Page 43 of Levi

I can’t help it.

She’s a rare balance of innocence and sexy siren.

“So, Jules Salinger, I know your name and your age, but I don’t know what upset you so much earlier. Talk to me,” I say, resting my back against the seat.

She flashes a hesitant look, her bright smile now gone.

“A problem shared is a problem halved,” I coax.

She plays around with her cuticles for a few beats before fixing me with her hazel green eyes.

Awkwardness crackles between us.

Just when I’m certain I stepped into a pile of shit and ready myself to backtrack does her gaze finally lift, rising up to meet mine. With a heavy sigh, she launches into story mode.

“I’m officially an orphan—”

“Did you just lose your parents? Is that why you were crying?”

She shakes her head. “My mom died four years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Was she sick?” I ask.

“It was an accident.”

“Shit. A car accident?”

“No. She supervised building managers for this big rental company. She was doing an inspection round for an upcoming renovation of an older building when an air conditioning unit dropped like a meteor from the twelfth floor onto her head.”

I’m speechless.

“She died on impact,” she continues. “Daddy and I were devastated. She was full of life. She kissed me goodbye on that morning and by the time I came back from school, she was dead.”

I reach out for her hand and squeeze it. “I’m sure you miss her every single day.”

A surprised face snaps up to mine. “You say that like you know what it’s like to lose your mother.”

I offer a sad smile. “I don’t mean to usurp your story, but yes, I know exactly what it’s like. I also lost my mom.”

She places her other hand on top of mine. “Oh, God, Levi. You know how much it hurts.”

I nod. “It fucking hurts.”

“I didn’t think I would ever recover from such a tragic loss,” she keeps talking. “For the longest time, Daddy walked around like a ghost. It was so hard on him, he started sleeping in the guest room. He couldn’t handle the emptiness of his bed. Just like me, he cried a lot.” She pauses. “He was an engineer by trade, but I think he started tinkering around as a way to keep his mind busy.”

“Cars?”

“No. Dad was an avid cyclist. He started bringing home broken bikes and repairing them. Then he graduated to motorcycles. When he couldn’t sleep at night, I knew I could find him in the garage. After an injury, he was forced to get a gym membership so he could slowly rehabilitate. That’s how he was forced to embrace indoor cycling. He had a beef with the stationary bikes on the market. He got it in his head he could come up with a smart indoor bike that fuelled your workout and pushed you beyond your limits. Before long, it became an obsession. Time went by and suddenly, his tinkering turned into something real. Fueled with excitement––and the promise of a better life––he went all in. Unfortunately, there were a lot of bugs with the technology, and manufacturing the equipment in America was—is—ridiculously expensive.”

“Why not go to China?” I ask. “It would’ve been considerably cheaper.”

“Dad never cared for made in China products. He wanted the bikes to be made in America. He was such a patriot,” she tells me. “In the past few months, I discovered a number of reputable sources in Vietnam that are far cheaper, but I’m strapped for cash. Hopping on a plane to meet with those manufacturers to check out their facilities isn’t part of the budget. Not to mention, I don’t speak a word of Vietnamese and from my understanding, not everyone is fluent in English.”

“There are consultants right here in Los Angeles who can act as the middleman and negotiate on your behalf. They usually have a very good grasp of the language, or they’re natives.”

“I didn’t even know that.” She hangs her head low.

“Being in business doesn’t mean you know everything.” Her eyes snap up to mine.