's like. Let's get her started.”

Bart shook his head. “I don't have time to show her anything. They're coming to get that red sedan in an hour, and I'm not sure I'll be finished. You hired her, so you train her.”

Bart walked off before Bob could respond.

Bob entered the lobby at the same time as George.

“Where do I start?” she asked.

“I guess the first step is to enter all the purchase orders into the computer,” Bob said as he led her to the shop's computer. “We've kind of been letting it slip. When we're so busy, the paperwork is the last thing to be done. It drives our accountant nuts. Fortunately he's a friend.”

He showed her how to enter a few transactions. “Write the journal entry number on everything as you enter it, and then put them in that box. I take the box home once a month just so everything will be in a separate location if anything happens.”

She nodded as she entered a new purchase order. “This is a good program. I've used it before.”

Bob stood back and watched her work. She entered everything quickly and with obvious proficiency, and her skill got him to thinking.

On Saturday, she'd appeared more the tomboy type, especially since she claimed to be a competent mechanic. But today, after seeing her grace and refinement when she came in, and now her bookkeeping skills, he was riveted to her every movement.

He watched as she paused in figuring out how to handle a difficult transaction. When she found the correct category for the particular part, she smiled to herself, and kept typing.

As she started to reach for another piece of paper out of the box, the phone rang.

Her hand froze in midair. “Should I get that?”

“Yep, that's another reason you're here.”

She grinned and picked up the phone. “Good morning, thank you for calling Bob And Bart's Auto Repair. How may I direct your call?”

Bob dragged his hand down his face.

“One moment, please,” she chirped, then pressed the hold button. “Larry Holt wants to know if his car is ready, and how much it will be.”

“This isn't an executive office. You can say ‘good morning' if you want, but we just say ‘Bob 'n' Bart's' without having to make a speech about it. Things are pretty simple here. Tell Larry his car will be ready at two, and we're not sure how much yet until we know if we have to replace the ignition switch. And try to be less formal.”

Her face reddened. She finished the call, then returned to the entry on the computer.

At the sight of that attractive blush, Bob decided to
linger a bit, just in case she had questions. He had wondered what it would be like to have another person around, especially a woman. He'd never had an employee before. Bart and he had been friends long before they became business partners, and it was only their friendship and their shared faith in God that sustained them through the hard times.

This was different. George was an attractive woman and Bart was, well, Bart. But George was also his employee, and no more. He'd often heard not to mix business with pleasure, and this was definitely one of those times. It was his decision to hire her, and conversely, if she messed up, it would be his responsibility to fire her.

He didn't want to think of firing her when she'd been there less than an hour. He wanted to give her a chance to prove what she could do.

He cleared his throat. “I'm going to get back to work now. If you need help, just call and one of us will come.”

George frowned at the computer and looked up at him. “There's an awful lot of stuff not entered. I'm okay for now, but the true test will be when I have to do the monthly reconciliations. You do reconcile monthly, don't you?”

“Uh… We try, but not always. Anyway, we'd like you to do the paperwork in the morning, then after lunch you'll work in the shop. We need you to get right into routine today.”

She smiled. “Of course. While I don't mind the paperwork, remember, it's the mechanic's job I applied for first.”

Bob stared at her face, which held nothing but sincerity, trying to make sense of her. While he'd met a few women who could tell an alternator from a fuel pump,
he didn't know many who were willing to touch them, much less actually change them.

“I'll leave you alone, then. Call me if you need anything.”

She nodded, and Bob walked into the shop to finish his own work.

The morning moved more slowly for him than any other morning in the history of their business. It didn't help that he kept looking through the glass partition between the shop and the office to see how George was doing.

Just as she had when he was beside her, George appeared to be doing fine without him.

The real test would be when lunch break was over, and the second phase of her duties began.

 

Georgette looked up at the clock. Right on time, Bob walked into the lobby.

“I'm back. It's time for your lunch break, and then I'll get you started on a few tune-ups and things.”

Georgette folded her hands on the countertop. “Actually, I ate my lunch as I worked. I hope that's okay.” Her father would have died to think that she'd eaten while standing at the counter, as people came in and out. However, with all the excitement of doing something new, and running back and forth between the shop and the phone all morning, she'd been hungry an hour before it was technically lunchtime.

It was actually kind of fun, breaking the rules.

“I hope you don't think we mean for you to work through your lunch break, because we don't. If you've already eaten, would you like to go for a walk or something? There's a place down the block that has great ice cream cones. It's opened early because of our great May
weather.” The second the words were out of his mouth, he paused as if to gauge her response.

Georgette broke into a smile. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had the simple pleasure of eating an ice cream cone, or any kind of ice cream that wasn't a part of a fancy dessert, meant to impress. Her father didn't think ice cream cones were very dignified.

She reached under the counter for her purse. “I'd love an ice cream. How long will we be gone?”

“We? I… Uh…” Bob looked up at the clock, then shrugged his shoulders. “I hadn't intended for any of us to take our breaks at the same time, but we can probably make an exception for your first day. Just a sec.” He turned and walked the three steps to the door leading to the shop, and opened it. “Bart!” he hollered. “I'm taking George for an ice cream down the street! We'll be back in twenty!”

Bob didn't wait for a reply. “Let's go while things are quiet. This doesn't happen often.”

He shucked his coveralls off, pressed a few crinkles out of his jeans and T-shirt with his hands, and met her at the door.

“What about the phone?”

“Bart will do the same thing we've always done. He'll keep working, and when the phone rings, he'll go answer it.”

“It's really nice that you don't ignore your calls and let them go to voice mail.”

Bob nodded. “When we've got someone's car, they don't want to talk to a machine. They want an answer from a person, even if it's an ‘I don't know.' I feel the same way when I'm calling for status.”

Georgette thought of her father's charity. Only peo
ple who wanted to ingratiate themselves with him called. They found leaving a message more efficient.

She hated dealing with the machine because she missed the personal contact. On the other hand, the way everything was handled now suited her well. She'd told her father that she could handle the organization's details in the evening, since it only took an hour each day, and she never talked to anyone, anyway. This left her free to seek out something else to do during the daytime. He wasn't pleased she had found something now, but didn't press her for details probably figuring it wouldn't last.

As they crossed the intersection, Bob pointed to the north. “There's a small mall down that way, if you ever need anything. Next door to the mall are a couple of fast-food places.” He jerked his head in the opposite direction, toward the residential area. “But if you want one of the best corned beef on rye sandwich in the world, there's a neighborhood market down that way.”

“It sounds like you know the area really well.”

Bob smiled. Little crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes. His whole face softened, confirming her earlier opinion that her boss was quite a good-looking man.

“I grew up here. The reason Bart and I chose the location is because most of our initial customers were people we knew. It's worked well, so we're still here.”

As they walked, they passed a number of specialty stores and small office buildings in the small commercial district. Not a single building was over two stories tall, and there were actually open metered parking spots on the street. The ambience of the district was nothing like the hustle and bustle of downtown. Georgette liked it.

By the time they arrived at the ice cream shop, Georgette could feel effect of the unaccustomed
weight of the steel-toed safety boots on her lower back, far different from too-high high heels. Thinking of her closet-f of spike heels, and the shoes she'd worn earlier, she inwardly shuddered at the thought of forcing her feet back into such things to go home.