2. Amelia

2

AMELIA

I 'm knee-deep in my day, fingers flying over the keyboard, when Jameson strides over to me with a customer in tow. Normally, I'm the first face that people see when they walk through the shop's doors, welcoming them with a smile and a cheerful greeting. But somehow, this gentleman has managed to slip in through the back alley, his car in tow, and find his way to the owner of the company instead.

"Hey, Amelia," Jameson gruffly nods towards the guy, his voice a familiar rumble that always sends a flutter through me. "He'll be with you for about an hour or so. We're doing some repairs on his car. I'll get you all the info here in a little bit. The guys are doing an inspection right now to determine the full extent of the damage. Guess he got into a little fender bender."

I glance over at the man in question. He's only a couple of inches shorter than Jameson, but his presence is undeniably different. While Jameson is ruggedly handsome in his cut-off sleeves and dark gray mechanic pants, this gentleman is dressed far more professionally. A crisp button-up shirt is tucked neatly into tailored slacks, giving him an air of polished authority. "Well, take your time, sir," he says after a brief pause, casually waving Jameson off as if dismissing a minor inconvenience. "If I'd have known the receptionist was so sexy, I'd have come in sooner."

A blush creeps up my cheeks at his words, and I can't help but steal a glance at Jameson to see his reaction. His brow arches slightly, a subtle hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. I can feel the weight of the compliment hanging in the air between us, making the moment feel charged and a bit more complicated than it should be.

Jameson glares at the man with an intensity that makes my heart race, and then his gaze shifts to me, his expression fierce yet protective. "Watch yourself. We don't tolerate sexual harassment here." His voice is low but firm, the kind of tone that brooks no-nonsense.

"I'm Andrew," the man introduces himself as he steps closer to my desk, an easy smile playing on his lips. "And what might your name be, beautiful?" There's an air of confidence about him that both intrigues and unsettles me.

I open my mouth, ready to tell Jameson that it's fine, that I can handle this, but the sight of Jameson's clenched jaw and the telltale sign of steam practically radiating from his ears makes me hesitate. I suddenly feel as if I've entered an alternate universe. This man, who I've worked alongside for over a year, has just called me gorgeous, and now he's looking undeniably possessive over little old me, as if I'm a treasure he has no intention of sharing.

"Hey, dipshit." Jameson steps forward, closing the distance between himself and Andrew with a fierce determination that sends a flutter of excitement through me. He taps Andrew hard on the shoulder, a signal that's unmistakably serious. "Take your seat over there ," he instructs, pointing towards the chairs at the other end of the office with an authority that brooks no debate. "And leave my Office Manager alone, or you can find yourself a new mechanic." His words are sharp, but there's a protective undertone that sends my heart soaring.

Andrew looks between me and Jameson, his hesitant smile faltering slightly. "Are you joking? Is this like, your girlfriend or something?" There's a hint of disbelief in his tone, and I can't help but feel a rush of warmth at the implication, even as the situation feels undeniably awkward.

I sit there frozen, my mind racing. Where my fight or flight reaction should kick in, I instead find myself caught in that third, often unspoken response: freeze. It's as if time has momentarily halted, leaving me suspended in this whirlwind of confusion and unexpected emotions.

"If she was my girlfriend, I'd have already kicked your ass. So sit down. Or else I'll kick it anyway." Jameson's voice is low and menacing, and I can feel the intensity of his glare slicing through the air. He crosses his arms over his chest, solid and imposing, giving Andrew a look that dares him to defy his orders. The protective energy radiating from Jameson is palpable, and I can't help but feel a mix of admiration and trepidation.

I'm still sitting there, my thoughts swirling in a haze, wondering how everything spiraled into this moment. How did we go from casual conversations about car repairs to Jameson suddenly transforming from my boss into a possessive figure who seems ready to go to war on my behalf? It's bewildering, and I can't shake the flutter of hope that rises within me, even as the awkwardness of the situation lingers heavily in the air.

Andrew scoffs, a dismissive sound that drips with arrogance, but deep down, he knows he's no match for Jameson. Even though Andrew is nearly as tall as the mechanic, he can't compete with the sheer mass of muscle that Jameson possesses—at least fifty pounds of it. "Whatever. I don't have time for this pissing contest. She's a little too big for me anyway," he says, his words slicing through the air.

My heart sinks, and the initial shock begins to fade, replaced by a rush of indignation and hurt. The instinct to freeze in disbelief evaporates, and now my flight response kicks in. I stand up, my body moving almost on autopilot as I make my way toward the bathroom, desperate to escape the weight of the moment. But just before I can slip away, I hear Jameson's voice, firm and unwavering, telling Andrew to take his messed-up car and get out. The protective tone in his voice is meant to shield me, but it only heightens my emotional turmoil.

Before I even reach the bathroom door, I feel hot tears spilling down my cheeks, and I silently thank the universe that no one can see my vulnerability in this moment. Everything Jameson did for me this morning—his unwavering support and fierce protectiveness—feels utterly overshadowed by Andrew's cruel jab.

I've always known that I'm a little too big for men, and this interaction just serves as yet another reminder of that uncomfortable truth. It's a constant in my life, a reality I've learned to navigate like a tightrope walker, trying to maintain my balance while the world around me constantly shifts. Each time I'm confronted with this harsh reminder, it cuts a little deeper, a jagged edge that lingers long after the moment has passed. I try to tell myself that confidence is more important than size, but the sting of Andrew's words echoes in my mind, making it hard to believe.

I close the bathroom door behind me, leaning against it as I let the rest of the tears fall in peace, each drop a release of pent-up emotion. The small, tiled room feels like a sanctuary, a place where I can momentarily shield myself from judgment and the weight of the world. I take a deep breath, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth of my cheeks, and I thank God again because Jameson doesn't come knocking to see if I'm okay. Maybe he knows I'm hurt and wants to give me my space, allowing me the time to gather my thoughts and regain my composure. Or perhaps, he understands that I wouldn't let him in anyway, that I'd keep my heart safely locked away, fearing what his concern might unveil.

He'd be right on both accounts.