"Looks just like it did when you first took it to me," the shop owner said. Casimir had brought Valentino to pick up his car. It took two weeks to finish just because the shop was really busy. He could have just called up another shop to see if he could get it done faster. That's what Casimir suggested. But he had already brought it over there the week before he came home and learned about all that had happened. Valentino had told him that he wanted this specific shop and that's why he was willing to wait.
He was the one that had originally painted the Corvette. The beauty never had a sunburnt part on it, nor a blemish until it got all keyed up. When Valentino told Casimir what had finally happened with the car, he was shocked. He knew that Amy was angry with him, but he didn't know that she would try and mess with Valentino. This raised a whole new level of worry in him.
She had never done something like this before. Not that he had ever heard of at least. Hearing and seeing Amy do all of these things was like seeing a completely new side to her. She wasn't the happy, bubbly woman that he used to love to no end. Now she was an angry she-devil bent on revenge. It didn't make sense. He didn't break her heart. She had broken his. So, why go through all these measures just to get back at him when she already did the worst thing imaginable to him? What more could a person want?
"Thanks for your help," Valentino told the owner. They all looked to see the Corvette as beautiful as ever, with the same paint on as before. Casimir was sure that he was ecstatic to get his car back. He missed it so much, he could tell.
"Not a problem," the owner said. "I'll cut you a deal since you have to pay for this out of pocket."
"Just show me the paper and let's get this all over with," Valentino sighed. The owner left it at that and walked to the office area of the shop.
"How are you going to pay for this?" Casimir asked.
"With money," he answered, giving him a suspicious look. "My own."
"Are you sure you don't want me to pay for it?" Casimir asked. "It won't be a bother to me at all." He was the one at fault for this, after all. If he had just let her be when he saw her, this would have never happened. And the fact that he had brought his past in and ruined something of Valentino's still ate him up inside. He just didn't expect any of this to happen. And now they weren't even sure what else she might do. It was obvious that she hadn't found out where either of them lived, but all that would take is some time. With how flashy the Corvette was, it wouldn't take too long to find it in the neighborhoods. Casimir's car was able blend in a little more, but he didn't put anything past her. Not after the trouble she caused for all of them.
"Don't worry about it," Valentino brushed it off, filling out the paperwork that the receptionist gave him. "I was thinking about getting a new paint job for it anyway. It needs a good coat to keep it from rusting."
That was a lie, and they all knew it. But Casimir wasn't going to argue. Valentino looked calmer just having his car back. They showed him pictures of what Amy had done to it. Casimir understood why he would be upset. Messing with someone's car, especially to that extent, was no laughing matter. It was someone's property too.
"I wouldn't have declined," Noel elbowed his son. "Come on, Valentino. If he's offering to pay for it, why not let him? You can't argue with free."
"I can pay for it myself, thank you," Valentino replied coldly. "I have plenty of money."
Noel put his hands up in surrender. Casimir didn't know why he looked so scared until he witnessed it himself. Valentino was giving his father the evil eye, his gaze as cold as ice. He was glad he hadn't angered him enough to get that stare himself.
YOU ARE READING
Impress Me Not: The Architect
Romance"Oh no," the blond shook his head. "Oh no?" another man asked. "What's oh no?" "Will has the look," he looked at his partner in horror. "The 'we're going to make the riskiest decision in our life' look." "Hey," Will winked at all of them and put up...
