If you wish to retain the property, please make a payment of $11,831 to the City of Oldeen. This amount will be used to procure a neighboring site as an alternate construction location.
Thank you for your cooperation,
Gerald Gordana, Mayor
I shake my head in disbelief after reading it again. I have no recollection of signing any kind of contract or being notified that this was a possibility. A thick layer of numbness blankets everything. Somewhere, just beneath the surface, I feel the despair, anger, and outrage that are struggling to break through. Except all I can do is stare blankly at the page, reading and re-reading it until my hands tremble.
I still remember how good it felt the day I signed the papers and made the bakery mine. It took weeks to get everything set up inside and get it all the way I wanted. I worked with Ed in his wood shop to design the letters hanging over the entrance. I even picked out the cute, loopy cursive font. Sandra’s Sweets. I spent forever browsing Craigslist to find the tables and chairs for a reasonable price. I bartered with a retired baker for my oven and dough mixer. Every last part of the building and its contents are the result of hours and hours of hard work, and they let me know it’s going to be taken away with a letter.
A hundred and twelve thousand dollars for my bakery? That’s not even half of what I paid. The price makes me want to throw up. I’m still making payments on the three hundred thousand dollar mortgage, and most of that money hasn’t even started working toward the principal. If they take my business and give me that check, I’ll be losing all the years I’ve spent chipping away at the interest payments. I’ll be losing everything.
There’s no place I could buy for that amount of money to restart my business either. I should know after all the time I spent finding this one for the price I did. All the years of saving carefully and working two jobs to save up for this. It feels like every moment of my life built up to getting this bakery and making my dream a reality. I was finally starting to let myself believe it was real, that it would last. Maybe I could have started actually focusing on finding a man to complete the picture. On making a baby.
Now this.
I turn and start walking back toward home, feeling numb. Jennifer and Lauren will be wondering why I haven’t shown up, but they’ve run a shift on their own before. I can’t stand to go inside right now knowing that it’s all going to be taken away. Stolen. And it’s going to be perfectly legal.
For the first time since my car wouldn’t start two days ago, I’m glad I don’t have it. I need the long walk back home to clear my head. The most maddening part is how easy it would be to fix this. I know exactly what my sister would do. She’d shoot a text to my parents asking for some money. She’d probably round up a hundred or two hundred thousand dollars. My father would make a call and the money would be in her account within hours. She’d pay the fee and maybe treat herself to a nice vacation for the inconvenience.
As much as I’ve worked to distance myself from my parents, I still know they would give me the money if I asked. But asking them would invalidate everything I’ve done. Right now, I can look in the mirror every morning and know I’m looking at a woman who made her own way. A strong, independent woman who didn’t need handouts to get where she is. A woman who I can be proud of. If I go crawling to my parents for help now, all that ends. Maybe that’s vain of me. But for better or worse, I’ve built my identity around my independence. If I give in now, who will I be?
Besides, I may have also told them a little white--okay, grayish--lie. I told them I was engaged to a wealthy businessman, but it was just to get them off my back. I regretted it after I said it, but when they stopped trying to set me up after they found out, it suddenly didn’t seem so bad. Except the part where they said they wanted to come visit and meet him “sometime.” Knowing them, sometime means never, but now I have that looming over my head too. Wonderful.
When I finally reach my house close to forty minutes later, I see Reid working on a car in front of the shop. He’s shirtless, of course, and his broad back is glistening with sweat. The way his dark hair falls in front of his face as he leans forward and the smears of grease on his powerful arms and chest just pisses me off. Why should such an asshole look so good? He looks like he shooting an ad for Chippendale’s, for God’s sake. He’s so sexy it’s almost ridiculous. I tear my gaze away from him and the way those blue jeans hug his tight ass, increasing my pace in hopes that he won’t notice me.
“Damn, sweetheart. That was the shortest workday I’ve ever seen,” shouts Reid.
I stop dead in my tracks, jaw clenched and sucking in quick breaths through my nose. “Fuck you, asshole,” I shout back.
I’m about to step inside when I hear something metallic slam down. When I look up, I see Reid stalking toward me, eyes ablaze. He rakes a hand through his thick black hair and pushes it out of his face, making every single muscle on his chiseled torso stand out. I open the door, suddenly afraid of what he’s going to do.
I get inside just as he storms up my porch. I try to shut the door, but it stops dead. His large hand is pressed against it, keeping me from closing the door. He pushes it back open, leaning in the doorway. He smells like metal. Sweat. Power. The man practically radiates sexuality, and I hate him for it. He doesn’t deserve it.
“I must have misheard you,” he says. His dark green eyes are locked on me unflinchingly.
I swallow, but refuse to back down. “I said. Fuck you. Asshole.” My voice is a little more muted than I would like, but I deliver the words convincingly enough.
His hand is on my shoulder, pushing me against the wall inside my house. His body looms over me, pressing against me. “Careful,” he rasps.
I see the hint of something other than anger cross his features. Something like hunger. Lust. I feel it, too, as much as I hate it. Something hard is pressing into my belly, and I’m not sure if it’s a huge wrench or his cock. The thought makes me feel a little lightheaded.
“Let me go,” I say, but my voice comes out as soft as a whisper.
He bites his lip. “You sure you want that?”
I look away, suddenly unable to meet the intensity of his eyes. “Yes.”
He pushes off the wall, glaring down at me. “You can come by tomorrow for your car, by the way. And I’ll need these,” he says, snatching the keys to my Camry off the key rack on the wall.
Without another word, he turns, slamming the door behind him. I’m left breathless in the hallway, staring after him. What was that? For a minute there, I thought Reid Riggins was actually thinking about kissing me, or more than that. And for a minute… I think I wanted him to.
I shake my head, going upstairs and making a point of not looking at my newly dinged and dented furniture that still needs to be arranged. I hop in the shower even though I just showered about two hours ago before I left for work. I need to clear my head. I need space, time, and I need every last bit of Reid’s scent off my skin. I don’t need little reminders of him catching me by surprise throughout the day.
I squeeze out shampoo and wash my hair, whether it needs it or not. I’m undoing all the work I did of getting ready this morning, but that, admittedly, wasn’t much. I slapped on some mascara, concealer, and just brushed the tangles out of my hair, letting it air dry on my walk to work. It’s not like I have anyone to impress.
Except Reid.
That thought rises up, unwelcome and frustratingly pleasant at the same time. I rub the soap to a furious lather, thinking about Reid and the way it felt to have him against me. I turn my back to the faucet and rub the soap across my chest, cupping my breasts as I do, feeling a tingle of warmth that has nothing to do with the water.
My hands slide down my stomach and I rub myself between the legs, eyebrows drawing down, imagining his hard cock is pressing into my belly, throbbing. His body is hard against me, lips only inches from mine. Vivid images of him pumping into me, groaning with pleasure flash in my mind and I’m soon leaning against the wall, worki
ng my fingers fast, riding the waves of my shameful climax.
I shut off the water and towel off, feeling the guilt from what I just did seep deeper and deeper. Even if Reid wasn’t a total asshole, he’s Tara’s ex. Even if she has changed recently, I’m still her best friend. I lost track of how many pints of ice cream we shared while she talked through her problems with Reid to me. I never really looked at their relationship objectively though. I always looked at it through the lens of being Tara’s best friend. I took her side. That was my job.
Now, I think back on it and realize that she was horrible to him. She always came to me and complained that he was a deadbeat who didn’t want to make enough to support her, that he didn’t love her enough to make the life she wanted. And what did I do? I defended her. I told her she was right, and that he should have goals beyond just doing what makes him comfortable. I can’t help feeling like shit looking back on it. As much as I love Tara, she didn’t know Reid at all. He may be the most abrasive asshole I’ve ever met, but he seems to know what he wants and he’s devoting himself to doing it, regardless of what the world says about it.
A lot like me.
The realization gives me chills. Did I just compare myself to Reid Riggins? I sigh, wrapping a towel around myself and heading downstairs to pour myself some wine. I really could use a good buzz right about now. Who cares if it’s not even past noon. When I think back to the notice folded in my purse I feel like I could actually go for something closer to black-out drunk. Anything to forget. Anything to put this all behind me, even for a little while.
Well, at least the solution to my problems is simple. I just need to come up with about twelve grand on short notice. Yeah. No big deal.
5
Reid
I wipe the sweat from my eyes and squint toward the road at the sound of an approaching car. A six cylinder, by the sound of it, and poorly maintained. I can practically hear the pistons struggling to pump from here. Once the car pulls into view I realize exactly who’s driving.
My little brother, Mark.
As much as I hate to admit it, he’s one of the last people I want to see right now. Even on a good day I wouldn’t really want to see my little brother these days. I practically raised him, and he thanked me by shitting all over that as soon as he got his fancy college diploma and the fancy job that came with it. I was proud of him, too. Even with the ungrateful attitude and the bullshit he put me through, I was glad my little brother was making something of himself.
Until grandpa died and Mark showed his real colors. He thought the garage should have been left to him. He thought he could sell it and use the money to jumpstart his real estate empire.
The car door opens and Mark steps out, dusting off his dress shirt like just standing in front of my shop is sullying his fancy city clothes. He makes a show of squinting his eyes and looking around to take everything in, like he didn’t spend the first half of his life growing up here. He’s tall, but still shorter than my six-foot-three frame. He was always a little more prone to carrying weight, and now he has a slight gut and a fullness to his cheeks. His most prominent feature is the expression he wears though. It’s as if he spent so long sneering that one corner of his mouth froze that way.
“The fuck do you want?” I ask, setting down the carburetor I was working on and start wiping the grease from my hands.
Mark sniffs. “A shower, for starters.”
“Get to the point, before I kick your ass off my property.”
“Fine,” says Mark, pulling out a pair of expensive looking sunglasses and putting them on. “I’m working with the mayor to turn this shithole into something useful. We’re going to demolish old dumps like this place and build a strip mall. There will be thousands of middle and upper class families looking to move here, and we plan to have the infrastructure ready before they are. In five years, you won’t even recognize the place. I just thought I’d tell you in person.”
I drop the rag I’m wiping my hands with and step closer to Mark. “Let me make sure I understand you,” I say, voice low and deadly. “You think you’re going to take my shop from me?”
Mark shakes his head, sighing. “This isn’t the Old West, Reid. It’s the development business. It’s happening all over the country. No one has a use for rinky dink towns like this anymore. There’s a population explosion and we’re just trying to keep up with the demand for houses and entertainment.”
“Yeah? Well maybe people should stop fucking, then, because the only way this shop is getting torn down is over my dead body.”
Mark makes a face to show he’s unimpressed. “You know, if you violate the terms grandpa left, it’ll be--”
“So you’re the one?” asks Sandra.
We both turn to her, surprised. She’s wearing jeans and a loose-fitting top and she looks absolutely incredible. I still don’t know how I was with Tara for so long without even noticing what a knockout Sandra is. I guess it’s just that I was the faithful half of the pair.
“Sandra…” says Mark. The tone of his voice tells me he knows her, and it’s only then that I look down to his feet and realize where I recognized the boots at Tara’s place from.
He’s her new boyfriend. My own little fucking brother. He’s sleeping with my ex-wife and he’s trying to destroy one of the few things in this world I care about by destroying the town.
My fist cracks into Mark’s jaw, snapping his head back and sending him toppling to the ground. He tries to scramble to his feet, but I stomp a boot on his chest, pinning him down. “I knew you were a dirty, ungrateful bastard, but this is a new low.” I suck in breaths that come hard and fast, burning my lungs. I couldn’t care less about who Tara fucks these days, as long as he’s not going to be a bad influence on Roman. What pisses me off is that Mark chose to get involved with her. He doesn’t even live around here anymore. It’s almost like he is doing it specifically to piss me off, and it’s working. It’s a matter of respect. Something my little brother has never cared much for.
“I don’t know what you’re--”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re fucking my ex-wife. Well, you can have her,” I say, taking my foot off his chest. “Just watch out, she cheats.”
Mark is slow to rise, rubbing his jaw where I hit him and glaring at me. He knows better than to take a swing back. We fought enough growing up for him to know he’d only lose.
“And you,” I say, turning to Sandra. “You didn’t think I’d want to know that my brother was fucking my ex-wife at your place?”
Sandra looks away, folding her arms. “I didn’t see what good it would do to tell you, no.”
“Unbelievable. Both of you. Get the fuck out of here.”
“No,” says Sandra. “I want to know why. Why are you doing this? I’ve worked my whole life for that bakery and you’re going to just rip it away from me?”
“Why?” asks Mark. “Honey, the strong feed on the weak. If you don’t want to be a victim, be stronger.”
He gets in his car and slams the door behind him, spinning his tires before pulling away. Sandra and I are both left watching after him, wondering how we can hope to stop this from happening.
I move to step back into the shop, but Sandra stops me with a hand on my arm.
I look down, noticing the way her small pale hand looks so out of place on my rough, tanned skin. Out of place. Just like she is. Just like I will be soon if I don’t figure out a way to keep my shop.
“I should have told you,” she says, looking up to meet my eyes. “That was shitty of me. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. It was. Come on, have a beer with me and we’ll call it even,” I say.
Sandra raises her eyebrows in a way that says why not and follows me inside.
I toss her a cold one, which she fumbles and nearly drops. I grin at her, cracking open a can for myself. “Nice hands, sweetheart.”
She gives me a wry smile. “I wasn’t exactly the greatest at sports.”
I laugh, eye
ing her smooth legs and the curve of her hips. Not for the first time, she catches me off guard. She has a lot more spunk and bite than I’d expect from a rich daddy’s girl. I’m starting to wonder if I really do have her pegged wrong.
I pull up a chair and sit across from her at the patio table I have set up outside on the back porch. The hills slope away from us and give a great view of the mountains and the lake in the distance. Nothing but nature. Our town is pretty much surrounded by steep hills and mountains. It’s probably why Mark wants to demolish everything instead of trying to carve a place in the surrounding wilderness. I imagine it would cost a fortune to try to level all that ground outside town.
“Fuck,” I mutter softly. “Can’t believe they want to take it all away.”
“I guess I’m not surprised,” says Sandra. “Little places like this are dying everywhere. It was only a matter of time before it caught up with us.”
“The machine,” I say.
She sips her beer, looking out over the hills, searching for the words. “The American dream,” she says finally. “Everyone wants more. They want it faster, bigger.”
I nod my head slowly, draining my can and crumpling it in one hand.
“So your grandfather left you this shop?” asks Sandra.
The real answer nearly spills out, but I give her the safe one. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
“Must be nice,” she says.
I squint at her. “You make it sound like your parents never gave you anything.”
Sandra picks at a piece of chipped paint on the table. She seems to choose her words carefully. “I’m luckier than most people. I can’t complain.”
I nod, draining the last of my beer. “Nah,” I say. “If you ask me, having rich parents isn’t luck at all. If everything is given to you for free, where’s the satisfaction. You know?”
Single Dad Next Door: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 3
