Chapter 4: Grease and Grit
The sign above the shop door read: "Rivera Auto & Repair" — in faded red paint, missing an "R" and half a lightbulb. Below it, the smell of oil, rubber, and something vaguely metallic filled Lana's nostrils the second she stepped into the lot.
She had worn her cleanest pair of jeans and borrowed one of her mother's old plain T-shirts. No jewelry. No makeup. Her once-perfect nails were chipped, her high heels replaced with scuffed sneakers. This wasn't a place for glamor. This was survival.
A man ducked out from under the hood of a black Honda, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag. His T-shirt clung to his back with sweat, and a smudge of black streaked across his cheekbone. He had that rough kind of good looks—strong jaw, messy dark hair, and eyes that looked like they'd seen more than he wanted to talk about.
"You're not the delivery girl," he said flatly, looking her up and down.
Lana blinked. "No. I'm… here for the job."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding."
She crossed her arms. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"
He shrugged, unconvinced. "You look like you've never held a wrench in your life."
"Maybe not," Lana snapped, "but I can learn. I'm not here to impress you. I'm here to work."
There was a long silence. Then another voice called from the office.
"Jayden, who's out there?"
"Some girl who says she wants to work," he called back.
An older man in coveralls emerged, wiping his hands. "You the one who called yesterday?"
Lana nodded. "Yes, sir."
He studied her for a moment. "We don't pay much. You clean, run errands, maybe help with the register. You don't touch tools unless someone tells you to. Understand?"
"I understand."
The man looked at Jayden. "She's your problem now."
Jayden groaned. "Great."
⸻
By lunchtime, Lana regretted everything.
Her arms ached. Her sneakers were stained with oil. Her fingers smelled like tires and she had absolutely no idea how to log customer receipts. She'd knocked over a tray of bolts, spilled brake fluid on her jeans, and nearly got yelled at for mistaking motor oil for transmission fluid.
Jayden watched her with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You're a disaster."
"I said I'd learn, not that I was a prodigy," she muttered.
He handed her a bottle of water. "This isn't some TikTok challenge, princess. This is a real shop. Real work. No one's gonna slow down because you broke a nail."
"I didn't even say anything about my nails!"
He smirked and walked off.
⸻
At the end of her shift, Lana sank into the sidewalk just outside the shop, sweat clinging to the back of her neck. Her hands were filthy. Her jeans were ruined. Her pride was in pieces.
But for the first time in days, she felt something other than numb.
Tired. Angry. Dirty. Real.
Jayden stepped outside, tossing a greasy rag over his shoulder. He lit a cigarette but didn't smoke it. Just held it between his fingers, looking out over the road like he had somewhere better to be but didn't care enough to go.
"You didn't quit," he said after a while.
"No," she said softly. "I didn't."
"That's something, at least."
They sat in silence.
For a second, the city noise faded, and all that remained was the slow rhythm of traffic and the fading warmth of sunset on their skin.
"I'm not a princess," she whispered.
Jayden glanced at her.
"I used to be," she admitted. "But that girl doesn't exist anymore."
He nodded once. "Good. She wouldn't last a day here."
Lana met his eyes.
Neither of them smiled.
But something passed between them—something unspoken and new.
Not friendship. Not attraction.
Just recognition.
And for Lana Kingsley, it was the first piece of something solid in a world that had completely fallen apart.