Paul held a high-ranking executive position at a major corporation. His family owned a massive block of shares; working at the firm was strictly a family affair.
Paul's father, George, once remarked that in their family, everything was mapped out and scheduled years in advance. Consequently, before Paul was even born, a seat on the board of directors had already been reserved for him.
He lived in a grand, beautiful estate that resembled a palace. However, he possessed a truly insufferable personality.
"Despite all your obvious strengths, you have a god-awful temperament," Paul's older brother, Anthony, would tell him.
"Oh, please. Not everyone can be as perfect as some people I know."
Anthony was on his second marriage and had children from his first. He lived separately and was considered the golden boy of the Sterling dynasty.
From childhood, Anthony had been bright and sensible beyond his years. Paul, on the other hand, was a prankster—a frivolous man spoiled by money.
"When are you finally going to grow up?" George would ask him.
"I'm doing just fine as I am," Paul would reply, to which his father would only shake his head in disappointment.
"I'm curious at what stage of your life things are 'fine,'" Anthony cut in. "Was it when you made the entire office staff walk around in their underwear?"
"So what? It was a lingerie party."
"Right, and it was especially appropriate when the delegation from Tokyo arrived," Anthony's wife, Sarah, chimed in sarcastically.
"No, maybe everything was 'fine' when you and your friends decided to repaint our business partner Eugene's pristine white Cadillac in pride colors overnight?" Anthony pressed.
"What's wrong with that? It's a great color scheme. Very cheerful. White is just so boring and cliché."
"Ha! That was a collector's model. A vintage rarity. And you... what do you call yourself? Loki? The god of mischief and lies? Some god you are," Sarah said, giving Paul a playful swat on the back of the head.
"Hey, watch it. I'm an untouchable figure."
"You're a big child," Anthony said.
"I'm Loki."
***
The next morning, Paul woke up to a light tapping on his cheek.
"Wake up. Rise and shine, sleepyhead," Anthony said, rousing him.
"What happened? Why are you waking me so early? Be a human being and let me sleep."
"I'm waking you to remind you. Do you know what day it is?"
"Yesterday was Tuesday. It stands to reason that today is Wednesday."
"Don't be a smart-ass. Today is the birthday of Nicole—Nicholas Richardson's daughter. I'm reminding you that he is a major business partner for our company. He's worked with us for years. And your father dreams of you marrying Nicole so our families can be even more closely tied. It's a perfect setup for you."
"Blah, blah, blah. Did anyone ask me? Maybe I don't even like her. Maybe I have no intention of getting married at all!"
"Nicole is a wonderful person. She's smart, beautiful, and comes with a multi-million dollar trust fund. Exactly what the doctor ordered."
"Of course."
"That's not what I wanted to say. Knowing you, promise me you'll behave decently and won't pull one of your stunts. I'd rather not have to blush for you."
"At the moment, I don't have any ideas. But I'm not fully awake yet. I can't guarantee nothing will pop into my head after lunch," Paul said, giving his brother a playful wink.
Anthony just rolled his eyes and face-palmed.
"There's a formal gala for you this evening. Please, act like a gentleman."
***
After lunch, Paul sat in his office in a large leather chair, thoughtfully pressing a pencil to his nose. Next to him sat his friend and personal assistant, Mark. Together, they always dreamed up the pranks and scenarios that put others in awkward positions.
"Maybe we order a giant cake," Mark suggested. "At the critical moment, you pop out and blast the guests with chocolate from a special cannon. It'll look especially effective on the white leather sofas and the designer clothes."
"Not bad. But I think that's been done before. Not original."
"How about a rain of black paint for the guests?"
"No. We did that two years ago. Outdated."
"Maybe the birthday girl falls into the cake, or the cake falls on her? And then everyone starts a food fight?"
"Great, but cliché. Also done, about four years back."
"We could repeat it."
"I don't like repeating myself. This time, we need something different."
Paul looked out the window and saw the parking lot filled with cars.
"I've got it, I've got it! Pack up, we're going to a biker bar."
"Whoa. That was fast! Awesome. I'm already looking forward to this."
***
Minutes later, they were speeding toward the nearest dive bar. A burly, bearded man stood at the entrance. His entire body was covered in tattoos, and a bandana adorned his head.
"Hey. Where do you think you're going?" the giant stopped the two well-dressed, clean-shaven young men.
"Inside for a drink," Paul said, pulling out several bills and tucking them into the pocket of the bouncer's leather vest.
Once inside, Paul began scanning the room intently.
"What are we looking for here?" Mark asked, bewildered.
Paul spotted a striking blonde with long hair, heavily tattooed and pierced. She sat at the bar, leaning on her elbow, spinning a shot glass between her fingers.
"Her. She's exactly what we need." With those words, Paul walked over and sat down beside her. "Hey there."
The girl looked the young man in the expensive suit up and down.
"What do you want?"
"Do you have a motorcycle?"
"Yeah, I do. What's it to you?"
"Want to make some money?"
"I'm listening," she said, turning toward Paul. He proceeded to tell her his latest wild idea.
"I'm in. You're a funny guy."
"Okay. Be at this address at exactly 10:00 PM tonight. I'll be waiting." Paul scribbled his contact info and number on a piece of paper.
***
That evening, many guests gathered at the Richardson estate. Famous figures were invited, including politicians, celebrities, and other wealthy individuals connected to her father's business.
Each arrived in a private vehicle, parked near the entrance. The sheer number of luxury cars was staggering. The ladies wore exclusive designer gowns; the men were in tuxedos or high-end suits.
The event took place on a massive veranda decorated with ribbons and fresh flowers. Waiters moved through the crowd, graciously offering glasses of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The tables groaned under the weight of gourmet dishes.
Near a large pool stood a rolling cart with a massive, multi-tiered cake. It was meant to be brought out near the end of the evening. Nicole, dressed in a stunning, elegant gown, was accepting congratulations and trying to give polite attention to every guest.
"Where on earth is that brat of mine?" George asked Anthony.
"I don't know, Dad. He was supposed to be here. I told him how important this was," Anthony added.
"Then why is he late?"
At that exact moment, the roar of motorcycle engines erupted. The guests turned to see two bikers who had decided to ride right over all the cars parked near the house. They jumped and landed on the luxury vehicles, showing no mercy to windshields, hoods, or chassis.
To the terrified screams of the guests, they rode over the cars and triumphantly roared onto the terrace. Then, one biker stopped near the tables while the second sped forward. He gunned the engine, grabbed the handle of the cake cart, dragged the cake behind him, and intentionally dumped it into the pool.
Nicole stood frozen, watching her giant dessert sink, leaving white trails of light cream on the water's surface.
"Hey, everyone!" The biker rode closer to the birthday girl, stopped, and hopped off.
"Oh. It's you? I knew you'd ruin everything again."
It was Paul. The pretty biker girl rode up beside him, draped an arm over his shoulder, and looked Nicole over.
"It's me. And this is my girlfriend. And by the way, this bike is a gift. It's for you."
Nicole looked at the motorcycle Paul had arrived on. It had a celebratory ribbon and bow on it.
"You can shove that bike exactly where the sun don't shine! You ruined my entire party. What kind of person are you? It's my birthday! Run from him, honey, before it's too late," Nicole snapped before walking back to her guests.
"Wait, this was a birthday party? Why didn't you say so?" the biker girl said suddenly. "You told me we were just going to ride over some rich guys' cars and have some fun. You didn't mention anything about a girl's birthday. You know what? You're a pig."
"Alright, look. I paid you. Why do I need to get into the details? You took the money, you did the job—now crawl back into whatever hole you came from," Paul said, looking her in the eye.
"Go to hell." The biker girl pulled the money from her pocket, ripped it into tiny pieces, threw them in Paul's face, hopped on her bike, and sped off.
"Looks like you don't have a girlfriend anymore," Mark quipped from nearby.
"Go to hell, all of you!" Paul headed for the exit, where his fuming father was waiting.
"This time, you've outdone yourself. Bravo," George said, before continuing the lecture with a string of profanities.
But Paul barely heard him. He couldn't get the biker girl's face out of his mind.
Look at that—so righteous and easily offended, he thought. The nerve, throwing money in my face like that. Gritty girl.
***
"Listen here. This stunt crossed every line. You damaged so many expensive cars that I can't even smooth this over if I wanted to. But I have a great idea."
"Come on, Dad. I just got carried away."
"Here's the deal. To fix this situation, you're going to repair every car you ruined—by hand. And until you finish the job, don't show your face to me."
"That's ridiculous."
"It's not. And rest assured, I'll make sure you do it personally. Maybe some hard work will finally make a man out of you."
After making peace with his father and offering a public apology to Nicole, Paul got in his car and went home. The next day, accompanied by two security guards, he headed to the auto shop his father had specified.
Entering the shop, Paul winced at the unpleasant smell. There was engine oil, dirt, and rubber everywhere, with rusty parts and tools scattered about. It was a massive garage with lifts and pits.
Paul walked up to a man tinkering under the hood of a beautiful red SUV.
"Hey, hi. I'm looking for Jo," he said, reading the name from the slip of paper his father had given him.
"Over there," the man pointed toward a nearby pit where a nearly new convertible sat. Paul walked over and crouched down.
"Hey, down there! I need Jo." To his utter shock, his acquaintance from the night before climbed out.
"I'm Jo. What are you yelling for?"
"What a twist. I thought Jo was a guy."
"Jo is short for Joanna. And until yesterday, I thought you were a man, too." The men working nearby burst out laughing.
"Get him, Jo! Put that trust-fund baby in his place!"
"Hey, knock it off," Paul said. "I already figured out you're a real pain. My father should have called you to explain the situation."
"The pain in my ass is you, because I have to deal with you. Yes, they called. If you're ready, you can start right now. And change your clothes. Or are you planning to do repairs in that suit?"
"I only have a designer tracksuit. I can put that on."
"A designer tracksuit," Jo mimicked. "Hey, Sam, give him some coveralls before this Little Miss Sunshine stains his girly clothes." Loud male laughter echoed through the shop.
She's got a sharp tongue, Paul thought to himself as he went to change.
"Hey, Snow White, you ready? We're short on time. Let's start with pulling the dents on this car. I'll show you how."
"Stop embarrassing me. I'm coming. Fine, show me."
"Don't like it? Why? Is it only okay when you're the one humiliating people?"
"I'm just having fun; I'm not humiliating anyone."
"Yeah, right. That's exactly why you're here. Alright, Princess, bring that tool over here. The dents aren't deep. You'll need a hammer, some hooks, and a few other tools. First, we clean it all up and level it out."
"Great. Goodbye to my manicure and soft skin."
***
That was the beginning of Paul's work at the repair shop. Over the next few weeks, he frequently cut his fingers, broke his nails, and got covered in engine oil and grease. At first, it was hard for him to grasp the mechanics of the repairs. But what annoyed him most was the fact that he had to do it all himself. Under any other circumstances, he would have easily delegated the task. But his commitment to his father forced him to see it through. Besides, there was something about this gritty girl that had hooked him.
A month passed.
"Hey, Princess, you're actually making progress. You're becoming a master at dent repair and polishing. Maybe when your community service is over, I'll hire you full-time."
"Oh, how witty," Joanna laughed.
Paul walked over to the girl and saw her working on an old but very beautiful motorcycle.
"What's this?"
"It's my brother's bike. He died a few years ago. Right now, it's just a piece of old, broken metal. I dream of restoring it, but I just don't have the time." With those words, she covered the bike with a tarp.
"I'm sorry about your brother."
"It's fine. Grab your jacket; let's go get some food."
"I'd eat anything out of your hands, babe."
"Don't even dream of it. Get on the bike."
They hopped on her motorcycle, stopped at a gas station for some takeout, and drove out of the city. Paul sat behind her, holding firmly onto Jo's waist.
She's so extraordinary, the young man thought. Real. Tough. And not a fake like so many girls I know.
"Hey, don't get carried away. Move your hands back where they were."
"Sorry."
They arrived at a small lake. Leaning against the motorcycle, they began eating the sandwiches they'd bought.
"I love this place. It's quiet and beautiful."
"It really is beautiful. And you're very beautiful too."
"Alright, that's enough. Let's go back. I don't need any of your 'moves'."
***
A few more weeks passed. Paul had almost grown accustomed to his new line of work. The shop was buzzing. In the evenings, he started staying late at the garage, citing "urgent personal business." After another month, Paul's father came by to see how he was doing.
"Hey, Princess, you've got a visitor!"
"I see you've almost blended in with the local mechanics," George said, clapping his son on the shoulder.
"Yeah, I guess so."
"I think your punishment can be considered served. You've worked hard and fixed a lot of things. I hope you've learned a valuable lesson."
"What, already? I'd honestly be happy to stay a bit longer."
"Alright, that's enough. Go change; I'm releasing you. Let's go home."
"Fine." Paul changed quickly and walked out. All the shop employees, including Jo, came out to see him off.
"Thanks for everything, guys. And I almost forgot. Jo, I have a gift for you." Paul lifted a tarp, revealing her brother's motorcycle. "Look, I fixed it for you myself." With those words, he kicked the engine over.
"So that's the 'personal business' you were staying late for every night?!"
"You bet." Paul winked at her.
"Thank you!" Jo ran to him and gave him a tight hug. "Oh, my hands are covered in grease; I'm going to ruin your expensive suit."
"It's okay. I'll buy a new one." With that, he turned her toward him and kissed her passionately.
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