A/N: Enjoy :D

Chapter 6

"So you want me to fix your truck?" Gabriella exclaimed, gesturing to the beat up Nissan Nivara in front of her. Rusting metal, dented bonnet and wheel arches, she suspected some damage to the chassis, and judging from the smoke snaking out from under the bonnet, something was terribly wrong there, too.

"Yes," Troy replied patiently.

Gabriella frowned as she tied her hair up with her bandana. "Why can't you fix it? I've been here for almost two weeks and you've, rather insultingly, only given me minor jobs. Anybody can change a fuel pump after they do it once."

Troy shrugged, giving her a smug grin. "Are you admitting defeat?"

"This isn't a competition. I just want equality. Now you've just gone from one extreme to the other," she cried.

"Well, I've asked you to fix it," he responded, patting the bonnet. "Ten years, I've had her. She hasn't died yet."

She sighed. "But why have you asked me to fix it?" she protested.

"Because I want you to," he murmured.

"But, why can't you fix it, goddamit?" she yelled.

"Why can't you fix it?" he asked calmly.

"Why are you answering me like this?" she asked, folding her arms.

He shrugged. "Why are you asking me questions like this?"

"I'm going to slap you in a minute," she hissed, pointing a warning finger at him.

He held his hands up. "Okay, okay, I promise I'll stop."

Gabriella sighed and turned away from him. "Vete a la mierda, hijo de tu puta madre," she muttered. (A/N: Kiss my ass, son of a bitch.)

"What does that mean? I took German as a GCSE," he explained slowly.

She smiled slowly at him. "You took German? I tried that. It was too difficult for me so I had to transfer to French lessons instead. It's closer to Spanish than German is."

Troy smiled slightly. "So what did it mean?"

Gabriella shrugged. "I'm not going to tell you. Not if you can't speak Spanish. Where's the fun in that?"

Troy frowned. "Just fix the truck."

She mocked a salute. "Yes, sir," she muttered sarcastically.

Maybe she wasn't giving him a fair chance. He was nice enough. A good, well respected mechanic and obviously a good father. Things had eased between them; they weren't at logger heads quite like they had been. Now, he was annoying her at every opportunity. And when he annoyed her, he always had that stupid smug grin on his face. But, still, going from fixing minor electric problems or plumbing to fixing an entire truck? He just liked pissing her off.

Great.

Sharpay kept hounding her to find out his relationship status, but what was the point? Really? It's not like she wanted a relationship, especially not with him. Besides, she wasn't exactly girlfriend material. Her idea of a good time was curled up, in her pyjamas, with her duvet and having a Harry Potter marathon and comparing the films with the books. That's not even mentioning her love for cars which inevitably left her looking less-than-attractive at the end of the day. And, she was on the wrong side of 35, had more complications than she liked to think about and she wasn't exactly Angelina Jolie, with those stupid pouty lips and size zero jeans. (A/N: That's no offence to Angelina, I love her :D)

She looked over her shoulder to see Troy opening the bonnet of an old Renault Cleo. They were the worst cars to fix. You had to take practically the entire engine out to replace anything. She couldn't help staring at how his faded white t-shirt boasted his eagle wings, like they always do. The thing was, despite how he annoyed her and his unconfirmed relationship status, she sort of liked him. She didn't know why. She hadn't admitted it to anybody else. But, she did.

Turning back to his truck, she sighed. No matter how much she liked him (as a friend, she chanted to herself), it's not like anything could happen anyway. Weren't all boss and employee relationships doomed from the start?

Getting to work, she popped the bonnet open and frowned as she leaned to have a closer look. How had this thing survived? He was obviously one hell of a mechanic to have kept it running for ten years. She reached for the dipstick and wiped the excess oil off on a rag she produced from the back pocket of her shorts. Checking the oil, it was well below minimum. How Troy had got to the garage without breaking down was a mystery. But, that indicated there was an oil leak somewhere. Mechanics didn't make mistakes by letting the oil level get so low.

"Hey, um, Gabriella, right?" a voice asked as she was replacing the dipstick.

Gabriella smiled as she straightened up to greet an African-American woman. She looked friendly enough in a soft yellow summer dress that contrasted perfectly with her dark skin tone. Her brown eyes were warm and bright and her smile was welcoming. "That's me. How can I help you?"

The woman held her hand out. "I'm Taylor. Troy's friend."

Gabriella frowned down at her oil-covered hand. "Best not. But, it's a pleasure to meet you anyway. Any friend of Troy's, is a friend of mine, it seems."

Taylor smiled. "We're a package deal. That's my husband, Chad." She gestured to a rather tall, muscular man. Gabriella admired his bright t-shirt that read My Wife Chose This T-Shirt, and she couldn't help giggling to herself at his wild brown curls that looked more untameable than hers. "They've known each other since nursery. They're inseparable. What is it that the kids call it these days? My daughter said it the other day..." She clicked her fingers, trying to trigger her memory. "A bromance. They're having a bromance."

"Not a bromance," Troy and Chad protested in unison.

Taylor shrugged. "I swear that they have radar to detect when someone accuses them of that."

"But it's true," she added in a whisper.

Gabriella laughed. "I like you, Taylor."

"I like you, too. How's your job so far? Sorry that I couldn't meet you sooner. I've been in York in court," she explained.

"Oh, so you're a lawyer?" Gabriella asked as she further inspected the engine of Troy's car.

"Yep. Which is why that idiot over there," she gestured to Chad, "will never screw up our marriage."

Gabriella smiled to herself. She'd only been talking to Taylor for all of two minutes but she already loved her. She hoped, whether her job was long lasting or otherwise, they'd be friends. She could tell that Taylor and Sharpay would get on like a house on fire.

"Well," she began slowly, standing up straight. "He's eased up a little, like everyone said he would. I mean, it's annoying more than anything now. Before, it was downright insulting. But, it's better than the twenty-odd guys who work down at Ford."

Taylor quirked an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"What do you mean?" Gabriella asked. Before Taylor could reply, she tugged at the thing which was in the place of a fuel pump. It unravelled to reveal an old rugby shirt, now sufficiently covered in oil. "That... pendejo!" (A/N: asshole)

Ignoring Taylor and marching in the direction of Troy, she held the t-shirt at arm's length, muttering to herself in Spanish. With anger boiling her blood, she kept her eyes on the shirt and smacked right into Troy's chest.

"Ow," she complained as her wrist bent at an unnatural angle between them.

Troy gripped her upper arms to steady her and looked into her eyes. "Gabriella! Are you okay?"

"No, you idiot!" She waved the t-shirt in front of Troy's face. "Why was this where your fuel pump should be? No wonder I could hear you driving in that thing three streets away."

"I didn't have a spare fuel pump," he exclaimed.

"Give me a break, you own a garage!" she yelled.

"I forgot to replace it," he shot back. "But, that's not important. Brie, you need to get a spider out of my office."

Gabriella frowned. "Why can't Chad do it?"

"Because my best friend happens to be a wuss," Chad exclaimed. He was sat on the table, throwing a basketball up into the air and catching it again.

"I won't argue with that," she muttered.

"Please, Brie," he whispered.

The pleading tone in his voice, and his intense blue eyes almost made her cave. Almost being the operative word. She shook her head. "No. You're making me fix that thing and you put a t-shirt in for a fuel pump?"

"If you want a job, get rid of the damn spider," he yelled.

She rolled her eyes and pressed the oil-stained t-shirt into his chest as she walked past. "Fine," she muttered. She walked into the office and placed her hands on her hips as she looked around, trying to spot Mr. Eight-Legs. She turned around when Troy came into the office. She shrugged. "Where's the big threat?"

He pointed up at the far corner of the ceiling. "There! Up in that corner. Do you see it? Don't tell me you can't see it?"

Gabriella shrugged helplessly. "There's not a spider there." She sighed at his annoyed face. "But, if it means I get to keep my job, I'll take a closer look." She took the chair from behind the desk and set it in the corner. She climbed up and braced her hands against the wall to steady her balance. She looked over her shoulder at him. "If I fall and die, my parents will expect compensation."

"Of course they will," he muttered as she inspected the ceiling for any spiders.

"Aha. There you are, Mr. Eight Legs," she murmured as she reached up to gently coax the spider, much bigger than Incy Wincy who they'd met at the pub, into her cupped hands.

"Told you," he muttered. He watched her body movements: slow and gentle, trying not to hurt or scare the spider. He couldn't help but stare at her tanned, toned legs, exposed once again to the sun, heat, and oil. They weren't that long but that made sense. She wasn't that tall. It made her kind of cute, if he was honest with himself.

Realising that he was checking out his employee, he shook his head to himself and averted his eyes to stare at the black lid of his Dell laptop. He had been checking her out. He'd thought that her height made her cute. He couldn't think that way. He didn't want to or need to. Not to mention it was inappropriate. He'd never had a relationship in the workplace before.

Well, he'd only hired men before. But, the point still stood!

Gabriella slowly turned around on the chair, her hands gently cupping Mr. Eight Legs to her stomach. "Uhhhhh..." She looked unsurely at the floor. "Could you help me down? Only, I don't want to fall and squash Mr. Eight Legs."

"Do you name all of your spiders?" he asked as he approached the corner of the room and looked up at her.

"So what if I do?" she asked, looking down on him.

He shrugged. "Nothing. I was just curious, you know? Anyway, let me get you down." He stepped forward and somewhat awkwardly wrapped his arms around her, just below her bottom. He swallowed hard as he looked into her soft brown eyes. "You ready?"

She nodded. "I helped you by getting Mr. Eight Legs. Now it's your turn to help me by getting me down."

"Alright," he muttered. He slowly lifted her down, trying not to nudge her hands where he knew Mr. Eight Legs was sitting right now. He couldn't help but be conscious of her curves. He was well aware that she wasn't a teenager anymore. She probably thought she had unwanted and unflattering curves in unwanted and unflattering places. But, to him, in that first moment of intimate contact, that probably should've been innocent, she was perfect. Nothing was out of place. Nothing was too big or too little. He liked it.

He straightened up but kept his arms around her waist. His eyes were locked on hers; blue on brown. There was Troy and there was Gabriella. And there didn't seem to be anything else. For that moment, Troy forgot all of the reasons for him not to have a woman in his life.

"Ummm," Gabriella began awkwardly, breaking the silence. "Unless you want Mr. Eight Legs down your shirt, you might want to let me go."

Troy seemed to come to his senses and stumbled back a few paces rather clumsily, and then knocked into a filing cabinet.

Gabriella couldn't hide her smile. She lifted her hands. "I'll just take him out."

Troy straightened himself up as she approached the door. "Thank you. For taking him away. Thanks, Brie."

Gabriella frowned for a moment. "When did you start calling me that?"

"Calling you what?" Troy asked.

Gabriella shrugged. "You started calling me Brie. I wondered why."

Before he could respond, she headed outside. She crouched down outside and let Mr. Eight Legs run free. She turned to Chad and Taylor and smiled. "Has he always been afraid?"

Chad nodded slowly. "Pretty much." He grinned at Troy who had emerged from the office. "Hey, Gabriella, do you fancy hanging out tomorrow night? Maybe go for a meal?"

Gabriella's smile slipped and she shook her head. "No thank you. Not tomorrow. Maybe some other time."