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Crashed (Entangled Indulgence)

By´╝ÜSherilee Gray

Crashed (Entangled Indulgence) - Sherilee Gray
Chapter One

Alex Franco planted her ass on a chair that was about as comfortable as a slab of concrete—but no doubt cost more than every piece of furniture in her apartment combined—and pretended to inspect her fingernails. Every pair of eyes in the stylish reception area of West Enterprises had now shifted to her. She knew this because she could feel them like laser beams burning a hole into the top of her head.

Whatever. Wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last.

She glanced down at her beaten-to-hell work boots and shifted her foot to cover the black grease mark she’d tracked into the carpet, then scowled for giving a shit.

Right then, she didn’t have it in her to feel bad for staining Deacon West’s very expensive carpet. Served the jackass right.

Drying her sweaty palms on the sides of her shorts, she sat back and crossed her arms. God, this was the last place she wanted to be right now. Fridays were busy at the garage. Three cars were booked in for this afternoon, a new record for them. She didn’t have time for this.

Another woman dressed in a pencil skirt and pumps walked in and parked it beside her buddy already sitting behind the oversize reception desk. Did they all dress the same on purpose? Or was it some weird, unspoken law?

The two of them immediately started whispering and giggling. Alex lifted her gaze, narrowing her eyes on the pair of Stepford wife clone-factory rejects. The bitches were looking at her like she was something from another goddamned planet.

Morons.

She could only guess the reason security hadn’t shown up and dragged her out already was because they were hoping for a free show. And the only reason she was stuck out here cooling her heels, and not tearing Deacon a new one, was because the bastard had his office door locked.

She tightened her fingers around the letter in her hand. How could he do this to his sisters? Piper and Rusty loved their brother, trusted him. They’d be devastated if they knew what he was up to behind their backs. She didn’t want to believe he would sell their garage out from under them, but why else would he want the building valued? Alex had met the West girls when she was just ten years old. They’d quickly become best friends—her lifeline. This could tear them apart, could tear apart the business they’d been working so hard to keep afloat, to make a success. She couldn’t let that happen—she wouldn’t.

She shifted in her seat when another leggy blonde sauntered past and tried not to feel self-conscious. Not easy when her tank and cutoffs were grease stained and her hair was a mess.

God, she hadn’t thought this through, had let her temper get the better of her. Again. Maybe she should just get the hell out of here. Call the asshat instead to give him a piece of her mind. This really didn’t need to be done in person, right?

It had been six long months, but she realized, in that moment, she still wasn’t ready to see him.

Crap.

Retreat! Regroup! Run like hell!

She stood and spun on the grubby soles of her boots, getting his carpet good and filthy before she bolted toward the elevators. She’d managed two steps when she heard the click of a door opening behind her.

“Alex?”

Ah, shit. She took another retreating step.

“Stop right there.”

That familiar voice moved through her, the rough command hitting her low in the belly, lifting goose bumps on her bare arms.

There was no way she could run now and keep her dignity intact. Planting her hands on her hips, she took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for the devastation that seeing Deacon again would bring.

Then spun around.

Goddammit.

The oxygen rushed from her lungs. Yep, the guy was still as hot as he’d been six months ago. Maybe hotter, if that were possible. It was all still there in mouthwatering abundance. The broad shoulders. The long legs. The rugged good looks and piercing green eyes. That melt-your-panties dimple in his chin.

But what always got to her, the thing that made her chest tight and had the ability to make her forget what a giant asshole he’d become, was the overlong hair. It brushed the collar of his shirt, in need of a serious trim, too long, too casual for the man he was now. That hair belonged on the scruffy teen who’d worked in his father’s garage after school and on weekends. That hair did not belong on Mr. Businessman of the Year.

She let her gaze travel to the reason his office door had been locked in the middle of the day, the tall blonde dangling off his arm like a cheap handbag. Alex bit her lip when the familiar pain socked her in the chest.

Harden the hell up, Franco. What? You think he’s been a monk all these months?

The guy was rich and incredibly good-looking. He could screw whoever he liked, as often as he liked. And apparently during the day in his office wasn’t off-limits.

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