Chapter 3

The sleek blue Bentley pulled up to the curb across from "Cameron Custom Motors," a surprisingly well-maintained shop with large garage doors propped open to reveal the workspace within.

Valerie studied the building from behind her fashionable sunglasses, noting the clean exterior. It was a far cry from the dingy chop shop she'd been expecting.

"Wait here," she instructed her driver, stepping out of the car.

As she crossed the street, several mechanics glanced up from their work, their expressions shifting from casual interest to stunned recognition. She smiled inwardly. At least his workers knew who she was, he won't be able to deny not knowing her anymore.

Her eyes darted around the garage, looking for his familiar smug face, when she noticed someone with his body build beneath the jacked-up Camaro.

Rick Cameron lay on a creeper board, only his lower half visible as he worked underneath the car. His faded jeans were stained with grease, and his boots looked too worn for wear.

Valerie walked towards him and positioned herself directly beside his legs. She coughed and cleared her throat loudly, but didn’t get a response. Then she tapped her foot impatiently. "Excuse me."

The wrench in Rick's hand never stopped moving, but he responded, "Be with you in a minute," he said from beneath the car.

Valerie scoffed. Being made to wait was not something she had experienced in the last three years. No one keeps her waiting. "I don't have a minute," she said coldly.

"Then get lost."

Valerie blinked, stunned into silence. Did he just… My goodness. What was wrong with this man? Was he aware of who he was talking to? Or did he simply treat every customer this way? How dare he speak to her like that!

The other mechanics had stopped pretending to work, openly staring at the confrontation now.

"Do you know who you are talking to?" she demanded, hating how silly she sounded.

"Yep," came the indifferent reply from under the car.

That single word knocked her off balance. If he knew, then why wasn't he responding appropriately? She crouched down, peering under the car despite the risk of soiling her designer skirt.

"Then you know why I'm here," she said, trying to make eye contact with him in the shadows.

Rick slid out suddenly, causing Valerie to stumble backward in her heels. He sat up on the creeper, wiping his hands on a rag that was already black with grease. His face was smudged with oil, and his dark hair was disheveled, but his eyes, God... those eyes, they were so intense that it caught her off guard for the second time.

"Look here, lady," he said flatly, "I'm busy." Without another word, he turned away from her to grab a different tool from his box.

Valerie stared at him, momentarily speechless. He knew exactly who she was and still didn't care. The realization was like a slap to the face.

"I'm here about your behavior last weekend." She said, finally finding her voice.

Rick didn't even look up as he sorted through his tools. "So?"

"You were dismissive and rude," Valerie said, her chin lifting. "I was in distress, and you treated me like I was... like I wasn't important."

Rick paused, glancing at her with a blank expression, then simply shrugged and went back to selecting his tool.

"I expect an apology," Valerie said firmly, crossing her arms. "A sincere one. And then I might be willing to forgive your... indiscretion."

At this, Rick finally looked at her. Properly this time. His gaze moved slowly from her face down to her expensive shoes and back up again, making her skin tingle. Then, without a word, he lay back down on the creeper and slid under the car.

"Are you serious right now?" Valerie nearly shouted, her composure cracking. "I'm Valerie Calder! When I speak, people listen!"

The metallic sound of tools working under the car was her only answer.

Valerie felt her face flush hot with anger and embarrassment. The small crowd of mechanics and customers had gathered at a distance, watching the exchange happening between them.

She suddenly felt acutely aware of how this must look - the Duchess of New York being dismissed by a grease-stained mechanic. Every article will carry it.

She nudged his leg with her foot this time, very sharply. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Rick slid out just enough to fix her with a cold stare. "What do you want, missy? You know you’re being a nuisance, right?"

"I want you to apologize," she repeated, fighting to keep her voice steady. "For how you treated me last weekend."

Rick stared at her for a long moment, his expression completely unreadable. Then, without breaking eye contact, he asked, "Is that it?"

"Yes," Valerie said, lifting her chin. "And I'm prepared to be generous if you make it sincere."

Rick's response was to slide back under the car without another word.

Valerie stood there, stunned by the dismissal. The silence stretched uncomfortably as the onlookers waited for her next move.

"Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?" she finally managed, her voice tight with rage.

The sounds of Rick working from beneath the car continued.

"I could ruin you," she threatened, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "One phone call, and this shop would be closed by tomorrow. I could destroy your life."

Rick slid out again, this time standing up in one fluid motion. He was exceptionally tall, and his presence suddenly felt overwhelming. His eyes bored into hers, making her lose focus - again. She hadn't gotten a good look at him that night, but now… she mentally shook herself. Focus. She was here to teach him a lesson, not swoon at his feet like some lovesick teenager.

He kept staring at her, while Valerie waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. He just gave her a hateful look, filled with so much contempt that felt much worse than any insults could.

Valerie felt herself faltering. This man was immune to everything that usually gave her power - her wealth, her beauty, her status, even her threats. It was infuriating.

She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You can choose to ignore me all you want, but I'm getting that apology from you. Better watch your back, Mr. Cameron. Nobody dismisses the Duchess and gets away with it."

Rick held her gaze for a moment longer, then simply turned away and crouched beside his toolbox, as if she'd already ceased to exist.

The dismissal was so painful, so final, that Valerie found herself at a loss. With the eyes of everyone in the shop on her, she turned and walked out, feeling embarrassed, but refusing to show it. She held her head up high and cat-walked towards her car, trying not to stumble out of anger.

As she climbed back into her Bentley, her driver wisely said nothing about her flushed cheeks or the way her hands trembled with rage.

"Take me back to the office," she ordered, her voice tight.

The car pulled away, and Valerie found herself looking back at the garage, where Rick had disappeared beneath the car again as if nothing had happened - as if the Duchess of New York hadn't just graced his shabby little shop with her presence.

This wasn't how she'd planned it in her head. What the fuck!