Marry Me for Money (8 page)

“I’m listening,” he said, waiting for me to speak.

“Brian, well, um…we’re friends, right?” I lifted my eyebrows to make sure he knew what I was trying to say.

He lifted his eyebrows to mimic mine. “Friends? Sure, unless you want to be ‘friends-friends’”—he made air quotes, “which is all right with me.”

I laughed at him and his boyish grin. Just so I was clear, I took the more formal and direct approach. “Brian, we work together, and I don’t date coworkers.”

He took his thumb and forefinger and ran them against his chin. We were stopped at a light as the bluest of blue eyes squinted down at me. I felt the first of the butterflies fluttering in my stomach as he stared at me intensely.

“What?” I laughed at his look of concentration.

“I’m debating if I should quit.”

I hit him on the shoulder. “You’re so crazy.” The crosswalk sign turned to walk so I continued to cross the street.

“So, if you don’t date coworkers, how about a drink after work?” he asked, catching up to me. “Next weekend. As friends.”

I couldn’t hide the incredulous look I gave him.

He continued, “It’s Tim’s retirement party. A bunch of people from work will be going. Caroline might even go.”

We were stopped in front of my apartment as I stared at his charming face. His eyes were the deepest set of crystal blue.

“Come on, Beth, I can’t attack you in front of all those people. It will be fun.”

I grabbed my laptop bag from him. “Fine, I’ll go, but strictly as friends.”

He smiled again, and my breath caught. I waved to him before I stepped inside my apartment as I secretly wished he wasn’t off-limits.

Saturday afternoon, the aroma of fresh basil and tomatoes filled my one-bedroom apartment. I was multi-tasking—cooking dinner and watching reruns of my favorite reality TV show. Slowly lifting the wooden spoon from the saucepan, I tasted my concoction. The loud banging from the door caused me to drop the spoon, spilling hot spaghetti sauce on my leg before it hit the floor.

“Open up! I know you’re in there.”

I froze, no longer concerned with my burned leg. My heart pounded loudly in my ears as my pulse accelerated.

“Open the door. Now! I know you’re in there, and I’m not leaving till you open up.”

My hands started to sweat and my eyes scanned the room as though someone would miraculously appear to save me.

The banging on the door continued, and I knew my neighbors down the hall could hear all of this. I took quick deep breaths through my mouth and out my nose, to try and calm myself.

“Open up now!”

Maybe he has me mistaken for someone else.

“I hear the TV. Open up the door.”

Crap.
I closed my eyes tightly and tried to think of what to do.

Embarrassment gave out over fear. Before his abrasiveness caused me more embarrassment on my floor—where I’d wanted a new start, where I had been living for less than a month, and where all these people did not know about all the havoc in my life—I decided to open the door. And as soon as I did, I regretted it.

Every muscle in my body tensed as a tall, burly man with a goatee stood in front of me. The only barrier between us was the chain lock that I was peering over. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d come straight over from the county jail. He’d come here to do damage. I was sure of it.

I gave him my meanest face and mustered all I had inside as I said, “What do you want?” My voice was firm and powerful, opposite of what I was truly feeling—ultimate fear.

“You’re gonna let me in, and I’m gonna tell you what I want.”

My heartbeat resonated in my ears.
Haven’t I seen this scenario in movies?
This was the part where the serial killer cut up his victim before putting her in the fridge or scattering the body all over the city. “No way. You’re not coming in here.”

Mr. Goatee pushed at the door, the chain now taut. “Don’t tempt me to use force.”

“Stop,” I said, my voice wavering. I used my foot to prevent the door from opening farther. “Tell me what you want.”

“Open the damn door, woman!”

Mr. Goatee shoved the door, and I jumped back.

He shifted toward me and I flinched. “I’m here to collect a debt.”

Shit. The mob.

My clammy hands pushed at the door with all my might, but Mr. Goatee placed his steel-toed boot in the crack to stop it.

“You’re pissing me off, lady,” he said, his eyes hard. “Give me the car, and I’ll leave you alone.”

I took in his words and took a step back. “What car?” I asked, peering up at him and noting all the tattoos that lined his neck.

“The Chevy. You haven’t paid on it in six months,” he said, leaning toward me.

“Wait a minute,” I said, realization setting in. I placed my palm against my forehead. “Shit,” I muttered.

“You bought a car six months ago, brand new, and you haven’t paid on it.”

“Hold on.” I left the door and snatched my mace out of my laptop bag.

Unchaining the door, I stepped to the side and let him in. I held the mace in full view and tilted my head back to take in all of the six-foot, large and in charge, scary guy. If he hurt me, I’d mace him in the face and scream till my lungs fell out. It wouldn’t even matter anyway because I was sure Mr. Goatee could break my neck in one swift move, if he wanted to.

“Where are the keys to the car?” he pressed, stepping closer.

“I don’t have them. It was never my car. I cosigned with my mom—I mean, Jamie,” I stuttered. “I don’t have the car. It’s back in Bowlesville.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, aggressively inching forward.

I backed away until I felt the wall against me, until I couldn’t move any further, stuck in between the slab of concrete behind me and the massive male in front of me. “Stop. Don’t move an inch, or I swear to God, I’ll mace this whole can into your face,” I hated how everything came down to this whenever Jamie brought me into her drama.

“I told you, I swear, I don’t have it. Do you think I need a car in downtown Chicago? I walk everywhere. I work four blocks away. I have no need for a car here. I cosigned with my deadbeat mom because she didn’t have good credit to get a car on her own,” I said, my voice firm and shoulders tense. “Now, leave. Look for that car in Bowlesville, and I hope you get it.”

His eyes narrowed, studying me. I steadied myself against the door as I tried to calm my already shot nerves.

“If you’re lying, I’ll be back,” he said as he peered down at me.

My eyes locked with his. I didn’t break eye contact so he knew I was telling the truth. “You won’t because I’m not.”

When he left, my legs gave out underneath me. I slumped against the door, slid to the floor, and released the breath that I’d been holding. I felt tired all of a sudden, the rush of adrenaline no longer present.

“Crap. My spaghetti.” I got up and jolted to the stove.

My sauce was burned. My eyes focused on the dark crusted sauce at the bottom of my pan and at that moment, I wanted to cry. I flipped off the stove and placed both hands at the edge of the counter, head hanging low.

Why is my drama from Bowlesville leaking into my new life in Chicago?

I stood there for a minute before grabbing my cell phone. I called Kendy first, but her phone went straight to voice mail. I huffed with frustration. I needed someone to vent to, and I needed to be out of my apartment—now.

When Caroline’s phone also went straight to voice mail, I left a message. “Caroline, it’s Beth. Wondering what you are doing tonight. Want to go out with the new girl for a drink? Call me back, and let me know.”

I didn’t want to call Brian and lead him on any further, so I called Kent.

He answered on the first ring.

“Hey, I’m calling in my friendship card,” I said, staring at my failed spaghetti on the stove. The smell of burned sauce filled my nose. “What are you doing tonight? I can’t stay here.”

Somehow, I could feel his slight smile through the phone.

“I’m sure you called everyone down your short list. What? They didn’t answer?” he asked.

I laughed. “Actually, yes, no one answered. Anyway, do you want to hang out tonight or not?” I instantly wished I hadn’t called but there was no way I could just hang up on him now.

“Sure, Beth.” He paused before he continued, “I’m going clubbing tonight. Small-town girl, you think you can handle that?”

“Listen, buddy, you don’t know me or what I’ve been through. I’m sure I can handle going out with you.”

“I’ll pick you up at eleven,” he said.

“See you then,” I said before hanging up the phone.

I shuffled to the bathroom to get myself ready to hit the club.

Punctual, Kent had picked me up exactly at eleven. I’d settled on wearing a jean skirt and a black halter-top and felt satisfied with the only fancy outfit I had in my closet besides my suits.

“I don’t get it,” Kent said, his face perplexed as he drove through traffic in downtown Chicago.

“I told you, she’s a deadbeat mother. She left me with Nana when I was six and ran away with one of her boyfriends. She came back when I was eighteen. I thought she wanted a new start, but her habits hadn’t changed.”

I glanced in the visor’s mirror and applied a thick coat of mascara.

He shook his head. “I still don’t get it. Why would a mother do that to her own child?”

“Because she’s selfish. She needed a car, but her credit was shot, so she asked me to cosign. I wanted to show her that I trusted her and that I forgave her for leaving me the first time.” I applied a dab of blush on my cheeks. “Boy, was I wrong. She filled out credit card applications with my social security number and info, and then she racked up my debt. By the time I found out because creditors were calling me, I was in college.” I turned to him and blotted powder on my shiny nose.

His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion as he glanced at the road ahead of him.

“I tried to contest it, but the creditors wouldn’t believe me. I didn’t have enough money to hire a lawyer, so I’ve been paying the minimum on her debt ever since. Honestly, I never want to see that witch even if it’s in court.”

“Your mother is dysfunctional,” he said with a scowl on his face. “How much debt are we talking about here?”

I glanced in his direction when we stopped at a red light. “I don’t know. Sixty, maybe eighty grand now, including that damn car.” I shook my head. “Can we not talk about this? I just want to have fun tonight. Please?” I begged him with my eyes, wanting to forget what had happened earlier along with all the drama my mother constantly brought into my life.

He regarded me, squeezed my hand and gave me a small smile. “Okay,” he said, as he pressed on the gas to bring us to our destination.

Cars were lined up and double-parked in front of the warehouse. I could hear the bass echoing from inside the building. Red brick spanned the entire warehouse while people lined the exterior, waiting to get inside. I leaned into my window, my nose almost pressing against the glass, as I took the scene in. There was a massive amount of people congregating outside. The glint from a girl’s sequin dress caught my eye and I noticed most of the women were dressed in similar clothing.

“I’m going to give you my valet ticket. I have a spare. You’ll probably leave before me. I’ll have someone take me home. Don’t worry, you’ll be okay,” he said, making me turn in his direction.

“I’m not a little girl anymore.” I pursed my lips and gave him my sexiest look. “I’m going to give out my digits tonight, and in a couple of days, I’ll be on a date.”

He let out a carefree deep-belly laugh. “Oh, this should be interesting.”

I reached for the door and stepped out of the car. Kent walked over to meet me and gestured for me to take his elbow. I linked my arm through his as he handed the valet guy his keys. When Kent handed me the valet ticket, I placed it in my purse and tucked it away for safe keeping. I surveyed the area as men eyed his car while women eyed me. I assumed the women were most likely comparing the plain Jane to the Greek god. The women outside were half-naked, competing over who had the shortest skirt and tightest outfit. They were all made up from head to toe, all in tall thin heels and designer clothing.