by Meghan March
It’s not hard to recognize a woman on the hunt in this town. Apparently Emmy’s done waiting for me to come to her.
“Whatcha got there, Ms. Harris?”
She smiles. “Oh, nothing too exciting. Just some chicken and dumplings, and an apple pie. I was trying out a new recipe for the restaurant and thought you could give me your opinion. I know you’ve got a powerful taste for chicken and dumplings.”
I think about the panties in the top of my toolbox, and decide why not. It feels better to have a woman bringing you dinner than it does to have one hiding your existence from her best friend.
“That’s awfully kind of you to think of me.”
Her smile turns even sweeter. “You know I think about you all the time, Logan. How about we eat in the waiting room instead of in the middle of all this.” She waves a hand, gesturing to the shop.
“I’ll follow you.”
And that’s how I ended up eating dinner on paper plates in the waiting room of my shop with Emmy Harris, while all the people driving by the Four Corners could no doubt see us plain as day. At least she wants to be seen with me, even if it is just to stake her claim.
As we finish up the apple pie—which, she reminds me, is a county fair blue-ribbon winner—she sets her paper plate aside and crosses her legs.
“I wouldn’t normally dare be this bold, but I have to ask . . . when are you finally going to ask me out on another date, Logan?”
I can’t help but wonder if Julianne spilled about me texting another woman, and that’s what’s causing Emmy to be more forward than normal. Then again, Julianne and Emmy get along as well as cats and water.
I shove a bite in my mouth to buy myself some time to answer. Why am I putting her off? She’s a nice woman, a great cook, and she doesn’t give off the blatant looking-for-a-man-to-be-a-paycheck vibe.
It’s not like the woman whose panties are in my toolbox is ever going to be a real possibility.
I’m throwing them away.
“How does this weekend sound?”
Emmy’s smile flashes triumphantly, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake.
Chapter 18
Banner
Four days. That’s how long it takes before the notice from the association shows up in my mailbox.
I skim over the paper, wondering why Frau Frances would do it. I didn’t think she hated me enough to rat me out and get me evicted. According to the notice, I have five business days to show either proof of gainful employment, some other means of steady income, or a fat bank balance—to be evaluated at the sole discretion of the association—or my lease will be null and void.
After the few crazy weeks Greer’s had, including quitting her corporate lawyer job, the last thing I want to do is bother her with this mess. Then again, she already dragged all the Logan stuff out of me when I delivered the news about getting fired, so I’ve got nothing left to hide. It’s not like I can afford another lawyer at this point, and then there’s the fact that she’d kill me if I didn’t ask her for help.
I snap a picture of the notice and text it to her, along with a note to check her e-mail in five minutes. I forward a copy of the lease to her, then sit down with my trusty bottle of vodka and wait.
My phone rings ten minutes later, and I snatch it up. “This can’t be legal!”
“I really, really hate to tell you this, but you agreed to this ridiculous draconian rule when you signed your lease. Did you actually read these rules?”
I cringe, my tiny ray of hope dimming as my former legal eagle delivers the bad news.
“Nope. Sure didn’t. Just like I didn’t read the no-moonlighting policy in the HR handbook that got me fired.”
“I’m so sorry, B. Do you have another means of income you can show them? Monthly deposits into your account in an amount no less than four times your rent from anywhere? How about your trust fund? Can you have the trustee do monthly payments?”
I lower my head to the counter and smack my forehead against it. “No, I can’t. It’s maxed out this year.”
There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line before Greer replies. “Okay. Let’s think.”
I love that she doesn’t question how I spent the money, even though I know she must be wondering. I haven’t told her about my new venture because I didn’t want to spill until I knew it wasn’t going to be yet another big idea of mine that crashed and burned. Also, I know she’ll offer to help any way she can, and this time, I feel like I have something to prove. Like I can succeed or fail based on my own merits. Holy shit, I might be growing up.
“Can you get your parents to float you?”
I actually laugh at her suggestion. “No way in hell. You know how they are.”
Greer sighs. “Will you let me help? You know I have the cash.”
“I love you so freaking much, but there’s no way I’m taking your money. Maybe . . . I’ll go talk to my parents. Last-ditch effort for desperate times. Where the hell am I going to live if I lose this apartment and have no income?”
“If you’d just let me help—” Greer starts, but I cut her off.
“Let me try to figure this out myself first.”
“Okay, but you can always crash at my place. You’d do it for me.”
She’s right, but I’m not taking a handout, at least not from anyone who isn’t blood related. “It’s time for me to learn how to handle my shit myself, I think. Don’t worry; I’ll figure it out.”
“Damn right you will. You’re Banner Fucking Regent.”
I smile at my best friend’s confidence, and hope I can prove I deserve it. “I’ll woman up or get the hell out of the city, I guess.”
Greer is quiet for another long moment. “Let me know if there’s anything at all I can do. You know I’ll do it.”
“Talk soon, babe.”
She says good-bye, and we hang up.
I stand in the middle of my apartment and turn in a slow circle. “They’re only walls.” I swallow back the rising lump in my throat. “I can figure this out.”
It’s not like I have a choice.
I head for my bedroom to change into the armor I’ll need to face my parents.
God help me.
* * *
Jansen and Jane Regent live in a house they’ve owned for as long as I can remember. While I was growing up, we bounced between Manhattan and the three-acre estate that still boasts green shag carpet from the ’70s and the ugliest avocado-green appliances you can imagine.
It’s not like they don’t have the money to renovate, but my parents would never take the time to deal with that kind of project when they can hole up in their state-of-the-art lab they built only twenty yards from the house. Actually, I’m pretty sure the lab and its contents are worth triple what the house and the land are.
What exactly do my über-genius parents do? Freelance research and development for biotech and defense contracting firms that’s so top secret, they can’t even talk about it to their daughter. Not that they would if they could.
My mother still hasn’t forgiven me for the C I got in AP Chemistry in tenth grade (on purpose, I might add, so I could screw over my GPA and any chance of getting into MIT). I believe that day was when she officially gave up on me ever following in their footsteps. My mother doesn’t blink at dropping a million dollars for super-special mice for their lab, but the chances of her offering to bail me out for a fraction of that amount are slim to none. And yet, given that I’m up shit creek with no paddle, I’m going to sacrifice my pride and give it a shot.
When I knock on the door to the house, Albright, my parents’ jack of all trades, answers the door.
“Ms. Banner, it’s a surprise to see you here.”
I’m sure it is a surprise, because generally I only show up for one or two federal holidays, and usually leave as quickly as possible.
I give Albright a quick hug and step inside. “Are my parents available?”
He smiles. “They’re in the lab. I can check
with them to see if they’re able to take a break to speak with you, though.”
As much as I want to change my mind and tell him not to bother so I can turn around and walk away, I decide I can’t waste the Uber fare I spent to get out here if there’s a chance in hell they’ll help.
“That would be great.”
Albright disappears into the kitchen, no doubt to exit out the back and find my parents. He reappears five minutes later. “Do you want me to fix you something to eat? It will be about thirty or forty-five minutes before they can take a break.”
I should have figured this wouldn’t be a quick process.
“A drink would be fabulous.”
Albright’s smile becomes strained. “Your parents don’t drink anymore, so this house is dry now.”
Wow. That’s a first.
I study the older man for a moment. “I bet the house isn’t completely dry.”
Albright has lived on the premises for the last ten years or so, and I raided his liquor collection once upon a time when he first moved in. He got smart pretty quick and locked it up. Why he didn’t rat me out to my parents, I have no idea.
One corner of his mouth edges up. “I may be able to get you a Scotch.”
“I would be forever indebted to you. This isn’t a conversation I’m sure I can handle without liquor.”
He nods and disappears in the direction of the butler’s quarters. When he returns, it’s with a small tumbler of Scotch, neat. Three fingers, if I’m not mistaken.
Albright hands it to me with a sober expression. “This stays between us.”
I accept the glass and grip it with both hands like it’s the key to surviving this afternoon, which it might very well be.
“You know I’m not going to tell.” I sip and hide my grimace. Scotch has never been my favorite. “Speaking of which, why didn’t you ever tell my parents I stole your booze when I was seventeen? They probably would’ve shipped me off to boarding school immediately.”
He doesn’t answer right away. “Maybe because I didn’t think you needed to give them another reason to find fault with you.”
His words sting, but they’re the truth.
“They never needed help finding reasons.” I down the rest of the Scotch in three small sips. “But enough about my fondest childhood memories. How are you these days? Are you ever going to retire?”
“I’m quite acceptable. My health is good, and your parents are generally easy to please as long as I keep to their requirements. I’m not sure I’ll ever retire at this point.”
I want to ask about his children, because I’m pretty sure Albright has two sons he doesn’t see often, but unless he brings it up, I’ll leave the subject alone.
“Fair enough.”
“And yourself, Ms. Banner? What brings you here today?”
I think about the complete and utter shit show my life has turned into seemingly overnight. Deciding to spill it all to Albright, I unload.
“I’m getting evicted because I lost my job, and if I can’t prove that I have money in the bank or a steady income stream, I have to be out of my apartment in a week.”
Albright’s silvery-gray eyebrows climb upward as I drain my glass.
“Really? That’s terrible. Shouldn’t you be able to prove an income from your grandparents’ trust?”
It’s not surprising that Albright knows about the trust. “I’ve hit the max for withdrawals this year. I don’t have anything else to show for it—yet. I just need some time.”
He’s silent for several long moments before speaking. “And you’re here for your parents’ assistance with this financial issue?”
I nod slowly. “I’m not expecting a great outcome, but it’s either this or a cardboard box down on Skid Row somewhere, and I’m not asking my friends for help.”
Albright reaches for my empty glass. “I’ll get you another.” He doesn’t have to say anything else. It’s clear that he knows my parents will say no.
So, why am I even bothering with what is sure to be an incredibly humiliating episode? Probably because my options are limited, and I’m hoping for some kind of miracle.
Unlikely.
I sip the next glass of Scotch more slowly, letting it mellow me out. When Albright takes the empty glass away, I know I only have a few more minutes before my parents will appear. The timing is almost perfect, because the back door opens and in they come.
They’re not clad in lab coats and safety glasses like one might expect. My father is dressed in pressed khakis with a knife-like crease down the front and a white button-down shirt. My mother is wearing a black skirt, white blouse, black cardigan, nylons, and ugly shoes. They look like they’re headed on a Sunday drive rather than stepping out of a state-of-the-art lab.
“This is certainly a surprising interruption,” my mother says. Her use of surprising interruption rather than pleasant surprise doesn’t bode well.
“Banner, how are you?” my father asks.
“Thank you for taking a few minutes out of your busy schedule to see your only daughter. I appreciate it.”
An unavoidable edge of bitterness creeps into my tone, even though I try to keep it out. But at the end of the day, I am bitter. They spend more time worrying about the mice that live in the lab than they do about me.
“We only have fifteen minutes before the next set of results needs to be recorded, so you’ll have to excuse us if this seems brief.” My mother might as well be talking to a stranger, for all the friendliness in her voice.
“I’ll make it quick then,” I say, thankful for the warmth of the Scotch pooling in my belly. “I need to borrow some money.”
My parents’ eyes meet before either responds.
“Absolutely out of the question,” my mother replies.
“You have your own money, as you so frequently like to remind us,” my father adds.
“I just need to have it in my bank account. I won’t even spend it. If I don’t have it, I’m going to get evicted.”
My father’s salt-and-pepper brows draw together. “Evicted? For what reason?”
Deep breath, Banner. “I lost my job, and apparently there’s a clause in my lease that says you have to be employed or have an income from other means to continue to lease an apartment.”
“You lost another job?”
I would like to say my mother sounds surprised, but she really doesn’t. My employment history isn’t exactly studded with employee-of-the-month plaques, which is why I know my future is being my own boss.
But I can’t tell my parents about the business I’m working on. Not only will they disapprove, they’ll tear my ideas to shreds. Scientific method, my ass.
“Yes, I got fired. Again.”
My mother sends my father a look that says I have no idea where we went wrong, do you? His silent response agrees that this is not their fault.
“Never mind,” I say, holding up a hand. “I should have known better than to think my parents would care that their only child is going to be evicted from her apartment with minimal notice.”
“You need to learn to manage your trust fund better. What kind of parents would we be if we didn’t allow you to face the consequences of your own actions?”
I want more than anything to scream the kind that care, but there’s no point in emotional displays when you’re dealing with Jansen and Jane Regent.
Hello, homelessness. We’re going to become well acquainted.
I straighten my spine and give both of them a nod. “I don’t want to keep you. I’ll let you know where I end up eventually.”
“This kind of self-pity isn’t constructive, Banner. I hope you learn something from this experience to apply to future situations,” my mother says.
Life is just one big science experiment to them.
The disapproving look on my mother’s face deepens her crow’s-feet, and I have another concrete reason to strive to be her opposite. Wrinkles from being a judgmental cow require Botox, and I’m terrified of b
otulism.
“Thanks for the tip, Mom. I’ll get right on that.”
Chapter 19
Banner
I told myself I wouldn’t lay this on her doorstep because it’s not her problem, but my first call is to Greer.
She gets straight to the point when she answers. “What did your parents say?”
“About what you’d expect. They’re not going to help. Such a shocker, and not in a good way like when a guy decides to surprise you with a finger in your ass.”
Greer chokes out a laugh, but cuts it off just as quickly. “Crash at my place. It’s fine.”
I shake my head, even though she can’t see it. “I can’t. Don’t freak out, but I actually put together a rough budget on the Uber ride to my folks’, and I need to cut all my expenses to the bone if I want to buy myself some time. I think I have to leave Manhattan.”
A few moments of silence stretches between us before she replies. “I know you told me it didn’t end well, but . . . I have an idea.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Logan.”
“What?” Shock forces the word out at about twenty decibels louder.
“Jesus, no need to yell. Just hear me out. Do you want to see him again?”
I could kick myself for how fast the word yes pops out of my mouth.
“I think I might have a solution for you. I started thinking about it earlier, but I wasn’t sure you’d go for it. Now, though, if you’re thinking you need to leave the city anyway, it could be kind of perfect.”
“What are you talking about?” I’m not following her.
“I’d have to talk to my brother first, but Holly still has her gran’s house in Kentucky, and from what I could tell, it’s a pretty inexpensive area. She doesn’t need to be worrying about it with the baby, so if you don’t have an issue seeing Logan again . . . I was thinking you could work out a deal to housesit for Holly to make sure the place stays in good shape.”
The wheels start turning in my brain immediately.
Kentucky?
BFE?
Logan?
A cheap place to live. A break from the rat race.