Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 126098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“I do!” she insisted. “That’s just how my brain works.”
He chuckled. “You got all this done in just a few days?” he asked, impressed. “By yourself?” He was really hoping she hadn’t been in town long enough to meet anyone.
“Yeah. I work on it in the evenings. It’s kind of nice to just shut my brain off and work with my hands.” She drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, I didn’t mean that you were...stupid...or anything. I’m sorry. I just meant-”
He laughed. “It’s okay. I didn’t take it that way.”
“I just meant that I know this stuff so well, I can do it without having to focus too much. Especially when it’s just taking apart the engine.”
“What are you working on right now?”
“Fuel line.”
“Want some help?”
She glanced at him. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I mean you do this all day. Don’t you want to go home and relax?”
He shook his head. “Not really. I mostly work on bikes at the shop while Hawk does the cars and trucks. It’ll be a nice change of pace.”
“Yeah, great,” she said smiling and Tex was pretty sure he’d do just about anything to keep that smile. She helped get the rest of the boxes out of the Hummer and then they set to work removing the fuel line. She was methodical and efficient, if not a little slow. But then Tex figured he was always used to working on a deadline and if you were going to this thing as a hobby you might as well take the time to enjoy it as much as she obviously did.
“So, where’d you learn to work on cars?” he asked, watching her set down the connecter in what he figured was the “F” column.
“My dad was the head mechanic for the fleet of cars and limos the Coral Canyon uses. When I was young I used to go to work with him after school. When I turned sixteen I officially made it to the payroll for about four years. Then I was in college and I turned 21. Casino Hosts make a lot more money than mechanics and I had books and tuition to pay for, so I did that for the last two years.”
Tex nodded. “What exactly is a Casino Host?”
She picked up a socket wrench and changed the head. “Well, it’s like a private concierge. A whale, sorry, a big spender, comes into town and he wants concert tickets, a 7 o’clock tee time at Aliante, his wife needs a spa day. I make all that happen for a fee plus a tip when they leave. I’m like their personal assistant slash entertainment director for their stay.”
“Have you ever done anything besides work at a hotel?” he asked.
Abby shook her head. “Nope. I’ve only ever worked at the Canyon. I love it. It’s like home to me, but my dad’s gone now, and things are just...different. I thought I’d check out life away from the Strip.”
They had finished up taking the fuel line apart and she invited him in to wash his hands. Tex looked around the empty apartment. “You unpacked fast,” he observed.
“I didn’t have much to unpack.”
He noted the different dispensers of soap at the kitchen sink. Antibacterial Dial and some kind of Orange Blossom stuff. “Vegas, do you have anything-”
She reached under the sink and handed him a Lava Bar. “Ah, thanks, babe.” When he put it back he noticed her cleaning supplies were in neat little rows. She caught him looking. “Control freak, huh?” he asked her.
She gave him a sharp look. “I prefer the term ‘Vigilantly Organized’. I arrange people’s schedules, including my own, for a living. I have to be organized.”
“Nothing wrong with being organized,” he told her, drying his hands on the towel. Suddenly, her microwave beeped.
He watched her put on an oven glove and pull a metal tray out of the oven. He moved closer for inspection. “What is that?” he asked with distaste as she attempted to peel the steaming hot plastic off a small rectangle of frozen dinner lasagna. “That is not food.”
“Yes, it is,” she told him. “And frankly I consider it a miracle that I’m using the oven. I’ve lived in a hotel my whole life, Tex. Room service? I have no idea how to cook. I’d order take-out, but I’m new in town and I don’t know what’s good here. Plus, I’m trying not to shop in the lumberjack section of department stores. Flannel is not a good look for me. This is a healthy alternative. Says so right on the box.”
“Uh huh,” said Tex. He took the oven mitt from her, scooped up the box, stepped on the pedal of the trash container in the corner and dumped it in.
“Hey! That’s my dinner!” she protested.
“Vegas, that is garbage and that’s where it belongs.” He got out his cell phone and hit a number on speed dial. He ordered a massive amount of chinese food and gave Abby’s address. “Real food will be here in 20 minutes.”