3. Jameson

3

JAMESON

I toss Andrew out of the shop, the sound of the door slamming behind him echoing in the otherwise quiet space, and I reluctantly bid farewell to what was probably upwards of $500 worth of repairs. I can already imagine the grumbling and frustration from the guys when they find out. It's going to be a tough sell trying to explain that it was all for Amelia. They wouldn't understand; they see the business in black and white, while I find myself tangled in shades of emotion when it comes to her.

The day I put out the ad for an Office Manager, I was in dire need of someone who could whip my disorganized office into shape. The last person I had in that role was a total schmuck who managed to screw everything up royally. I caught him embezzling money from the shop, and even though I took him to court, I never saw a damn penny of what he stole. The courts keep assuring me he'll pay it back, but it's all just empty promises, leaving me feeling even more frustrated with the whole situation.

Then Amelia walked through the doors, and everything changed. She was out of breath, her cheeks flushed, and I couldn't help but notice how her hair was a delightful mess, strands falling in chaotic waves around her face. Her story was that she'd walked from her place a mile and a half away, which only made me admire her determination even more. And then, in a funny twist of fate, she casually mentioned she was having car trouble herself. With a sparkle in her eye, she asked if, once she got the job, she could benefit from an employee discount. The way she said it, with a blend of hopefulness and charm, made it impossible for me not to smile.

She was beautiful. I nearly hired her on the spot, without even glancing at her resume. As she sat across from me, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, she tried to explain her situation. She didn't drop out of college because it was too hard; she simply didn't have the funds to finish her marketing degree. I felt for her, I truly did. I'd seen two or three other applicants who boasted more experience, but in the end, it was that gorgeous smile that completely disarmed me.

The first few weeks of training her were a challenge. I was still trying to wrap my head around the dynamics of the office, and she came bursting in with a whirlwind of ideas for our business. I often found myself having to tell her we didn't have the budget for her ambitious plans, and it pained me to see that beautiful face fall in disappointment. Yet, slowly but surely, she found her footing. As she grew more confident in her role, I couldn't help but notice how her energy transformed the atmosphere around her. I started coming in every morning not out of obligation to check her work, but simply because I wanted to see her, to talk to her, and to bask in the warmth of her presence.

I hate that she's only twenty-one. It gnaws at me, and I can't shake the feeling of being a pervert every time I catch myself looking at her, feeling a stirring between my thighs that I know I shouldn't. It makes the situation all the more complicated when I have to pull new hires aside and lay down the law: they can't touch her, look at her, or even think about her because she's mine. It's a possessive instinct that I can't quite explain, but it's there, deep-rooted and unyielding.

There's a running joke in the shop that I've claimed her, and while it's meant to be lighthearted, it carries a weight that I can't ignore. I might not have taken her to bed yet, but that's only because I assume she wouldn't be interested in an older man like me. She's too young, too vibrant, and too educated for a hardened mechanic like myself. I find myself wondering what she sees when she looks at me—if she sees the man I was or the one I am now, if she looks past the years etched into my face and the calluses on my hands.

Today, I took a chance, although it wasn't intentional at first. When I noticed the way her gaze dropped, filled with shame as she scrutinized herself, I felt a surge of protectiveness. I couldn't stand the thought of her thinking she wasn't beautiful. So, I stepped in, my voice firm yet gentle, determined to set her straight. I wanted her to see herself through my eyes, to recognize the radiance that I saw every time she walked into the room. When her cheeks flushed a delicate pink—what I hoped was delight—I felt a thrill of victory. But I left before I could be corrected, before the moment could slip away and turn into something I wasn't ready to face.

I sigh deeply, running a hand through my hair. The situation with Amelia has been messy, to say the least, and I knew that my friends wouldn't fully grasp the complexity of it all. They don't understand the connection that I have with Amelia, the way her eyes light up whenever she walks into the shop, the way her laughter makes my heart race.

"Jameson?" Jeremy's voice interrupts my thoughts. "You fixin' your hair for Amelia?" He asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

I roll my eyes, exasperated. "No, Jeremy," I say, my voice gruff. "I'm not fixin' my hair for Amelia. I'm just tired of dealing with assholes like Andrew."

He shrugs, clearly unconvinced. "Whatever you say, Jameson. Good luck catchin' your prey." He flips me off, mimicking my own gesture from earlier.

I let out a bitter laugh as I walk away. Jeremy doesn't understand what it means to care for someone, to want to protect them from the world's cruelty. He sees everything through the lens of a joke, but I know better. Amelia is more than just a pretty face or a good lay - she is someone who has stolen my heart and refuses to give it back.