Can't Buy Me Love

by Rin Daniels

  “It’s box.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll have that for lunch.”

  Kat let that slide—her mother wouldn’t really, she just liked to pretend she was the mimosas-for-breakfast type. It fueled her ‘shabby chic’ delusions.

  Kat tipped the clean pot over into the drying rack and snagged the towel from the refrigerator door. Drying her hands, she turned to find Barbara seated at the table, features determinedly solemn.

  Kat hesitated. “What?”

  “Sit down, sweetie.”

  “What?” she repeated, frowning. She sat when her mother pointed to the only other chair. They’d rented the small house already furnished, but the furnishings hadn’t been chosen with an eye to comfortable living. They got the job done.

  It was enough for Kat, at least for now. Later, when she had an income, she’d look for a better place for them.

  Maybe, if she made a lot of money, she’d get her mother her own condo. Condo living would probably suit her mother better than puttering around a house.

  Pipe dreams, mostly. Kat had plenty of steps to focus on before she started mentally spending money they didn’t have.

  Barbara laced her fingers together. “I know you’re busy, but...” Her pale green eyes lowered to the table.

  A knot gathered in Kat’s stomach. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

  “It’s...Well, I have bad news.” She took a deep breath, and the front of her kimono gaped to reveal a black silk camisole beneath. The fine gold chain her mother always wore glinted. The locket on the other end vanished into the collar.

  She’d told Kat that it held pictures of Kat and her brother when they were fresh-faced and little. Jack, Jr. was two years older, already well on the way to inheriting their father’s malleable charm when Kat came along.

  As far as Kat knew, Jackie had dodged jail, but he’d stormed out when she was sixteen. She hadn’t heard a lot from him since then. An errant call now and then. Sometimes asking for money.

  Now, her throat ached as she asked, “Is it Jackie? Is he okay?”

  A flicker of annoyance flashed across her mom’s carefully adopted frown. “Don’t interrupt, Katherine.”

  Kat’s lips pressed together.

  “As far as I know, your brother is still pretending like he sprung fully-formed on this earth,” she added, striking another dismissive wave. “But this does have something to do with your father.”

  Kat gripped the table. “What happened?”

  “Money.” Barbara reached into her kimono sleeves and pulled out a letter, folded into thirds. She passed it to Kat with a tight smile. “I’m sorry, honey. We borrowed pretty heavily after his arrest. Lawyer fees, you know?”

  The paper crinkled in her hand. “He waived his right to a lawyer,” Kat said evenly.

  “Well, court fees.” Barbara shrugged impatiently. “You know, all that legal stuff.”

  Fair enough. Barbara wasn’t the type to pay attention to details. Kat glanced at the paper. The letterhead claimed Wallace & Roane, Financial Enterprises. She skimmed the brief contents.

  The table rattled as she slammed the letter under her palm. “You borrowed from loan sharks?”

  Barbara’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t raise your voice at me, young lady.”

  “Mom!”

  She pushed back from the table, rising and jerking her robe back into place. Her long hair swung, waves bouncing around her shoulders. “We didn’t have a lot of choice, Katherine. Your father was going to jail, they froze all the accounts. All we had was the money he kept in that box of his.” Her voice trembled, shoulders rounding. “Do you know that they extend your jail time if you can’t pay the fees?”

  Kat bit back her sharp words. Couldn’t bring herself to consign her father to a lifetime of prison, no matter how much less stressful things were without his everyday schemes to rock the boat Kat desperately wanted to bolt down. She crumpled the notice in her fist.

  “Dipping into that money would have left us bankrupt,” her mother said, raising her chin as she turned. The gesture was well-timed. She looked perfectly dramatic.

  But her eyes welled with tears. “I had to choose between taking care of us and taking care of him. How do you think I felt?”

  Classic guilt trip. Even so, as obvious as that was, Kat couldn’t give voice to the hurt it caused in her. Emotion dictated that she shed responsibility for Jack’s choices, but logic demanded she recognize the truth in her mother’s words. It was a tough call.

  No matter how much she wanted to lecture her mother, Kat couldn’t. Not this time.

  But that didn’t solve the problem.

  She gestured at the innocuous paper. “They’re demanding payments now. Where are we supposed to get the money?” She paused, frowning as her mother’s eyebrows climbed. “How did they find us? We’re miles from Washington!”

  “I don’t know.” Barbara dragged a hand through her hair—a habit Kat had picked up early—and blotted at her eyes with the end of her kimono. “That just showed up in the mail.”

  Kat’s chest squeezed. So they’d followed them from Washington? For twenty thousand dollars, she couldn’t blame them.

  She rose, leaving her books and papers where they’d scattered, and stalked out of the small kitchen. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

  “Well, that’s fine,” her mother said to her back, following her up the narrow stairs. “I’m sure they’ll be reasonable loan sharks.”

  “Mom, I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  Kat made a sound halfway between a growl and a snort as she stepped into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Barbara lounged in the doorframe.

  “They’re going to need something,” her mother pointed out.

  “Give them your locket,” Kat retorted around a mouth full of toothpaste. “Real gold should sell for something.”

  Barbara’s hand flattened over her chest, and the locket beneath. Her eyes widened.

  The hurt welling in them scored a direct hit to Kat’s conscience.

  “Kitty Harris, you take that back.”

  Her father used it as a pet name. Her mother, contrary to the end, used the nickname as a weapon.

  Kat flinched, paused to spit toothpaste into the cracked porcelain sink and focus on something other than an immediate retort.

  It wasn’t her mother’s fault the Harris men had abandoned them.

  Mostly.

  Running the water, she wiped at the side of her mouth and said sullenly, “Why didn’t you tell me about this before I dropped all of that money into the salon?”

  “Because,” Barbara said, frowning down at her nails, “if I did, you’d have put all that money into the loan instead and wouldn’t have a salon.”

  Kat went still in front of the mirror.

  Her mother withdrew a swirl of blue silk and blonde waves. “Whatever. It’s very obvious I can’t do anything right for you,” she said over her shoulder.

  Kat flinched. “That’s not fair,” she shot back. “And don’t call me Kitty!”

  “Please.” A door closed. Kat braced a hand on the bathroom doorjamb, counted to four. Hinges creaked on the fifth. “Where are you going today?”

  There just wasn’t enough wine in the world to deal with this kind of frustration. She leaned out from the cramped bathroom and said levelly, “The Copper Rooster.”

  Her mother’s nose wrinkled. “Are you eating at a farm?”

  “Did you want something or not?” Kat demanded.

  “Oh.” Barbara smiled, as radiantly as if she hadn’t just dropped enough bad news in Kat’s lap to sink a ship. “Whatever is fine. I don’t feel like cooking today.”

  Kat returned to the mirror, adjusting the clips holding her chin-length waves from her face. “You never do,” she muttered.

  “I heard that, young lady.”

  Kat bit her tongue before she said something else.

  Loan sharks. Not all of them rolled like a Hollywood film, but the one thing they al
l had in common was the desire to get paid. If this company—and she used that term loosely—had tracked them from Washington to Sulla Valley, then they meant business.

  Honestly, she wanted to be surprised, but couldn’t muster up the energy. Her mom was right—what was done was done. All she could do now was press forward. That meant cement her income.

  A legal income.

  Say what she wanted about her flighty mom and criminal dad, they’d taught her how good life could be when things went right, and she desperately wanted things to go right.

  They were just a little fuzzy on what right meant.

  Kat wasn’t. She knew what she wanted, how she wanted to get it, and who she wanted to share it with. None of this had included payments to a loan shark.

  But what else was she supposed to do?

  She fluffed her hair, shook her head to swing out the waves, and pulled a round brush through her bangs. The girl in the mirror looked like any girl next door—or what Kat thought the girl next door should look like. Her black and yellow polka dotted blouse made her feel like summer, and it didn’t look like the second-hand find it was. Her skinny jeans were fashionable enough for any company. The red streaks in her hair gave her a trendy vibe.

  Kat returned to the kitchen, grabbed her oversized sunglasses from the counter by the refrigerator, her keys from the hook by the back door, and mentally crunched her numbers.

  If she ate light, she’d be able to buy Nadine’s meal as an apology for ditching her at the party, and still come back with dinner for her mom. There should be enough in her checking account to cover the next few months, not including any cash her mom kept hoarding like a starving squirrel.

  Until she spent it. Like a starving squirrel with a gambling problem.

  That was a conversation she didn’t want to have.

  One thing at a time. Tomorrow, Kat would visit the salon and check on the progress. The contractor promised he’d have it done in three more months, but the budget was starting to creak. All she could do now was keep working on prospective clients, keep her fingers crossed, and hope that everything worked out in time.

  It had to work out. There was no other way to live, much less achieve Kat’s dreams. Not without scamming somebody, and she was so tired of living that way. Everything had to fall into place.

  Thinking any other way would only force her into a panic attack.

  First thing in the morning, she’d call to discuss the terms of this so-called loan. Illegal or not, everyone in the field of money played by a certain set of rules. She just had to figure out what their game was.

  And what she could bring to the table until her salon started making money.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE COPPER ROOSTER wasn’t a famous hangout for the elite, or for the groupies who liked to go where the elite went. That made it ideal for a low-key dining experience.

  And a frequent meet-up for the Laramie men.

  Adam liked the look—dark woods accented by rustic lodge décor and copper fixtures. The staff was friendly and laid-back, the menu varied.

  His father liked it because he could keep an eye on whatever game he’d bet on for the season.

  The clientele didn’t seem to care what side of Sulla Valley their fellow patrons came from. As long as none of the gossiping kids from the east side stumbled across the place, Adam could enjoy a few hours of solitude now and again.

  Or a few hours of uninterrupted strategy planning with his dad.

  Well, partially uninterrupted.

  Adam raised a hand above his head to capture David’s wandering attention. Eyes a shade lighter than his own dropped to his in sheepish apology. “I think my team’s phoning this one in.”

  Adam only cared about sports inasmuch as the red-blooded man in him demanded he had to. He was too busy for armchair coaching and didn’t bet—not like his dad did. “How much this time?”

  David draped his fingers loosely around his glass, tipped the scotch in it to one side. “Fifty.”

  “Thousand?” Adam whistled. “You should have checked. They always get lazy mid-season.”

  “Yeah, but this is early, isn’t it?”

  Adam shrugged.

  His father centered his attention back to the topic at hand, and the tablet that had gone dark between them. In the comfortable ambience of the Rooster, he looked like nothing more than a retiree with salt and pepper hair and laugh lines by his eyes and mouth. No one would ever believe the man wearing a battered blazer and old denim was the patriarch of a multi-billion dollar enterprise.

  Aside from the color of his hair, Adam had been told often enough how much like his father he looked.

  Only he’d never taken to a pinky ring.

  The gold band with the imprinted eagle on it winked as David tipped the scotch into his mouth. On a rasped exhale, he said, “So, where were we?”

  About three steps into hell and off the beaten path already. Adam sighed. “You were explaining exactly why Goldberg doesn’t want to confirm me.”

  David set the glass down. “It’s not you, son. It all comes down to one thing. Profits.”

  “I know how to garner profits, Dad.”

  “It’s not you, is what I’m saying,” David replied patiently. He tapped the tablet between them. “Your granddad dragged this company into the future, kicking and screaming, but Goldberg’s a remnant. Innovation is what we need. God knows I never had your gift.”

  Praise made Adam uncomfortable. Especially off-hand praise delivered like it was no big deal.

  He reached for his own glass. The ice inside clinked as he sipped at the Irish whiskey he preferred to his father’s harsher scotch. “So,” he said when the burn cleared his mouth. “What you’re saying is that I need to kidnap Goldberg and hold his vote for ransom.”

  David’s crack of laughter earned them a few stares from the busy restaurant. “Stubborn old goat’s mean enough to starve to death while you wait. No, boy, you’re going to have to do it the old fashioned way.”

  “Sleep with his daughter?”

  It was a low blow, a nasty sucker punch, and as soon as the words left his mouth, Adam regretted them.

  His father leaned back in his chair, rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. A wry slant shaped his sculpted mouth—a family trait. They all tended to have a strong Cupid’s bow and a pliable lower lip. That, the bone structure, and a routine listing in Forbes pretty much guaranteed a Laramie was never starving for company.

  How his mother ever coped as long as she did, he’d never know.

  It certainly wasn’t for love. She’d made that much clear when she left ten years ago, taking enough alimony to set herself up for life, and never looked back.

  “Well, now, son,” David replied ruefully, “I wouldn’t recommend that option.”

  “Given she cost you the company?” Adam snorted out something that could have been a sigh. It muffled the words he wanted to say.

  “She didn’t cost me the company,” David countered. “Just the CEO position.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” Adam intended to grab that chair and stay in it for a long time. Much longer than the fourteen years his dad helmed the ship.

  That title meant success in Adam’s world. It belonged to him. He just had to convince the board of it.

  His father looked down into his glass, tilting it like something more interesting than alcohol waited inside. Adam plucked the tablet, swiped it on and pretended like the columns and figures he stared at made any sense.

  Ordinarily, they did.

  He was just a little distracted.

  In all honesty, Adam had a lot of other things he’d wanted to do before he claimed the position. Like travel. Earn another degree, something to accompany the business and economics field he’d majored in and the computer science minor that bolstered his college resume. He wanted more hands-on experience in the software engineering department and his own side projects.

  There were about a thousand things he’d thought to do
before he’d put his hat in this ring, things he thought would make him more palatable to the public at large, but screw that. Let the world doubt him as a young CEO, Adam was committed to proving them wrong.

  The copper chimes at the restaurant door rung out, a dulcet melody as another patron stepped in. Adam looked up from the tablet by habit, caught his dad staring past his head at the television again.

  The hostess greeted the brunette, exchanged the usual pleasantries and walked her past the copper rail separating the bar from the seating area. The sun streaming through the skylights picked out fingers of fire engine red through her hair.

  Numbers and figures and strategy dropped out of his head.

  “Damn,” David sighed, jerking Adam’s attention back to him. “If they pull this one out, it’ll be a miracle.”

  No, a miracle would be if he got out of here before the hot-tempered sex kitten with mile-long legs hidden behind tight jeans noticed him.

  Would she cause a scene?

  He pictured the spray of whiskey as it splattered against his chest, remembered the burn on his cheek, and couldn’t stop a smile from edging his mouth.

  The hostess seated her at a table for four. She slid into the booth, pushing a pair of sunglasses up onto her head, and gave the waitress a sunny smile.

  Her lips were lush and wide without lipstick to darken them, expressive enough to make him want to smile in kind.

  And weirdly familiar.

  Of course, she’d wrapped those lips around his finger like it was a lollipop and she had a sweet tooth, so there was that.

  “Adam?”

  He glanced at his father. Frowned when David followed the line of his stare and whistled a low note. “Hot damn,” he added for emphasis.

  Adam shifted in his seat. The last thing he needed was his dad scoping out his abnormal lust obsessions. “Let’s get back to—”

  David lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “What the hell brought her back to the Valley?”

  “Brought her back?” Adam’s frown deepened as he studied his father’s weathered expression. Mischief? No. Interest. Like he thought. He huffed out a bitter laugh. “Back off, old man. I’ve already been there.”

  “I know.”