Wreckless ( Ddlb ) *Complete*

Leaking

At 4:36 pm on Friday evening, Jesse Morgan walked into Finnegan's office, causing the young man behind the desk to immediately internally berate himself for not making it MORE clear to his assistant, Megan, that he was always, always busy when Jesse came by. Yes, Jesse was the head of accounting but that didn't mean they ever had to be face to face with each other except for weekly board meetings. Email worked just fine.

None of that showed on his face because he was a consummate professional. He schooled his features and even managed to smile. "Hello Jesse, what brings you here?" He had learned the very first time that Jesse walked into his office that asking what he could do for him was the wrong question.

Jesse perched on the corner of his desk, his expensive suit straining over his thighs. "A couple of us are going out for drinks at the Taphouse. Last time I invited you, you promised next time. This is next time."

No, no he hadn't promised. He had said 'maybe next time'. Jesse was well aware of that. Finnegan considered calling him on it but instead looked for an easier way out. "Who will be there?" The fact was that he needed to socialize a bit, especially with his management staff. If there were enough department heads going, he would force himself to go at least long enough to have one drink. It was part of being the boss.

"A couple. You, and me. What do you say?"

"Jesse, I don't date employees."

"Ooh, harsh. It's a drink, boss" he said angrily, practically spitting out the last word as he stood up. "Forgive a guy for trying."

Finnegan was mostly relieved when the door to his office closed but he also knew that making enemies was a bad idea. It couldn't have been helped though, Jesse had been out of line and besides that, he didn't know how to take a hint. He rarely left the office before six or seven in the evening but today he was more than ready to go.

By the time he got to his car he was practically steaming. Just who did Jesse think he was? He was sick and tired of 40-year-old men hitting on him, thinking they were doing him some kind of favor. Most of all it pissed him off because they thought that little of him. He ran his fingers along his jaw, wondering if the scruff he'd let start growing out would help anything. He'd worn a shadow back when his father first promoted him but he dropped it about a year ago, preferring to be clean-shaven.

He opened his car door and in the light that emanated from the interior, he noticed the small rivulet running out from beneath his car. No. NO NO! What the hell was it? He reached for a tissue and let it fall to the ground and using his phone light, he could see that it was black. Oil? Seriously? First the accident, and then this? His mind was blank and even closing his eyes and trying to focus didn't really help. Did he need a tow truck? Should he just called and Uber and figure this out tomorrow? That idea was looking really good until the man who hadn't been far from his thoughts all week popped back in. He knew who to call.

"Emmett" he said, even though he knew exactly who was calling. He made a split-second decision that it might look creepy if Finnegan knew he had him programmed into his phone.

"Hey, it's Finn. Sorry to bother you but there's oil leaking out of my car."

Emmett tried not to groan loudly enough that would carry over the line. So that's how this would be, he was another one of those. "It has nothing to do with the accident."

What? "I'm not blaming you, forget it."

Emmett quickly realized his mistake. Finnegan had plenty of money and certainly didn't need to bother him. "Sorry, sorry. Where are you?"

"Work.  I just don't know if it's safe to drive, or if I'll burn up the engine or something."

Emmett wasn't sure exactly where the factory or office or whatever it was, was, but he knew it was closer to his neck of the woods than Federal Hill.

"When did it start?"

"I'm not sure what that means. I haven't had an accident and there hasn't been any trauma if you're asking if there is an obvious cause. If you mean when, I don't know, I don't stand around all day and watch my car."

Alrighty then, he had been told. "You didn't notice a puddle this morning when you backed out of your spot?"

"No."

"So how much oil is there?"

"I don't know. Enough that it's leaked out in front of my door. But the parking lot tilts this way, so maybe that's why."

"Is it asphalt? Old, grey and rutty or recently shellacked and shiny?"

"Newly paved" Finnegan answered, wondering what that had to do with anything. Of course, as soon as he thought that, he realized it made perfect sense. Old asphalt would probably absorb a lot of oil whereas the recently paved asphalt would just let it run.

"Okay, turn on your flashlight and lean down there and tell me what size the puddle is." Emmett couldn't help but smile when he pictured it, wondering if he was contorting himself into all kinds of crazy positions in order to not mess up his suit or get dirty. Finnegan contorting was a dangerous train of thought but he was distracted by lights pulling into the Wrecked parking lot. Shit, he was about ready to close up. But no, they were just turning around. Good.

"Um, maybe six inches? It's not big, it just ran down my way. The river is about three feet long and one to two inches wide."

Emmett wasn't planning to draw a topographic map but now he certainly had more than enough information.  It sounded like he'd lost less than a quart. "You can drive it home and get a tow tomorrow if there's another puddle that size or larger, or drive it straight to your mechanic tonight."

"Good. How late are you open?"

Wait, what? HE was Finnegan's mechanic? Since when?