His Uptown Girl. Gail Sattler

stiffened. “It’s short for Georgette. My friends call me George.”

      He scanned the application, and gave a slight nod when he saw her racetrack references. “This is good. I know Jason from the track. I’ll talk to him. But I know I’ve seen you somewhere before. Do you go to Faith Community Fellowship?”

      Georgette shook her head. “No. I attend a church nearer to my house. I don’t live nearby. But I buy most of my parts here.”

      “Must be it.” Bart walked back to bay four with Bob.

      Her heart pounded as she watched them check her assessment, nodding as they discussed the faulty coil.

      When they returned to the lobby, she couldn’t hold back any more. “Was I right?”

      “Looks like it. As soon as Bart puts a new coil in and test drives it, he’s going to watch the front desk so you and I can go into the office and discuss the details. You said Monday is good?”

      “Monday is great.” She marveled at her calm tone. “But I want to do my first official duty right now.”

      One eyebrow quirked.

      Without waiting for him to respond, Georgette turned, walked to the cardboard sign in the window, and flipped it into the garbage can.

      She had a job. A real job. And she’d done it without her father.

      Chapter Two

      The early-morning spring breeze drifted into the shop, doing its best to combat the smells of gas, oil and lubricants.

      Bob had just reached down to check the power-steering belt of the car he was working on when an expensive sports car with tinted windows stopped in front of the bay next to him and began to back in.

      Bob straightened, wiped his hands on the rag from his pocket, and watched the door to the car open.

      A sleek, spike-heeled shoe poked out, followed by a slender, shapely leg. A swish of soft fabric brought the flow of a skirt, followed by the rest of the beautiful blond driver.

      “Hi, Bob. I brought my tools. Where should I put them?”

      Bob’s heart pounded. He stared openly at his new mechanic. If she hadn’t spoken, he wouldn’t have recognized her, she was always so casually dressed the other times she’d come into the shop with her blond hair tied up in a ponytail, probably an attempt to make herself appear taller. Today, George wore makeup and a hairstyle fit for a magazine cover. Her outfit was nicer than most women he knew wore for special occasions. It was probably more expensive as well.

      He didn’t want or need a fashion model. He needed someone who could change a head gasket.

      Bob wondered if he’d made his decision to hire her too impulsively. He tried to think of how to tell her that maybe he would have to reconsider, when George reached into the car, pulled out a duffel bag, and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back. I have to change into something more suitable before I start working.”

      Before he could think of a response, she dashed off, the click of her high heels echoing against the concrete as she ran.

      Bob checked his watch. It was fifteen minutes before her agreed start time. If he told her he’d changed his mind before she actually started, that might not count as actually firing her. It would probably be less painful that way.

      She reappeared in minutes in comfortably worn jeans, a T-shirt proclaiming the tour of a popular Christian musician, and appropriate steel-toed safety boots. Turning as she spoke, she tossed the duffel into the back seat of her car. “I didn’t know if you had coveralls that would fit me, so I brought my own. I hope that’s okay.”

      “Uh…yeah…”

      Bob shook his head to clear it. At least he would see what she could do. “Ready?”

      “Soon as I unpack my tools. They’re in the trunk.”

      Bob turned to stare at her car, which was probably worth at least triple the sticker price of his. “Nice,” he said, positive she’d been driving something else when she’d applied for the job. He couldn’t see why someone who could afford such a car would apply at his simple shop, she was obviously used to living on more money than he could pay.

      “This car does tend to turn heads. It’s my father’s.”

      Bob’s father had never owned such a car. And if he had, Bob knew he would never get to borrow it.

      She pushed the remote button on her keychain. The trunk popped open to display a neat array of good-quality tools packed neatly in two boxes.

      “I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I brought just the basics.”

      Bart chose that moment to appear. He immediately walked to the car and picked up George’s power wrench testing the heft with visible appreciation.

      “Do you have a tool caddy for me?”

      “We’ve got four bays,” Bob answered. “Since you’re the one who’s going to be answering the phone most of the time, you take Bay One, which is closest to the lobby. Put your tools in the shelving unit on the wall over there.”

      In only minutes they had George’s tools packed away in the appropriate place.

      Bart stood beside Bob as George moved her car away. “I hope we’re not taking this ‘trusting God’ thing a little too far.”

      “I don’t know. All day yesterday at church, I kept thinking that God was sending us someone who really needed the job, but obviously she doesn’t. I wonder if this is some kind of test.”

      Bart shook his head. “Let’s not ask for more trouble. If nothing else, she’ll look good when customers come in. Too bad she took her hair down and wiped off her makeup. Yowsa.”

      Bob stiffened. “I won’t resort to the trick of hiring only pretty girls, like some of the places that deliver parts. I hired her because she immediately identified that coil problem.”

      “Okay, she knows something about mechanics. But can she balance a spreadsheet? Did you notice that she only had those track references? It probably would have been a good idea to check out her former employer, but that would have made things difficult for her if they hadn’t known she was interviewing. Anyway, now it’s too late.”

      “There’s only one way to find out what she’s like. Let’s get her started.”

      Bart shook his head. “I don’t have time to show her anything. They’re coming to get that red sedan in an hour, and I’m not sure I’ll be finished. You hired her, so you train her.”

      Bart walked off before Bob could respond.

      Bob entered the lobby at the same time as George.

      “Where do I start?” she asked.

      “I guess the first step is to enter all the purchase orders into the computer,” Bob said as he led her to the shop’s computer. “We’ve kind of been letting it slip. When we’re so busy, the paperwork is the last thing to be done. It drives our accountant nuts. Fortunately he’s a friend.”

      He showed her how to enter a few transactions. “Write the journal entry number on everything as you enter it, and then put them in that box. I take the box home once a month just so everything will be in a separate location if anything happens.”

      She nodded as she entered a new purchase order. “This is a good program. I’ve used it before.”

      Bob stood back and watched her work. She entered everything quickly and with obvious proficiency, and her skill got him to thinking.

      On Saturday, she’d appeared more the tomboy type, especially since she claimed to be a competent mechanic. But today, after seeing her grace and refinement when she came in, and now her bookkeeping skills, he was riveted to her every movement.

      He