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"...suffice to say, it's going to be a little expensive? But we can work something out."
Anne regarded the mechanic standing in front of her car with a raised eyebrow, arms folded comfortably beneath her breasts. She'd made a point of wearing street clothes to head for the mechanic, rather than the usual hard to wrinkle sundress she usually stuffed into her over large purse for the rare occasion she posed. She'd leave her business casual in the office, get naked for the photo shoot, and slip the dress on over her head before heading out into the world.
Not today. Daddy's mechanic was out of town, her car was giving her fits, and Paw Paw would kill her if it turned out to be something she did to it...okay, so he wouldn't, but that disappointed little sigh she would get would just unmake her.
So she packed a change of clothes. Jeans, a top that covered her cleavage, and nice boots. She looked like anyone else, and too covered up to be potentially recognized--and hopefully, capable enough that no one would try to pull a fast one on her.
Except, the earnest and friendly looking grease monkey in front of her was, in fact, lying like a dog. He'd just rattled off a good two thousand dollars in repairs that she needed, and she could smell it all over him: the sour mix of pheremones and chemosignals underneath the grease and oil and rust that said liar.
So she stood there, sucking on her teeth, holding his gaze...and tried to figure out how she was going to call him out without exposing the fact that she wasn't human.
Anne Forsythe was screwed. And worst of all, she usually knew these things. Her gut was never wrong, Anne was never wrong. She had instincts beyond rival, the same ones that had Paw Paw calling her his 'little Cassandra' at every turn...
She was certain this place would be fine.
She was wrong.
"Shhhhhit." she cursed quietly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose with a wince against the tension headache she could feel brewing.
She didn't need her gut to tell her now that she wasn't going to get to grab her lunch on her lunch break today. No, she'd be stuck at Silver Hammer Whatever for the next few hours, and the shoot probably wouldn't finish until nine that night. She was going to be raw by then...
Fuck.
Anne regarded the mechanic standing in front of her car with a raised eyebrow, arms folded comfortably beneath her breasts. She'd made a point of wearing street clothes to head for the mechanic, rather than the usual hard to wrinkle sundress she usually stuffed into her over large purse for the rare occasion she posed. She'd leave her business casual in the office, get naked for the photo shoot, and slip the dress on over her head before heading out into the world.
Not today. Daddy's mechanic was out of town, her car was giving her fits, and Paw Paw would kill her if it turned out to be something she did to it...okay, so he wouldn't, but that disappointed little sigh she would get would just unmake her.
So she packed a change of clothes. Jeans, a top that covered her cleavage, and nice boots. She looked like anyone else, and too covered up to be potentially recognized--and hopefully, capable enough that no one would try to pull a fast one on her.
Except, the earnest and friendly looking grease monkey in front of her was, in fact, lying like a dog. He'd just rattled off a good two thousand dollars in repairs that she needed, and she could smell it all over him: the sour mix of pheremones and chemosignals underneath the grease and oil and rust that said liar.
So she stood there, sucking on her teeth, holding his gaze...and tried to figure out how she was going to call him out without exposing the fact that she wasn't human.
Anne Forsythe was screwed. And worst of all, she usually knew these things. Her gut was never wrong, Anne was never wrong. She had instincts beyond rival, the same ones that had Paw Paw calling her his 'little Cassandra' at every turn...
She was certain this place would be fine.
She was wrong.
"Shhhhhit." she cursed quietly, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose with a wince against the tension headache she could feel brewing.
She didn't need her gut to tell her now that she wasn't going to get to grab her lunch on her lunch break today. No, she'd be stuck at Silver Hammer Whatever for the next few hours, and the shoot probably wouldn't finish until nine that night. She was going to be raw by then...
Fuck.
