“Yeah, but not anymore. So, I’ll see you Monday?” Elle said as she pushed open the door.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She climbed out of the car and ducked her head back in. “For my first shift. At Chains. I told you I wasn’t leaving without a job—and you’re giving me one.”

“We’re not open Monday.” It wasn’t an invite, but apparently she didn’t get that.

“See you Tuesday, then.” Elle shut the door without waiting for an answer, and I was left staring after the sway of her hips and that goddamn green dress.

Shit.

I thought about jumping out of the car and chasing her down to make her understand—in no uncertain terms—that she did not have a job. But something kept me in my seat. She won’t show, I told myself. Don’t even waste the headspace thinking about it.

I checked my mirrors and pulled away.

What the hell would I do if she did show up?

On Tuesday morning, I got called out to look at a bike someone wanted to sell and completely lost track of time. I’d put the odds of Elle actually showing up at Chains between slim and none. Which was why, when I walked in the back door of the shop, I didn’t expect to hear Adele pumping on the sound system, and I sure didn’t expect to see a fine as hell ass bent over and wiping down one of the glass display cases.

I stopped in the middle of the shop because—first, I had to appreciate the view, and second, I needed to decide how I was going to handle this.

“You do realize you can’t just decide you work somewhere and show up, right?”

Dark red hair swung as she looked over her shoulder.

“You do realize that’s how I got my last three jobs? I don’t exactly go through the whole interview and offer process.”

“You’re not normal, you know that?”

Her bright smile hit me in the gut … and lower. “At least you didn’t call me an entitled rich bitch, so I’ll take not normal as a win.”

I looked at the coffee filter in her hand. “I don’t know many entitled rich chicks who’d come in and start cleaning my display cases with coffee filters. Did we run out of paper towel?”

“They were spotty. I couldn’t see the sparkle, and if I couldn’t see it, customers couldn’t see it. You’ve got beautiful stuff, but it’s all about presentation. Besides, my mother’s housekeeper always told me cleaning with coffee filters would leave fewer streaks than paper towel. For the record—she was always right.”

I was pretty sure I’d entered an alternate reality. “You’re really gonna keep showing up, regardless of how many times I haul your ass home?” A thought struck me. “You drove today, right? You didn’t walk again.”

“Yes, I’m going to keep showing up, so you’re just going to be wasting your gas by taking me home every time and expecting me to stay there. Besides, I thought we covered the part where I actually have something to offer you in the way of skills. I mean, I was good at the Bennett Foundation because I had connections and excelled at playing on people’s philanthropic sensibilities, but I think I’m going to be even better at this whole pawn business thing. I’ve already sold two watches this morning for twenty-five percent more than you had them priced. If you think my case cleaning skills are good, then you should see me haggle.”

I strode closer, because Elle had conveniently—and noticeably—avoided answering my second question.

“Did you drive?”

Her chin lifted. “I took the streetcar and walked.”

“I told you—”

“And I told you—”

I backed her into the case and pressed a hand to the glass on either side of her hips. “You want to work here? You don’t walk. That’s my rule. You can’t handle that, then you don’t work here. End of story.”

Her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. “You realize you just put handprints on my clean glass, right?”

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before opening them and fixing my gaze on her face. From the challenge in her golden brown eyes to the determined set of her tempting mouth, she was absolutely stunning. But I would not let that distract me from the point at hand.

“Are we on the same page, Elle? Or am I taking you home for the last time?”

Her eyes dropped from mine. “I don’t drive,” she admitted. “So that’s kind of a problem.”

My confusion mounted. I lifted a hand and tilted her chin back up. I liked her eyes on me—probably too much.

“What do you mean you don’t drive?”

Her forehead creased. “I mean I don’t drive. It’s a pretty simple concept, and I’m not really sure how else to explain it.”

Just because it was a simple concept didn’t mean it made any damn sense. “You don’t have a license?”

Her teeth closed over her bottom lip, and it took everything in me to not sweep my thumb over it and tug it free.

“I have a license. I just choose not to use it.”

She still wasn’t making any sense.

“So you don’t drive at all?” I asked.

“Right. Good, glad you’ve finally grasped the concept.”

Something just didn’t add up here. This wasn’t New York or Chicago where you could easily get away without having a car. “How do you get around then?”

“I walk, or I take the streetcar, or I get rides with friends. If I really need to get somewhere and don’t have any other alternative, then I call my mother’s driver or get a cab.”

God save me from rich chicks and their weird ways. “Your ma doesn’t drive either? Is this a family thing?”

She shrugged. “Can we move on to the part where I say I’ll probably keep walking because I’m not planning on calling her driver or a cab on a regular basis to get here, and the walk from the streetcar really isn’t bad? No one is going to bother me.”

And that was where we were going to have a problem. I dropped my hand from her chin and stepped back. “You don’t know this neighborhood—I do. And you stand out way too much to be walking these streets and stay in one piece. No fucking way, Elle. I’d say you’re fired, but since I never actually hired you, let’s just call it a day, and I’ll thank you for cleaning my cases and making a few sales.”