The Proposal

by R. R. Banks

  I feel so stupid. I feel like an idiot. I should never have believed him to begin with. I know what people like him do. I know what they're all about. And all they care about is the almighty dollar. They're always chasing every last buck they can get. What makes it all the more disgusting is that they will literally step over anyone who dares to get between them and their money.

  What makes this all the more devastating for me is that I believed Liam when he told me he wasn't like that. That he wasn’t like the others. I believed he was different. That he wasn't a money-grubbing, piece of crap like the rest of them.

  Oh, how wrong I was. How stupid I was to believe him.

  I angrily scrub away the tears that are rolling down my cheeks. I should never have let myself get so close to him. Or let myself get so attached to him. He seemed so different – like he was really one of the good guys.

  “That should teach you,” I say to myself, my voice quivering. “There are no good guys.”

  I'm leaning against the counter in my shop, grateful to not have any customers strolling through for a change. The last thing I want, or need is to let anyone else see me like this. I don't want to have to answer any questions. More than that, I don't want anybody's goddamn pity.

  Except, maybe Skyler. She'll understand. If there's one person in this world that I can trust, one person who can help pull me out of the shit, it's her. Besides, I still owe her an explanation for why I went off on her before.

  I pull out my phone and key in a quick text message and hit send.

  Wine and chocolate ice cream night?

  I wait for a few minutes before my phone buzzes with an incoming text from Skyler.

  As long as it's double chocolate chunk ice cream.

  I key in a quick reply and send it.

  I'll bring two cartons. See you later. Love you. Always love you.

  Make it three. And always love you back, her reply came in a few moments later.

  A small smile touching my lips, I put the phone back down and try to get my head on straight. I need to focus on the things that still need doing around here. But honestly, I'm having a really hard time focusing enough to do anything at all. Well, anything but cry and feel sorry for myself, anyway.

  I replay the conversation with Liam in my mind over and over and over again. And it never gets any better. It doesn’t change the fact that he lied to me…he looked me straight in the eye and lied to me. He kept insisting that I didn’t understand what he's doing. That he has some grand goddamn plan that I'm just not grasping.

  Arrogant fucking asshole.

  As if his plans are going to be all that different than Damon Moore's. Both of them are going to carve up my town and kill all of the charm and character of it. They're going to kill everything that makes this town special. Unique.

  They're both pieces of garbage, but at least Damon Moore is upfront about his garbage status. He's not hiding what he's doing. Not that it makes it any better, but at least he's out in the open about it. You can't really blame a piece of crap for being what they are. But you can absolutely blame a piece of crap for trying to pass themselves off as a chocolate bar.

  The bells over the front door chime and I roll my eyes. I am not in the mood to deal with customers right now. But, I don’t really have no choice. Not if I want to keep the lights on for another month. Letting out a deep breath, I wipe at my eyes again and do my best to avoid looking distressed or like I'd been doing what I was just doing – crying my eyes out.

  When I feel reasonably composed, I step around to the front and see a woman I've never seen before. She's absolutely gorgeous. Tall, thin, blonde, with the type of body that a supermodel would envy. Dressed in a stylish black skirt, white button-down shirt, and dark jacket, she gives off the air of a professional.

  “Hi,” I call. “Welcome to Bookworms. How are you today?”

  The woman turns and looks me up and down. I can tell right off that she's appraising me. Judging me. Her scrutiny is intense and judging by the look of obvious distaste on her face, she found me wanting. I let out a small sigh and fight the urge to roll my eyes. I have to fight it really, really hard.

  With Port Safira becoming so upscale now, I guess these are the kinds of people I'm going to have to get used to dealing with. So long as I can keep my doors open, anyway.

  “Is there something in particular I can help you find?” I ask.

  She finally tears her eyes away from me and looks around my shop. The look of distaste on her face continues to deepen. So, not only have I been found wanting, but so has my shop. Though, I can't really blame her too much for the latter. Bookworms is a little shabby and has definitely seen better days.

  But, it's not okay for this bitch to judge me or my shop. I open my mouth to tell her she might be more comfortable in a shop that caters to a more high-end – otherwise known as snooty-as-hell – clientele.

  “I'm looking for a book on relationship advice,” she says. “Maybe, something for a struggling marriage?”

  The request takes me by surprise, and for a moment I stare at her stupidly, just blinking.

  “Do you have anything along those lines?” she asks.

  “Umm – well –”

  “Do you speak English?” she snaps.

  The condescending tone in her voice snaps me out of the spell of idiocy I'd been trapped in – and of course, sets me on edge. I don't like being spoken to – or more accurately, being spoken down to – like that. By anybody. Let alone by somebody I had met just thirty seconds ago.

  “I speak English just fine, thank you,” I say.

  “Oh, wonderful,” the woman says, rolling her eyes at me. “Thank goodness for small favors.”

  I let out a breath, forcing myself to throttle my temper back. “As for your book,” I say through gritted teeth, “if you'll follow me back to our self-help section...”

  I turn and without waiting for her, walk back to the self-help section. It's not a huge section – people in Port Safira aren't big on the whole self-improvement thing – but I think I have a few titles that fit the description of what she's looking for. I hear her heels clicking on the wood floor behind me, so I know that she's following.

  Stopping at a shelf, I bend down and take out a couple of books. Standing up again, I hold them out, but she just stands there, staring at me. The way she's looking at me sends a chill down my spine. There's a malicious look in her eyes and a cold, cruel smile touching her lips.

  “My husband and I are having some – difficulties,” she says.

  I hold the books up. “Hence the books, I assume?”

  “It's just a little rough spot,” she says as if she hadn't heard me, still making no move to take the books. I’m starting to get the impression that she doesn't actually want them. “We'll work it out though. One way or another. We will work things out though. Do you understand that, dear?”

  The way she said, “one way or another” sets off red flags in my head. It almost sounds like a threat. Not a threat to me, but a threat to whoever her husband might be. And yet, the way she looks at me – with narrowed eyes that seem to penetrate my very soul – it's almost like she expects me to know who and what she's talking about.

  I am getting the strangest, creepiest vibe from this woman and I want nothing more than to get her out of my shop as quickly as I can. Something isn't right. There's a strange energy about her. As if there's a pressure in the air between us that's building. A storm on the horizon that's gathering strength and is about to come crashing down over my head.

  “I think that you should leave,” I say.

  “I think you know my husband, actually,” she says, her voice colder than the Arctic tundra.

  “I – I don't think so,” I say. “I'd like you to leave now.”

  She runs her fingertips over one of the shelves and examines them, grimacing as if she came away with a handful of filth and grime.

  “Oh, I think you do,” she says, looking around the shop and not at me, which som
ehow adds to the creepy vibe I'm getting. “In fact, from what I'm hearing, you're actually the one who has been fucking him.”

  She turns her eyes to me and I feel like I've been struck by lightning, feeling like every nerve in my body has been caught on fire. As I look at the woman before me, I realize I'm staring into the face of Liam's ex-wife, Brittany. A cold chill runs through me and my stomach ties itself in knots.

  I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is suddenly dry, and I can't seem to get a single word out.

  “What's wrong? Cat got your tongue, dear?” she asks, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face.

  “Look, I don't want any trouble –”

  “You should have thought about that before you let my husband stick his dick in you,” she snaps. “Or, do the vows of marriage mean nothing to a gutter slut like yourself?”

  My eyes widen in shock at the way this woman is speaking to me. I'm left completely dumbfounded for a moment, unable to think. Unable to speak. My brain is telling me to punch this woman in the mouth, and that nobody can speak to me like this. I’m so stunned and uncertain, however, that all I can do is stand there, gaping like an idiot.

  “Do you have nothing to say for yourself,” Brittany asks.

  I clear my throat and try to work up enough saliva to get my mouth working again. It takes a moment, but I'm finally able to gain enough control of myself to respond. Though my brain is still a bit addled, and my usual levels of wit and snark have deserted me.

  “I heard you were divorced,” is all I can think of to say.

  “It's not finalized yet,” she says simply. “And like I said, we're just going through a rough patch. We're working things out.”

  “You're working things out?”

  A brittle laugh passes her lips and she looks at me with utter contempt in her eyes. “Oh, he didn't tell you?” she says. “Well, that's very much like Liam. He does what he wants when he wants.”

  She looks me up and down, with a smarmy, condescending smile on her lips.

  “Or, should I say, who he wants?” she says. “If there's one thing Liam loves more than money, it's pussy.”

  I stare at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. My mind is awash in a chaotic storm of emotion and I can't think of a response to her. Brittany looks me up and down, her expression one of amusement mixed with revulsion.

  “Trust me when I say, you're not really his type, dear,” Brittany says. “You were nothing but a plaything to him. Somebody to pass the time with while we sorted through our issues. I have no qualms with him fucking you, I suppose. After all, I know he could never be serious about somebody like – well – you.”

  “Somebody like me?”

  She scoffs. “Somebody so – low-class,” she says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “You're a peasant, dear. You shouldn’t mix with people like us. Oh, I'm going to forgive Liam for fucking you. I hear men like to slum around a little bit every now and then, just to get a feel for how the lesser people live – and apparently fuck. But, you were nothing more than an itch that needed to be scratched for him.”

  Tears roll down my cheeks and I can't seem to stop them. Brittany looks at me, her eyes sparkling with amusement as laughter bubbles up out of her throat.

  “Oh – you actually thought the two of you could have something together?” she asks, her voice sharp and brittle. “You actually believed he could love somebody like you? Oh, that's so precious. Utterly naive, but precious. You're so cute.”

  “Get out of my store,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

  Brittany just laughs out loud, shaking her head at me. Anger, dark and bottomless, begins to well up within me. My tears stop falling and I'm starting to see red at the edges of my vision. I've made the turn from devastated to furious and I know, if this woman doesn't get out of my face soon, she's going to regret it.

  “Get out of my store now,” I say, my voice gaining strength. “And you can keep your ridiculous fucking husband. I'm done with him anyway.”

  Brittany laughs and claps her hands, clearly delighted. “Adorable,” she says. “Totally adorable.”

  “You may have money, but you have no class,” I hiss. “You and that piece of shit you call a husband are made for each other. You deserve each other.”

  “Yes, we do,” she says. “And don't worry, I'll be collecting him shortly. We'll be leaving this little backwoods town soon enough and you can go back to your double-wide trailer to live out your sad, pathetic excuse for a life.”

  “Get the fuck out of my store right now,” I scream. “Or, I swear to God, I'm going to rip your fucking heart straight out of your chest.”

  Brittany laughs. “I can see why Liam was so keen to fuck you,” she says. “You seem pretty feisty to me. I can only imagine what you must be like in the sack.”

  I drop the books I'm holding and ball up my fists. I've had enough of this shit. I've had enough of Brittany and I've had enough of Liam. For all I care, they can both die in a helicopter wreck. In fact, I hope they do.

  Brittany raises her hands in surrender, that bitchy, condescending smirk still on her lips. “I'm leaving now, dear,” she says. “I just wanted to say hello and introduce myself. I'm sorry that I've caused you to be so upset. The truth often has that effect on people.”

  Without another word, she turns and leaves the store, the bells tinkling as the door closes. I sink to my knees and bury my face in my hands. I can't stop the tears and my body is racked with sobs. My howls of devastation echo throughout the store.

  I've never felt so miserable in my entire life. I've never felt so alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Paige

  I don't do it often, but today, I made the decision to close the shop early. It's not like I was going to have a mad rush at the end of the day anyway. And after my encounter with Brittany, I don't think anybody would have blamed me in the least for wanting to knock off a bit early, so I can go drink myself blind. Which seems like a pretty reasonable and rational response to the afternoon I had.

  What started off as a really nice day, following the best night of my life, has gone completely off the rails and turned into one of the shittiest days I can remember.

  I stop at the store and pick up three cartons of ice cream, as requested by Skyler. She's got a full wine cabinet at home, so I don't need to worry about that. It's only five-thirty, but it's already fully dark by the time I pull into my driveway. It's one of the things I like least about winter – how early the sun sets and night falls.

  Skyler isn't going to be done at the Grill for a few hours yet, so I have some time to kill. I figure a long, hot shower will feel wonderful right about now. Maybe it'll wash off some of the crap that stuck to me today.

  The house is black and still as I climb out of my car and head towards the front door, bags in hand. Unlocking the door, I step inside and close it behind me, making sure to lock it. I walk into the kitchen and leave the ice cream in the freezer.

  I'm so distracted by all the thoughts running through my head, that it takes me a minute to register that something's different about my house. That something isn't right. I stop in my tracks and hold my breath, looking around the kitchen for the source of my unease.

  From the kitchen, I can see the darkened hallway that leads into the living room. It's as if there's a physical pressure in the air, something dark and foreboding that's pressing down on me. As I stare at the archway that leads into the living room, I feel like there's something beyond it. Something waiting for me. Something dark and sinister.

  And then it hits me. The thing that's different. The thing that's not right. I have lights on a timer. They're supposed to come on at five o'clock. Every night. I don't like coming into a dark house, and I'm so distracted and caught up in my own crap that it's taken me this long to figure out that the lights that should be on, are not.

  It's entirely possible that the timer failed. That it simply glitched and I'm being a paranoid fool. But, as I sta
nd there, still as a statue, barely breathing, I can feel something in the darkness. It's like the entire world around me is holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. For whatever is in the darkness waiting for me, to burst out and claim me.

  “H – hello?” I call, anxiously.

  There's no response from the darkness of the living room. There's no sound at all. It's like I've been dropped into a vacuum and sound doesn't exist. Or, there isn't actually anybody in the living room. I take a couple of steps forward and step into the darkened room.

  The room is pitch black. Shadows as thick as the deepest reaches of space cling to every corner and I can't see a damn thing. I reach to my right, my hand sliding up and down on the wall until I find the switch. I take a deep breath and pause, not sure I want to turn it on and see what's in the living room, but not quite able to stop myself from flipping it.

  The switch makes a clicking sound and the lights come on, bathing my living room in soft, golden light. I let out the breath I'm holding, a powerful wave of relief washing down over me as I stare at the room. The empty room. A nervous chuckle slips out of my mouth and I shake my head, feeling like an idiot.

  “Christ,” I mutter to myself. “I'm getting paranoid.”

  “Good evening, Paige.”

  A lightning bolt of panic sears my nerves and my stomach lurches at the sound of the voice – the voice behind me in the dining room. Slowly, I turn around to find Damon Moore seated at the head of the table staring at me, with a tall, large man I don't know standing beside him.

  “W – what are you doing in my house?” I ask.

  “Well, I was hoping you and I could have a chat.”

  I take a step backward, my heart thundering in my chest. “I want you out of my house,” I say, my voice quavering. “I want you out of my house right now.”

  “Not until we've had a chance to talk,” Damon says. “Now, don't be rude and put on some coffee for your guests.”