What a Girl Wants (15 page)

“I guess,” George replied. “Why?”

“Is there a word for it?”

“No, but I think there are meds.” Her friend folded her arms, studying her closely. “Something’s really wrong, isn’t it?”

“I found out my entire life’s been a lie.” She poured hot water into the press pot and set the timer.

George raised her brows. “Melodramatic much?”

“Lillian isn’t my biological mother.”

“Whoa.” George fell back against the counter. Then she shook her head. “
Whoa.
”

Trust George to sum it up so concisely. “Yeah.”

“Does this have to do with the picture?”

Ariana nodded glumly. “Rick uncovered it all, so this is your fault.”

“I’m not the one who knocked up some random woman and had a kid.” George’s eyes got big. “Your dad didn’t cheat on Lillian, did he?”

“I hadn’t even considered that.” She slumped against the counter. “If that were the case, Lillian would be a saint.”

“I think Lillian is a saint for a lot of reasons, but raising someone else’s baby as her own definitely qualifies her, regardless of the circumstances.”

Ariana blinked. “I hadn’t thought of that, either.”

“Seems like maybe you have some thinking to do.”

The timer went off and George watched as she plunged the press pot and poured coffee for the two of them into mugs. She got out cream and added it to both their coffees.

George waited until she had her cup in hand to ask, “So what did they tell you? When did your dad hook up with this other woman?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked.”

“Shouldn’t you?” George asked with an implied duh.

The thought of speaking to Lillian and Edward made her stomach churn. She set her coffee down, not needing more acid in her belly. “I’m angry at them.”

“Of course you are, but that doesn’t mean you have to start acting stupid.” George looked at her askance. “You aren’t going to start acting stupid, are you?”

“No.” At least she didn’t plan on it.

“Just because you found out that someone other than Lillian birthed you doesn’t mean that your family is any less your family.” George took a sip of her coffee, sighing blissfully. “You love them, for better or worse. The end.”

She hugged herself. “But—”

“There’s no but,” George declared, emphasizing her point by setting her cup down with a clack. “Talk to them. Your parents wouldn’t do anything to purposefully hurt you. They’re kind of awesome, even Edward, even when he thinks he knows what you want, because he’s coming at it from a place of love.”

“True,” she acknowledged reluctantly, holding herself tighter.

“Do you know who your real mother is?” George asked.

“Hadley James.”

“The talk show chick?”

“Yeah.”

George didn’t look impressed. “You gonna talk to her?”

“I have to, right?”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Besides, you already have a family.”

“I already asked Sebastian to book me on her show,” she admitted.

George whistled. “You’re really going for it. You think that’s a good idea?”

She’d been wondering that herself. “It seemed better than going up to her and saying, ‘Hey, did you have a kid thirty-four years ago? Because that’d be me.’”

“Yeah, that’s not the way to approach her.” George twirled a long lock of her hair. “What do you want from her?”

She stopped breathing as she thought about it. She wanted understanding of who she was and what she was capable of. She exhaled. “I want the impossible.”

*

The first thing Sebastian said to her when he arrived at her studio was, “I booked you on
The Hadley James Show
.”

Ariana stood in the open doorway, waiting for a surge of excitement, but the only thing she felt was reluctance and fear. “Super,” she said finally.

“You don’t sound like you mean it,” he replied, his brow furrowed.

“Oh, I mean it.”

He studied her for a long time. In the end, he said, “Can I come in?”

“Oh. Yeah.” She stepped aside and went back to making the herb eye compresses to calm her nerves. The sooner she finished them, the sooner she could lie down and cover her eyes.

“I’d have thought you’d be happier to hear that I booked it.” He took his jacket off and draped it on her futon. “It sounded like you wanted it.”

“I did. I do.” She turned away so he wouldn’t see the lack of enthusiasm in her expression.

“It wasn’t easy to get ahold of the booking manager,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves. “And then their schedule was full, but a sudden cancellation happened while I was talking to her, and I managed to convince her we were the answer to her problems. It was like it was meant to be.”

Ariana barked a laugh. Yeah—they were meant to be, all right.

“For someone who wanted this so badly, you don’t sound excited,” he said. “Why is that?”

“I’m excited,” she said in a flat voice. “Very excited.”

“I don’t get you.” He took her arm and made her face him. “Why are you doing this? It goes against everything you told me you wanted. Why do I feel something different is going on?”

Because he was smart.

Maybe she should tell him about Hadley.

But thinking about Hadley made her jittery. What was the woman going to think about her?

Swallowing, she faced Sebastian. “Do you really think Dew Me could get into Whole Foods?”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “I wouldn’t lead you on, Ariana.”

“No, but sometimes things don’t turn out the way you expect.”

“In which case you reevaluate and try a different path.”

She hugged herself. “It’s just that Whole Foods is a big store.”

“And you have a great product.”

She wanted to believe that. “Thank you for getting me on the show.”

“I had some help from a friend.” He lifted her chin. “Want to tell me what’s really going on?”

She really did, because then she could burrow her face into his shoulder and let him soothe her. “Nope.”

“Okay,” he said after a silent moment. “Want to look at your wardrobe to pick something to wear?”

She slapped a hand to her forehead and groaned. She wore casual clothes all the time—she didn’t have something to wear on TV. What did one wear to meet one’s biological mother? “I have nothing appropriate.”

“Not a problem,” he said confidently. “We’ll go shopping.”

“You’re a personal shopper too?”

“Only in special circumstances, for special people.”

She looked him over. Actually, he always looked nice. He probably had great taste in everything. He probably even had an idea of what to wear when meeting the woman who birthed you.

He’d understand the importance, for sure.

She opened her mouth to tell him, because telling him would be a relief. But the words stalled on her lips.

He touched her face. “Want to get food? It’ll make you feel better. We don’t have to talk about any of this. Just you and me.”

Her heart melted with his kindness. She smiled tentatively. “Make that a threesome with a hamburger and I’m all yours.”

‡

T
he first thing Sebastian noticed when he walked into the garage was the tango music, loud and soulful, playing from high-end speakers anchored from the ceiling.

He craned his head, studying the sound setup. He didn’t have too much experience with automotive repair shops, but he’d guess that wasn’t common.

There was the scrape of wheels on cement, and when he turned around he saw George sliding out from under a classic Chevy. She wore a baseball cap with the brim in the back and had a smudge of grease across her cheek.

She was the selling point of the garage. He felt the spark of excitement he always felt when he found the right angle to help a business succeed, and he grinned at her. “It’s your lucky day.”

“Why do I feel like you’re going to sell me snake oil?” she said with a suspicious tilt of her head.

“The only oil here is on your face.”

She wrinkled her nose but didn’t bother to do anything about it.

Which was good. He didn’t want her to change at all. Walking up to her, he held out the portfolio he brought. “You have a minute?”

“Just a minute. I had to squeeze a friend’s car in today.” She grabbed a rag and wiped her hands as she led him to her office. Sitting at her desk, she waved her fingers. “Let me see it.”

His excitement rose as he set a chair next to hers and opened the folder. “This first page is the current status of your business, including how much you charge and how many cars you can take.”

She made a face. “The numbers are pathetic.”

“Which leads us to the second page,” he said with a nod as he flipped it over. “This is the big picture if you implement the few changes I’ve come up with.”

“I like this picture, but does it include selling my body?” She tapped the page, her shrewd gaze meeting his. “Because this is a hefty increase in profits.”

He grinned. “I hadn’t calculated that into my plan, but if you turn your office into a bedroom . . .”

She snorted. Then she refocused on the plan. After a minute, she nodded. “Tell me about this.”

“I looked at what other garages charge in the city. The ones who charge the most have a reason for it, either they’re specialty shops or they have a story. You have both.”

“I do?” she said doubtfully.

“You will when I’m done with you.” He pointed to the old Chevy in the bay. “Do you work on classic cars exclusively?”

“No.”

“You do now.” He looked around at the space, envisioning what it could be. “The selling point of the garage is you. You’re a third-generation mechanic, part of the neighborhood, who learned to fix cars at your grandfather’s knee. That story will sell. People will want to be part of it.”

She pursed her lips, obviously thinking about it. When she didn’t shoot it down immediately, he felt encouraged.

So he pointed to the front area. “We’ll add a waiting area there, with retro seating and vintage car posters. We’ll add a mural on the wall outside, to make this more artsy. You want to show people that this is a specialty shop. They aren’t just getting the finest mechanic in town, they’re getting history.”

“I’m not wearing pinup clothing,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

“Of course not. You’re perfect as you are.” He gave her a no-nonsense look. “You will have to hire another mechanic though.”

“Whoa up,” she said, holding out her hand. “What mechanic?”

“If you want to make this kind of money”—he tapped the sheet with the income projections—“you need someone to help you.”

“Hm,” was her only reply.

“Do I need to point out your projected income is three times what you’re making? And that’s after salaries.”

“No, I got that. Still, does money balance out having to work with some asshole?”

“Don’t hire an asshole.”

She snorted. “Mechanic is a synonym.”

“I’ll help you vet them. We can find the right person.” He sat back, watching her closely. “What do you think?”

She shrugged. “I’d be stupid to say no. Sign me up.”

Grinning, he held his hand out, feeling good as they shook on it.

“You’re good at this,” George said, propping her feet on the desk.

“Marketing?” He began gathering up his papers.

“Is this marketing? It’s like you’re a business consultant. You’re helping me grow my business. You’re doing it for Ariana, too.” She studied him. “You’re good at it.”

“I haven’t done anything,” he said honestly.

She tapped a finger on the folder. “The evidence is to the contrary.”

He stared at her. He did feel awfully good right now—like he’d done something worthwhile for someone. He’d felt the same way when he’d helped his cousin Viola launch her art gallery. Maybe Viola was right.

“Have you talked with Ariana?” George asked out of the blue, startling him out of his thoughts.

“Yes.” Did George know what was bothering her? “Why?”

The mechanic shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. “She’s had a bad week.”

“We’re supposed to go shopping for clothes today.”

She winced. “That’s supposed to make Ariana feel better? It sounds like torture.”