Her hair brushed his arm.
He stopped.
She noticed.
“Problem?”
“Hair.”
She moved it aside.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
She deliberately leaned closer again.
The Single Dad looked at her.
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Maybe.”
“We’re working.”
“Your shift ended an hour ago.”
He checked the clock.
She was right.
Her smile deepened.
“Interesting.”
He stood.
She remained directly in front of him.
He could have stepped backward.
He did not.
The CEO placed two fingers against the open edge of his work shirt.
“Remember my offer?”
“Yes.”
“Still keeping the kiss?”
“Yes.”
“Until?”
He looked toward the unfinished car.
“Until this is not attached to it.”
She smiled.
“You’re infuriating.”
“So I’ve heard.”
She leaned close enough that he felt her breath.
“No flirting as payment.”
He said.
“This stopped being payment yesterday.”
“I haven’t agreed.”
“No.”
Her eyes moved toward his mouth.
“But you keep looking.”
The Single Dad’s hand settled lightly around her wrist.
Not lowering it this time.
Just holding.
The CEO stopped smiling.
The tension changed.
His thumb touched her skin.
He said quietly:
“You’re making this difficult.”
She whispered:
“Good.”
Then the break-room door opened.
“Dad?”
They separated instantly.
The daughter stood holding a math worksheet.
The CEO stepped away.
The Single Dad looked guilty.
His daughter looked suspicious.
“Were you fighting?”
The CEO answered first.
“Yes.”
The Single Dad stared at her.
The girl nodded.
“You look like fighting.”
The CEO almost laughed.
The Single Dad took the worksheet.
“What do you need?”
“Fractions.”
He groaned.
“I can rebuild a V12.”
“Fractions still terrible?”
“Yes.”
The CEO held out her hand.
“Give me that.”
The daughter looked at her.
“You know fractions?”
The CEO said:
“I run companies.”
The Single Dad muttered:
“That didn’t answer it.”
The daughter smiled.
The CEO sat with her.
For twenty minutes, the billionaire woman in the red suit explained equivalent fractions using socket sizes from a mechanic’s drawer.
The Single Dad watched from across the shop.
Something inside him shifted.
He did not like it.
Actually, he liked it too much.
The next morning, attorneys found the first missing Ferrari component.
An original distributor housing had been sold at a European auction eighteen months earlier.
Photographs showed a small casting flaw matching old images from the CEO’s father’s car.
The seller was a holding company.
That company traced through two others to the former Collection Manager.
The CEO wanted police involved immediately.
Her attorney told her to wait.
The Single Dad agreed.
She glared at him.
“You’re taking his side?”