Charlotte arrived exactly on time and that alone made me suspicious.
She had spent most of her life making other people wait because she believed her time was more valuable than everyone else’s, so watching her black Harley glide into the parking lot at precisely nine o’clock felt strangely unnatural.
I stepped out from beneath the hood if an old Softail and wiped my hands on a clean shop towel as Ben looked through the office window.
“Customer?” Ben asked.
“My sister.” I said and his smile disappeared.
“The famous one?” He asked.
“The infamous one.” I said.
He looked at Charlotte climbing gracefully off the motorcycle dressed in designer jeans, expensive boots and a leather jacket that still looked at though it had never seen rain.
“I don’t think she’s every changed engine
