The room became quieter.
“…and you get my father’s Ferrari running today…”
She slid one finger toward the open collar of his work shirt.
“…I’ll kiss you against that tool cabinet in front of every man who just laughed at you.”
The entire garage froze.
The Single Dad looked down at her hand.
Then at her mouth.
Only once.
The CEO noticed.
Her confidence increased.
Then he caught her wrist gently.
Not hard.
Not embarrassed.
Simply stopping her.
He lowered her hand.
“Keep the kiss.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Afraid?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
The Single Dad looked directly into her eyes.
“Keep it until you know whether you respect the man you’re offering it to.”
Nobody laughed.
The CEO felt something unexpected move through her chest.
Anger first.
Then something warmer.
More dangerous.
She stepped even closer.
“Careful.”
The Single Dad waited.
“I’m starting to think you want me to mean it.”
His eyes flicked toward her lips again.
This time she was certain.
He said quietly:
“I want you to stop calling a locked car broken.”
That changed everything.
The CEO looked toward the Ferrari.
“What?”
The Single Dad walked around her.
He crossed the workshop.
The mechanics followed.
The car sat under bright overhead lights with its hood open and diagnostic leads attached.
The Single Dad did not touch the engine.
He opened the driver’s door.
One specialist immediately objected.
“We already tested the ignition circuit.”
The Single Dad nodded.
“I know.”
“How?”
“I read your work notes.”
The mechanic frowned.
“You had access?”
“They’re left on the desk every night.”
The Single Dad crouched beside the dashboard.
The CEO followed.
He removed a small lower trim panel.
One screw.
Then another.
He reached behind the panel.
Felt along the original loom.
Stopped.
“There.”
The senior mechanic leaned closer.
“What?”
The Single Dad pulled forward a thin cloth-wrapped wire.
It looked old.
Almost original.
Almost.
He followed it toward the firewall.
Then found a second branch.
The garage became silent.
The mechanic frowned.
“That isn’t factory.”
“No.”
“What is it?”
The Single Dad studied the wire.
Then the relay hidden behind a period-correct mounting bracket.
“A secondary ignition interlock.”
The CEO stared.
“Anti-theft?”
“Maybe.”
“Then bypass it.”
The Single Dad looked toward her.
“No.”
She bristled.
“Why?”
“Because somebody built this deliberately.”
“So?”
“So I want to know what it does before I defeat it.”
She exhaled sharply.
“You’re standing beside a car that has not started in five years.”
“Yes.”
“I am asking you to make it start.”
“And I’m telling you the reason it hasn’t may be intentional.”
The CEO started to reply.
Then the Single Dad reached deeper behind the dash.
His fingertips touched paper.