The next few days at work were extra busy for me, since my free time before the start of the fall term and the beginning of grad school was running out fast. It wasn’t that I wouldn’t be able to come in to the office at all, just not on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Throw in a visit to San Jose every other week, and it was starting to look like I’d be part-time at best. Of course, I could still get work done after hours and over the weekends, but my time was going to have to be more carefully managed, and I was going to have to be better about staying laser-focused and on-task while I was working.

On Wednesday, Jake stopped by my office. “Hey, I was going to do a site inspection on a new property- want to come along?”

My first instinct was to tell him I was busy, but really, it was important to keep sight of the basics of the business, too, so I said O.K. “I’ll buy lunch if you drive,” I said.

“One of these days I’m gonna get to ride in that Aston Martin of yours,” Jake said with a chuckle.

“You want to today? Then you buy lunch, and I’ll drive,” I said, and the deal was sealed.

“Damn,” Jake said when he finally shoehorned himself into my car. “This thing is really low. Getting in is a bitch!”

“Yeah, it is,” I agreed.

“Damned nice, though,” he said, running his fingers over the leather, then the polished wood inlays.

“It’s a nice car, but it does require a little more, um, engagement than some,” I said and fired it up, the deep rumble filling the cabin.

“Holy-” Jake said. “I feel it in my teeth!”

“Yeah, the pipe I have on here is a bit, well, open.”

“By ‘open’ you mean loud enough to wake the dead,” Jake replied.

As we cruised to the new apartment building on Montana Avenue, Jake asked, “How fast is this car?”

“It’s fast,” I replied.

“Have you had it over a hundred?”

“Pshh. I get it over a hundred on my commute to work every day.”

“A hundred fifty?”

“I usually only do that on weekends,” I said with a laugh.

“I don’t understand the use of a car like this,” Jake admitted. “It’s so low, you look up at the hubcaps of SUVs. It’s too fast for the street, and it feels, well, claustrophobic inside- it’s so, um, snug.”

“The point of a car like this to completely haul ass,” I told him. “Driving on city streets like this? Not what this car was made for. After the inspection, let’s take a few minutes and I’ll show you what this car does so well.”

“I don’t know if my heart could take it,” Jake said, laughing, but sort of meaning it, too.

“Well, the offer stands.”

“Do you often drive fast?” Jake asked, as we pulled up in front of the apartment building.

“As often as I can,” I said. “In fact, I’ll be spending Sunday driving my track car up at Willow Springs Raceway.”

“You have a track car?” Jake asked, surprised.

“Yeah, I’ll tell you about it when we’re done here,” I said as we exited the car (some of us less gracefully than others).

The building was small and somewhat old, but it looked to be in good shape, even though the gray color was terribly uninteresting. I was surprised by how nice and airy the interior of the very contemporary apartment felt, and how well appointed it was.

“O.K., tell me about this place,” I said to Jake.

Looking at his notes, he said, “Built in 1949. Six units, between seven hundred and fifty to nine hundred square feet. On-street parking, that’s a minus, but you wouldn’t expect it in a place this old. The previous owner updated the units, as you can see. The five that are currently rented all have leases that run out within the next six months. The owner has several other properties with us.”

“What’s the owner like?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything.

“Real hands-off. All he wants is his check. He doesn’t micro-manage, just wants to see a nice, steady income stream and ROI.”

“I love him already,” I said with a laugh. “My kind of client.”

“I wish they were all like that,” Jake agreed.

“So, now, tell me your thoughts.”

“Well, the exterior needs a coat of paint. That gray is terrible,” Jake said. “This looks good in here, but it could use a quick pass with a brush, too. The hardwood floors look to be in good shape, the appliances are pretty new and good quality. I think we can get it rented pretty quickly, even if it is a bit on the high side of the market as far as rents go. What do you think?”

“I kinda wish I’d bought this place myself,” I said. “The location is excellent, the units classy and large. I think, like you said, it’ll be easy to keep rented. Go ahead and get the exterior painted, too. I think this is one we’ll keep in the portfolio for a while."

As we walked back to the car, I asked, "You sure I can’t talk you into going for a quick spin up Topanga?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Jake said. “But there’s a good cafe down the street a few blocks, for lunch.”

“So you really have a race car?” Jake asked, once we’d sat down at one of the patio tables at the hip cafe Jake had picked.

“Well, I don’t actually race, but yes, it’s a race car,” I said, pulling out my phone to show him some pictures.

“Wow,” Jake said, looking through some of the photos. “That looks serious. And expensive.”

“It is both of those things,” I agreed, taking the phone back.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how much did that car cost you?”

“It came to a little under two hundred and fifty grand, but it was in Europe, so I had to pay to have it shipped here,” I said, sipping my iced tea.

“Over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a car you can only drive on the track?” Jake asked, his mind boggled.

“Well, when you put it like that…” I said. Our orders arrived at that point, faster than I’d expected, so we stopped talking to enjoy our food.

“Leah, I don’t- well, I’m afraid I might be putting my foot in my mouth, but I’ve noticed that… You know what? Never mind. Not my business,” Jake said, leaning back.

“Well, now you have me curious,” I said.

“No, forget I ever said anything. It wasn’t my place.”

“Is this about my money?” I asked.

“No, it’s about…” he said, and pointed at his eye.

“Ah, my black eye,” I said with a laugh.

“The office has been talking,” Jake said. “But nobody was going to mention it.”

“It’s no big deal,” I said. “Just a little domestic misunderstanding.” Then, laughing at the look on Jake’s face, I said, “No, I’m kidding. Emmy would never, ever hit me where it would show.”

Laughing more at Jake’s expression and his inability to come up with a clever reply, I said, “No, seriously, I do kickboxing, and took a good hit sparring last Saturday. It happens sometimes, so don’t be surprised if I come in to work every once in a while looking like I got in a fight- because, well, you know, I had in fact gotten in a fight.”

“You’re kidding,” Jake said, the look of shock having turned to disbelief.

“No, not kidding,” I said. “I do MMA, and that sometimes involves getting hit in the face.”

“So, you could, I don’t know, beat up any clients that really pissed you off?” Jake asked, regaining his sense of humor.

“I wish,” I said with a groan. “I had a client meeting up in San Jose on Thursday and the guy spent the entire time trying to get a rise out of me. It would have been so satisfying to smash his face into the hood of his Bentley…”

“I think we all have those thoughts every once in a while,” Jake admitted.

“Yeah, which is why getting it out in the ring can be really satisfying,” I said.

“Even though you got beat up.”

“What? No, it wasn’t me that wound up face down on the mat,” I said. “No, I kicked ass.”

Laughing, Jake said, “Remind me not to get on your bad side!”

When I walked in the office the next day, Marisa asked me, “Is it true? You do cage fighting?” in a voice breathless with excitement.

“Well, it’s a ring, not a cage,” I said. “But yeah, I do mixed martial arts.”

“That’s so awesome!” she gushed.

When Jake had said that the office had been talking about my black eye, I knew that whatever I told him would make the rounds (so to speak), so it was no surprise that the receptionist would mention it. She was good at her job, but a bit of an airhead in other ways, and from what I understood, a big gossip. Setting her straight would mean that she would at least repeat what I told her, instead of some third-hand info.

The San Jose office had become accustomed to seeing me after particularly tough sparring bouts with Ruben, and now the LA office would learn that sometimes it was better to reschedule client meetings until after the swelling had gone down.

The Saturday before my birthday track day, I was doing my morning workout in the gym at the apartment building when Josh, the gym’s trainer, came over to talk.

“Leah,” he said. “I know you said you’ve been wanting to find a good MMA gym near where you’re going to buy a house, right? And you just bought in the Hollywood Hills? Well, a guy I know just got hired on as a trainer at this gym in WeHo. He said that they have some real serious guys, I mean, like world champion UFC guys, who’re instructors there. You might want to give the place a try.”

I took the card he handed me and thanked him, but didn’t really give it a lot of thought at the moment. Later, after my shower, I saw the card and figured I’d check the place out. Looking at the address, I saw that Josh had the area wrong. It wasn’t West Hollywood, but actually Santa Monica. That might be O.K. for getting in workouts and then heading straight to the office, I thought, so it might be a good location after all.

“Happy almost-birthday,” Emmy said as she joined me in the kitchen, her voice still sleepy. “Do you have any plans for today?”

“No, not really,” I said. “Other than to make some breakfast.”

“I approve of this plan,” Emmy said, sitting at the counter, so sexy and adorable in her silk panties and camisole. “At ten o’clock they are supposed to deliver your birthday present downstairs,” she announced. “We must sign for it.”

“Can’t the concierge sign?” I asked, whisking the eggs.

“No, it must be you,” Emmy said.

After breakfast, Emmy showered while I straightened up. Honestly, I was a little bit glad that James and Imogen had opted to stay at the Beverly Wilshire and not with us. Yeah, it would have been nice to have house guests, and I really liked the two of them, but Emmy wouldn't have been able to stroll around the house in her underwear with them staying over…

At a quarter to ten we got a call from the concierge, so we went down to the front desk. The concierge, who seemed to be an old friend of Emmy’s, was standing next to a guy in a cheapish suit.

“Alfonso!” Emmy said, greeting the concierge. “Is it here?”

“Yes, Miss Lascaux, this man has the paperwork,” he said, indicating the other guy.

“But first, we must take a look and see if it is acceptable,” Emmy said, leading the way out the front door.

I followed, of course, and so did the two men. Waiting, parked right in front of the doors, was a brand new BMW M6 in a stunning metallic orange-red.

“Do you like it?” Emmy asked, hopefully.

“Is this for me?” I asked, dumbfounded. “You bought me a new car?”

“I know you love your Aston,” Emmy said, chewing on her lip, unsure of herself. “But it is getting old, and I thought that you might like a new one, one that has more than two seats.”

“It’s gorgeous, Em,” I said, running my hand over the fender. “Thanks! Seriously, this is awesome!”

Now, it obviously wasn’t the fist time Emmy had surprised me with a new car. The Aston had been a birthday present, too, after all, but that had been less of a surprise than this.

The cheap suit guy handed me the key fob and said, “Go ahead and fire it up.”

I did as he said, admiring the black leather interior. To be honest, it wasn’t as classy as the Vantage, but it was also fifty grand cheaper, at a guess. Still, the BMW was a lot roomier than the much smaller Aston, and as Jake had pointed out the other day, a tiny car isn’t easy to get in and out of.

The engine sound was lovely. Again, not as smooth and refined as the twelve in the Aston, but the eight in the BMW had a sexy sound of its own.

“Sign the papers so we can go for a drive,” Emmy urged, so I shut the car off, and went back inside to the concierge desk. Alfonso handed me the pen from his pocket, and I filled in the ownership paperwork. Cheap suit guy was satisfied, and left. I noticed that he climbed into a car carrier truck- they hadn’t driven the car here from (presumably) Temecula.

“Have fun, you two,” Alfonso said as Emmy thanked him for his help. She was so good at that kind of thing, and I just wasn’t, I’ll admit.

Emmy and I spent a few hours driving a bunch of the Malibu Hills roads I’d become quite familiar with, and as I grew more and more accustomed to the big BMW, my speeds picked up. It still felt really huge on some of the narrower roads like La Tuna, but it handled the weight and size well, and soon enough I stopped being so concerned I was going to drag body panels on the guard rails.

We stopped for lunch at that same place I’d gone to with Jimmy and his sister a couple of months before, and again, it was filled with rich, well dressed and well tanned middle aged folks.

The food was good, though, so we couldn’t complain. After lunch, instead of hitting the twisty roads for some more high speed fun, we just headed up the coast, then cut inland and though Ojai. Emmy had never been, and thought the place was too cute for words. Eventually we found ourselves back in Los Angeles, enjoying the beauty that is freeway traffic.

“Do you like your new car?” Emmy asked.

“I love it, Em,” I said, laying my hand on top of hers on my thigh, where it had been for the last hour or so. “Thanks a lot.”

“I wanted you to have a day to drive it before tomorrow’s track day,” Emmy said. “So you would be used to it before taking it out on the track.”

“Take this on the track?” I asked. “But I’ll have my GT-R for the track.”

“That car has only one seat,” Emmy pointed out. “How would the race driver coach you, if he cannot ride in the same car as you?”

“Huh. Good point,” I conceded.

“So that is why I wanted you to have this car a day early.”

“Makes sense,” I agreed.