Shane had known the words were coming, but his gut sank toward his boots anyway. “Look, my payments have always been on time up until now. Isn’t there some way we can put off the increase just a little longer?”
“We’ve already deferred the increase longer than we should have,” the woman apologized.
Right. He’d been trying to block out the phone call he’d made to them three months earlier. Shit.
“Okay, well, thanks for your time.” Shane hung up the phone and leaned back in the ancient desk chair that served as the only place to sit in the entire garage. For the first time since arriving at Pine Mountain a little over a year ago, he was flooded with unease. Short of an unexpected windfall or an angel to illuminate some unknown path out of this mess, there was no alternative but the obvious. A debt was a debt, and as much as he hated it, his had to be paid.
The thought of his Mustang going to that smarmy dealer in Bealetown, or worse yet some chop shop for parts, made his stomach do the up-and-at-’em against his ribs. That car had been the only thing of value that Shane had brought with him to the mountains, the only thing he’d ever worked for and earned himself, no strings attached.
Selling it was the only way out.
Shane turned toward the desktop computer he shared with Grady in the office, clicking through screens until he got to his bank’s home page. He didn’t even bother to look at the balance. He knew damn well there were far too few numbers left of the decimal, and to see it typed out in front of him conjured up images of how well the words “insult” and “injury” could go together given the right frame of mind.
Shane clicked over to his loan account and initiated the payment, knowing that by hitting “send”, he’d all but bleed his bank account dry. He did it anyway—a debt was a debt—kicking off his last thirty days of freedom with a single click. Since he was already in a shitty mood, he might as well get this next part over-with, too. Letting out a long sigh, he navigated to a search engine, his stomach bottoming out at the flashy red-and-yellow web page that blazed its way over the monitor.
Best Deal in Bealetown! The Car Czar Can’t Be Beat!
Shane punched the number into his cell phone before he lost his nerve.
2
After the tenth time her phone rang like the Liberty Bell, Bellamy buried it deep in the bottom of her purse. Everyone from her sister to her dental hygienist (okay, so they’d been friends since college, but still) had called to find out if she was moving to the Golden State, and she was sick to death of rattling off the same answer.
A big, fat, resounding hell no.
Although she wasn’t proud of it, Bellamy had called her boss’s desk phone ten minutes after the weekly management meeting for their department began. One fake gynecologist’s appointment later, Bellamy was out of the office, more than ready to block out the contract on her desk and the freshly minted ex who had left her for greener pastures.
She did a mental tally of the ingredients in her pantry. It had been at least a month since she’d had the time for a proper baking binge. Spending the afternoon in her kitchen, hand-mixing pastry dough from scratch sounded like pure, uncut heaven right about now. Bellamy guided her feet toward the postage-stamp sized parking lot at the end of the block where her car lay in wait, but stopped short at the glitzy department store between her and her destination.
Half-off designer shoes and the afternoon spent in her kitchen? Bellamy grinned and pushed her way into the cool, air conditioned shopping Mecca known as Macy’s. This day might be looking up.
“Can I, like, help you with anything, ma’am?”
Maybe not.
Bellamy winced, turning to look at the very young, very blonde salesgirl in front of her. The girl teetered on her hot pink stilettos, and Bellamy wondered how anyone could possibly wear them and remain vertical.
“I’m just looking for now, thanks.”
The girl shrugged. “’Kay,” she said before click-clacking back to the sales desk, leaving Bellamy in blessed silence.
She browsed through the racks for exactly three minutes before her phone made a bid for her undivided attention. Against her better judgment, she fished it out from the bottom of her purse.
“Hello?”
Ten minutes later, after she had quietly and repeatedly assured her mother that no, she wasn’t packing her bags, and yes, she and Derek had broken up but she really was fine, Bellamy reached critical mass. She switched her phone to vibrate and pitched it back in her purse, vowing to ignore any callers who might utter the D-word.
Right about now, Bellamy would give her left arm for something, anything, that wouldn’t make her think of Derek and the miserable day she just couldn’t seem to get away from. Her gaze caught and snagged on the display in front of her and she gave up a wicked grin.
Yup. Racy bras would do the trick.
Forty minutes and four satin and lace bras later, Bellamy cruised past the window display in search of matching panties that didn’t look like dental floss. Her general rule of thumb was that if she herself had to have an ass, then by God, her drawers would provide a place to park it. The sound of the salesgirl snapping her gum brought Bellamy’s head up to full attention.
“Can I help you find, you know…a size?”
Bellamy chewed her bottom lip. “I was wondering if these come in a different, ah, style?” She held up the microscopic scrap of fabric. Sweet God in heaven, it was see-through on top of everything? Honestly, what was the point?
“Nope. Fourteen different colors, though.” The sales girl started flipping through the racks to prove it when Bellamy felt her purse do the tango on her shoulder.
“Oh! Hang on, I’m vibrating,” she muttered, and the salesgirl laughed.
“A good thong will do that for you every time.”
Bellamy shook her head and held up her cell.
The girl nodded, a little slow on the uptake. “Oh, right. I’ll just be over here if you need me.”
Bellamy expelled a breath of relief at the caller ID and tucked the phone to her ear. “Hey, Holly. What’s up?” She slid into the plush chair tucked discretely on the other side of the display.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Bellamy sighed. “I’m fine.”
Holly wasn’t convinced. “This breakup isn’t even an hour old. Are you sure you’re not in just a touch of denial, here?”
Oh, the freaking irony. “You know what? I’d love to be in denial, because at least that would mean I wasn’t dealing with it. Every time I turn around, someone’s asking me what happened and if I’m okay. I think I’m over-dealing with it. I wish, just for today, I could go somewhere where nobody’s even heard of Derek Patterson!”
The salesgirl’s bottle-blond head popped up from the next aisle over. “Derek Patterson, like, the news guy? He’s hot.”
Bellamy couldn’t have fled the store any faster if it had been engulfed in flames.
“That’s it,” she declared, her heart whacking against her sternum. “I’m at my limit.”
Holly didn’t skip a beat. “Jenna and I will be at your place in twenty minutes with pizza and ice cream. You can do that weird cooking thing you do, and then we can watch mindless reality TV ’til we pass out. What do you say?”