Jason was always larger than life. The weather was warm, the air heavy, the metallic odor of old motor oil permeated everything—a perfectly ordinary morning, except for the flat tire. Nothing about Jason Karl was ordinary. The offending flat was on his company Cadillac and he had summoned her to change it. She remembered his tapping a shiny wing-tipped toe and generally implying she was taking too long. He didn’t seem to mind relegating the tire changing to a woman. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed. Rachel both appreciated that and was offended by it. Jason jerked his wrist forward to stare again at his watch, and something thwanked into the upturned hubcap at her elbow. Los Angeles road sludge had turned the concrete garage floor the color of old mud. Flicking a glance upward, she saw him frowning across the roofs of the cars left by the people who paid her for the privilege of parking.
