Public attention.
Schedules.
Power.
A life he did not understand.
And attraction.
That was worse.
He knew he wanted her.
He knew it on the desert highway before he admitted it.
Not because of the dress.
Though he was not blind.
Because beneath the commands and confidence was someone frightened by the idea that competence might fail.
He understood that fear.
Too well.
The difference was scale.
When her control failed, a multimillion-dollar car stopped.
When his control failed, rent went unpaid.
His daughter waited somewhere.
Customers lost transportation.
Different stakes.
Same exhaustion.
He saw it in her.
She saw it in him.
That made distance difficult.
One evening, she arrived after closing.
No assistant.
No driver.
Black dress beneath a coat.
Gold heels again.
Almost like the day on the highway.
The Single Dad stood beneath the bay lights.
“You going somewhere?”
“Was.”
“What happened?”
“I left.”
“Good event?”
“Terrible.”
“What was it?”
“People congratulating each other for giving money in rooms where everybody spends more on wine than the donation.”
The Single Dad laughed.
She leaned against the workbench.
“I wanted somewhere honest.”
His expression changed.
“This shop smells like differential oil.”
“Exactly.”
The Daughter was at a sleepover.
The shop was empty.
That fact existed between them.
The Single Dad kept working.
The CEO watched.
“Are you avoiding me?”
“Yes.”
She blinked.
Most men would lie.
“Why?”
He tightened a bolt.
“Because you look like that.”
She glanced down at the dress.
“What’s wrong with this?”
“Nothing.”
“Then?”
The Single Dad put the wrench down.
Turned.
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
The Female CEO’s pulse changed.
She crossed her arms.
“I came from an event.”
“You could’ve gone home.”
“I didn’t want to.”
“Exactly.”
He stood several feet away.
Neither moved.
The CEO’s voice softened.
“You always tell me to be direct.”
“I’m reconsidering.”
She smiled.
Then:
“I wanted to see you.”
Silence.
The Single Dad looked toward the empty shop.
Then back.
“Bad idea.”
“Why?”
“You’re my customer.”
“I paid the invoice.”
“That’s not the problem.”
“What is?”
He stepped closer.
“You.”
The Female CEO’s lips parted.
The Single Dad continued.
“You walk in here and treat every wall I built like it’s a technical inconvenience.”
“Maybe your walls are badly engineered.”