Chapter Text
Rey had never seen such wear and tear on a vehicle before.
She'd taken a keen interest in cars for as long as she could remember. Her adoptive father had set her on the path with the classics, prizing a 1964 Aston Martin DB5. He'd always loved Bond, he'd say, when the opportunity presented itself. However, despite his enthusiasm as an almost embarrassing aficionado of one of the few interests they shared, it was only a hobby. He'd had "great plans" for her. She was going to attend either law or medical school, and depending on what path she chose, she'd one day have her own firm or be the chief of surgery at a hospital.
What a shame, then, that she'd only ever really been good at one thing: repairing cars.
She could still recall her father's expression when she politely informed him that she was going to go to university, but not the one of his choice and not for what he wanted. The way his features had contorted… he'd never been so angry with her. What of the money spent on her schools and her tutors over the years! he'd railed. How dare that go to waste!
Rey could see why he was upset. It had pained her, too, to foster such disappointment in him. She'd been failing people since she was an abandoned toddler.
Presently, there was a plan set up to pay her father back the money for the education she'd already received while growing up. University itself was on hold. She had to be true to herself, and she couldn't take school on top of that right now. She was working on the personal pit crew for Ben Solo. This was a dream come true. She was, dare she say it, happy.
Mostly, at any rate.
It was her third day on the job—her third day!—and she was ready to chuck a lug wrench at her boss' head. Not only was he completely insufferable, what with the way he looked down his nose at everyone, he had absolutely no idea of how to care for any of these cars. Porsche wouldn't continue to allow him to keep his own team if said team couldn't provide the proper maintenance.
Rey got to her feet, using a grimy rag to scrub the grease off her fingers. She was the only girl in the shop, and at nineteen-years-old, they considered her a baby. An interloper of sorts. The outsider. So far, it had been akin to flogging a dead horse. With no respect, she was having to work her arse off more than she would have otherwise. Misogynistic gits.
Yet… she wanted to be here, with this team, going from country to country to compete in circuits. She wanted to do it on her own pound—dime—oh, whichever currency—and know she was independent. There was a sense of freedom in living that way, in supporting one's self. To go where she wanted, do what she desired.
Hypocrite, she thought. You know your father threw his weight around to help you get this position.
Details. She had to remind herself of that daily. These were simply details.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Everyone in the shop paused for half a second before resuming work, having shaken off the chill.
Prince Charming was here.
His face was impassive. Bored, one might say. His hands were loosely tucked into his slacks pockets, a garment that went well with his form-fitting, button-down shirt, skinny tie, and nice shoes. There was a shadow of a beard of his face. This was noteworthy, as he ordinarily kept his appearance impeccable, to the point where his coiffed raven locks gave the impression he had a hair stylist constantly following him around.
He hadn't so much as glanced in Rey's direction since she'd begun working with his team. She took immense offense to that, considering how bloody difficult she was to miss. She was the only crew member with… well… womanly parts! Were her tits so flat? Three days in, and her self-esteem was in the pits.
Hah. The pits. Which would be funnier if she weren't so hangry! (She'd missed lunch.) This car… had he no care! She picked up her lug wrench and jiggled it about in a somewhat threatening fashion. For one, indecisive moment she stood there, wavering. Dispensing her… concerns… could be the end of a rather short career.
Well… all right, she was here—she had something to say—and she was going to say it.
"Ben Solo, if you wear out these tyres so quickly one more time, I swear I will make everyone in the pit ignore you for five minutes the next time they blow out!"
A second round of silence possessed the room, long enough for the men to fully take in what had transpired.
The new girl had just yelled at the boss.
Rey tilted her chin back. Her employer was… tall. She set her jaw and ignored the crew's wide, bulging eyes. Honestly. So dramatic. Fine. She'd do what the rest of them hadn't the balls to.
"Ben Solo—"
"Who are you again?" he interrupted her, a slant to his eyes that indicated he hadn't appreciated the yelling.
A collective breath was taken. Rey would have bothered to glare at her co-workers, but then she'd lose the power play with Solo. Never break eye contact. She wasn't afraid of this man. She would not back down.
"Rey," she said. And then, to clarify, "Kenobi."
His expression withered by the second. Why was he so shirty? Even without her outburst, he had yet to have a friendly word for anyone.
Rey wet her lips. "Rey, I mean. Kenobi—Rey—uh—" What the devil was happening? The longer he didn't blink, the larger the ball of discomfort in her stomach became. Why hadn't he said anything? "What, are you going to just stand there all day and stare at me?" Lovely. Her belligerence was only increasing. The likelihood of that short career was increasing with every word that fell so witlessly from her mouth.
Stand tall, Kenobi. Her father's words resonated in her mind. The problem with this bit of advice was how much smaller Rey was than Solo.
"Everyone, get back to work!" Solo barked without taking his eyes off her. The gents jumped to obey, the words resounding off the walls in the quiet of no one working. Solo crossed the shop to stand before Rey, and he was… taller. Enough to be a smidgen intimidating with that bulk of muscle he was carrying around.
Oh, Christ, when had she started to check out her boss?
"Threatening me in my own shop doesn't seem like the smartest of ideas," Solo murmured. It was soft enough that she had to strain to hear. These shops weren't precisely quiet and cozy once power tools were involved. "Where do you get off?"
Rey's breath hissed through her teeth. With effort, she unclenched her jaw for the second time in five minutes. "It's not that I get off… sir, it's that I'm concerned for the cars. They can't defend themselves, you see."
His countenance suggested he was not amused by the comparison of his cars to helpless animals. It made his next statement growly. "You get paid to fix them. Handsomely," he added.
"My paygrade is above average, if we're being proper honest with one another," Rey snapped. She had to tune out the little voice in her head that was her father, correcting her slang.
Fortunately, Solo made it so easy to keep up a verbal spar. Under what delusion was he operating? "Handsomely?" Perhaps if the money was converted into the credits from his own country if they were receiving that sort of pay.
He got under her skin like a licensed professional designated to torment her and only her. Rey was an inherently grumpy person and so something of an easy target. He made her want to yank his hair out or punch him. It was for the good of everyone—of England—of the world that they couldn't see the list of the things she wanted to do to him forming within her mind.
"Maybe too honest," Solo was rejoining. "And without grounds. My cars are fine."
My cars are fine, she mocked inwardly.
Rey placed her hands together in a small prayer for patience. She lifted them to her nose and closed her eyes on a deep inhalation.
"What are you doing?" Solo asked. The question was layered with suspicion.
…eight… nine… ten…
"If you don't quit wearing out your tyres that way," Rey began, lowering her hands, "a number of things are going to happen. The most obvious: they'll blow out. The second? The amount of pit stops you'll need to take to replace those tyres are going to cost you very valuable seconds." Her insides were shaking from the effort of not throttling the superiority off his face. That arched eyebrow was taunting her. "And, since the rest of the crew is afraid to tell you, lately you're riding too hard on your clutches, and we all know that's a rookie mistake."
She managed to keep the smirk off her face at that last. What did show faded into pursed lips when she thought about how she may finally have pushed it too far.
But he scoffed and stepped in until she was leaning against the modified 911 Turbo, one hand on the roof of the car, the other on the window next to her elbow. What on—? What was happening? He was highly invading her personal space, and she was highly tempted to put her greasy hands on his beautiful white shirt.
"This is sexual harassment." Rey was unsure of why she had to state the obvious.
Solo decided that comment was beneath his notice. "You're in my shop. I pay you to do one thing: fix my cars. If you don't like it, please feel free to leave. Many have before you, and you won't be the last."
Pretty speech.
"Anything else you'd like to add?"
"Yes," Rey replied. You're a real wanker, and nobody likes you. We're all here for the prestige.
The man's brows contracted—furrowed.
"You're a jackass," she finished.
His face darkening, Solo took a step back. His mouth was opened in a very fish-like manner, disbelief evident all over his body. He cast an inquiring eye about the room to confirm what had just taken place, and no one met his gaze. An (admittedly attractive) flush came to rest high on his cheekbones. Seeing as he had no one to aid him, he did an about-face and stormed from the shop.
Rey shook her head in amusement as she returned to her inspection.
The man might be the Crown Prince of Alderaan, but that didn't mean anyone had to put up with that tosh.
Ben couldn't believe the nerve of that woman!
How dare she, employed by his generosity, get off on calling him the jackass after she verbally assaulted him in his own shop? To stand there as the very definition of antagonistic, thinking she had done nothing wrong! It was bullshit!
He had half a mind to go back in there and fire her. He knew exactly who she was, and her absence after starting so recently would be a damned shame.
To stand there! Like that!
He kicked some pebbles across the pavement. There he was outside his own shop, about to leave. His employee had driven him from the premises, and he wasn't going to do a single thing about it.
And he had no idea why.