“Fix It and I’m Yours,” the CEO Teased — Then the Single Dad Shocked Everyone…

She was a ruthless billionaire who thought money could buy anything—even a joke about her own heart.

Stranded on a stormy highway in a sabotaged hypercar, she looked at the grease-stained single dad towing her ride and smirked, “Fix this impossible machine by morning, and I’m yours.” It was just a sarcastic taunt.

She didn’t expect him to actually do it.

And she certainly didn’t expect this desperate, broke mechanic to uncover a corporate murder plot, saving her empire—and her life.

The rain was coming down in sheets, slamming against the asphalt of Highway 101 like handfuls of gravel.

Declan Wright wiped the grease and rainwater from his eyes, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel of his battered tow truck.

At thirty-two, Declan had the kind of rugged, exhausted face that told a story of hard miles and heavy burdens.

He was a master mechanic, a man who could listen to an engine purr and tell you exactly which cylinder was misfiring.

But right now, his only concern was finishing this shift and getting back to his six-year-old daughter, Maria.

Maria was his entire world.

Ever since his ex-wife, Vanessa, had walked out on them three years ago, leaving behind nothing but a stack of unpaid bills and a shattered family, Declan had worked his fingers to the bone.

He took every late-night call, every dangerous recovery job, just to keep the heat on in their small apartment above his struggling auto shop.

His radio crackled.

*”Dispatch to Wright. Got a Code 4 stranding up on the ridge. High-value vehicle. Customer is… well, she’s being difficult. You close?”*

Declan sighed, keying the mic.

“I’m ten minutes out. Send the coordinates.”

When Declan pulled up to the ridge, the flashing amber lights of his truck illuminated a sight that didn’t belong on this treacherous, washed-out mountain pass.

Sitting dead in the mud on the shoulder was a customized, midnight-blue Koenigsegg Jesko—a three-million-dollar hypercar.

Standing outside of it, huddled under a useless designer umbrella and wearing a soaked Armani trench coat, was a woman who looked ready to murder someone.

This was Serena Croft.

At thirty-four, Serena was the CEO of Croft Innovations, a titan in the tech and logistics sector.

She was notorious in the business world for her icy demeanor, her razor-sharp intellect, and her utter lack of patience for failure.

Tomorrow morning at 8:00 AM, she was scheduled to sign the final paperwork on a multi-billion dollar merger that would cement her legacy.

But right now, her million-dollar toy was a brick, and the most powerful woman in the state was freezing in the mud.

Declan stepped out into the downpour, his heavy boots crunching on the gravel.

He didn’t care about the designer clothes or the blindingly expensive car.

To him, this was just another job.

“Evening,” Declan said, his voice a low rumble over the storm.

“Let’s get you in the cab where it’s warm, and I’ll hook this up.”

Serena glared at him, her dark eyes flashing with frustration.

“Do you have any idea what this car is? You can’t just ‘hook it up’ with that rusted piece of junk. If you scratch the carbon fiber, your insurance won’t cover a fraction of the door panel.”

Declan didn’t flinch.

He walked past her, shining his flashlight under the low front lip of the hypercar.

“I’ve towed vintage Ferraris and armored bank trucks, lady. I know how to use a nylon strap. Get in the truck before you catch pneumonia.”

Serena opened her mouth to argue, but a crack of thunder silenced her.

Shivering, she relented, climbing into the passenger seat of his tow truck.

It smelled of stale coffee, old leather, and a faint hint of vanilla—a scent she would later realize belonged to a child’s air freshener hanging from the mirror.

Ten minutes later, the Koenigsegg was safely secured on the flatbed.

Declan climbed into the driver’s seat, dripping wet.

“My mechanics in the city told me the engine control unit completely locked out,” Serena snapped, wrapping her arms around herself.

“It just died. No warning. I have the most important meeting of my life in nine hours, and my phone has no signal up here. I need this car running.”

“It’s midnight, and the roads down the mountain are flooded,” Declan said calmly, shifting the truck into gear.

“I’m taking you to my shop. It’s safe, and I’ve got a landline. But as for the car? If a Koenigsegg ECU locks up, you need a proprietary factory computer to even read the code. It’s a paperweight until Monday.”

Serena let out a bitter, mocking laugh.

The stress of the merger, the paranoia of her cutthroat corporate life, and the sheer exhaustion of the night boiled over.

She looked at this gritty, stoic man who seemed entirely unimpressed by her.

“A paperweight,” she scoffed.

“You know, the men in my world claim they can fix anything for the right price. But you? You just give up.” She leaned her head back against the worn seat, a cynical smirk playing on her lips.

“Tell you what, tow-truck man. You claim to be a mechanic. Fix this impossible machine by morning so I can make my meeting, and I’m yours.”

Declan kept his eyes on the road.

“I don’t play games, lady. And I definitely don’t want you.”

The rejection, delivered so flatly and without a hint of hesitation, hit Serena like a physical blow.

No one spoke to her like that.

No one dismissed her.

For the rest of the agonizingly slow drive through the storm, the cab was dead silent.

But Serena’s taunt hung in the air—a reckless, sarcastic dare that was about to change both of their lives forever.

Declan’s shop, “Wright & Daughter Auto,” was a cavernous, drafty cinderblock building on the edge of town.

When he pulled the flatbed inside and lowered the massive bay doors, the howling storm was finally muffled.

Serena stepped down from the cab, looking around in dismay.

The shop was clean but undeniably humble.

Tools were meticulously organized on pegboards, and a half-restored classic Mustang sat in the corner.

It was a far cry from the sterile, brightly lit exotic car dealerships she was used to.

“Phone is on the wall by the office,” Declan said, tossing his wet jacket onto a stool.

“Dial nine to get out.”

Serena practically ran to the phone.

She dialed her Chief Operating Officer, Gideon Shaw.

Gideon was a smooth-talking executive who had been her right-hand man for five years.

He was the one who had insisted she take the mountain route tonight to avoid the paparazzi gathering at the airport.