Love or Luxury

by Heather Thurmeier

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Note from the Publisher

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgment

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Heather Thurmeier

  Reviews

  A Silver Publishing Book

  Love or Luxury

  Copyright © 2012 by Heather Thurmeier

  E-book ISBN: 9781614956150

  First E-book Publication: September 2012

  Cover design by Reese Dante

  Editor: Matthew Morris-Cook

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Silver Publishing

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  If you see "free shares" offered or cut-rate sales of this title on pirate sites, you can report the offending entry to copyright@spsilverpublishing.com.

  This book is written in US English.

  PUBLISHER

  www.SPSilverPublishing.com

  Note from the Publisher

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for your purchase of this title. The authors and staff of Silver Publishing hope you enjoy this read and that we will have a long and happy association together.

  Please remember that the only money authors make from writing comes from the sales of their books. If you like their work, spread the word and tell others about the books, but please refrain from sharing this book in any form. Authors depend on sales and sales only to support their families.

  If you see "free shares" offered or cut-rate sales of this title on pirate sites, you can report the offending entry to copyright@spsilverpublishing.com.

  Thank you for not pirating our titles.

  Lodewyk Deysel

  Publisher

  Silver Publishing

  http://www.spsilverpublishing.com

  Dedication

  To my husband and kids,

  You are my proof that happily ever after exists.

  Trademarks Acknowledgment

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Beamer (BMW): Bayerische Motoren Werke Aktiengesellschaft

  Bentley: Bentley Motors Limited

  Blackberry: Research in Motion Limited

  Dooney & Bourke: Dooney & Bourke Inc

  Facebook: Facebook Inc

  Fortune 500: Time Inc

  iPhone: Apple Inc

  Jaguar: Jaguar Cars Limited

  Lexus: Toyota Jidosha Kabushiki Kaisha

  Louis Vuitton: Louis Vuitton Malletier

  MTV: Viacom International Inc

  Nordstrom: NIHC Inc

  Spanx: Spanx Inc

  Chapter One

  Rebecca Sanders let the door to the Meadow Ridge Credit Union slam behind her as she blinked away the dust that had obviously irritated her eyes. Her watery eyes had absolutely nothing to do with the surly bank manager who'd told her that no, she couldn't take a loan against a loan.

  Really? Why not?

  She needed a little extra to float her until she got her paycheck next Friday. Then she'd happily pay back her line of credit… Well, after she paid her rent. It was already the tenth of September and soon the landlady would realize her rent check was missing. Again.

  But Rebecca had every intention of paying her as soon as she could.

  And also, whatever bill came in the mail yesterday in that God-awful red envelope she'd accidentally dropped behind the throw pillow on the couch.

  If only rent in the Meadow wasn't so damned expensive. She lived in one of the few luxury apartment buildings, and the rent was astronomical. But what other option did she have? The Meadow Ridge University Apartments were subsidized for students and staff only. Even if they were the cheapest option in town, she'd have to become a student, which she couldn't afford, or she'd have to take a job at the university, which her friends would surely find out about.

  Her friends in the Meadow didn't work actual paying jobs. They volunteered for charities. If they knew she worked to pay her rent, they'd figure out there was a problem with her non-existent trust fund and that couldn't happen. Her friends still believed her money came from the Blooms, the family who'd taken her in when her father had started working for them, but they hadn't given her a penny since she'd moved out. How that news hadn't hit the gossip channels yet, she had no idea, but she was very thankful her financial troubles remained a secret.

  Her footsteps clicked loudly on the sidewalk as she strode away from the bank, determined not to look back and give them the finger. That wouldn't be very ladylike, even if it was well deserved. MRCU could keep their money and shove it where the sun didn't shine. She'd been fine without them before, and she'd be fine without them again.

  She was always fine on her own.

  Rebecca bit her lower lip as hard as she could without breaking through the skin. Worked like a charm every time. The quiver in her chin stopped before it even got started.

  Better.

  Her Dooney and Bourke black shoulder bag fell to the crook in her elbow as she weaved through the window shoppers on the sidewalk. Pausing mid-step, she eyed the bag. She'd signed the credit card slip for this beauty last week. Maybe it wasn't too late to return it for a full refund. A scuff on the bottom right corner of the bag caught her attention as if it had warning flares circling it. Her heart sank. Damn it. She'd accidentally brushed it against a display case in Nordstrom's. They'd never return it and, even if she could sell it somewhere else, she'd be lucky to get half of what she'd originally paid now that the bag wasn't mint anymore.

  At least this one was black with neutral styling, so it should go with almost everything. Hopefully, it would last more than one season. It had to at this point.

  Walking on autopilot down the sidewalk toward her apartment, she thought about the clothes, designer bags, and shoes currently at home in her closet. Which ones could she afford to part with this time without her friends noticing?

  As long as her closest friends still believed she belonged in Meadow Ridge, then the eligible men would still believe it too.

  Meadow Ridge was an elite, gated community. Rebecca had lived there practically her whole life, and everyone knew her. But would they still love and accept her if they knew she was broke? And if she had any hope of marrying a man in the Meadow, she had to present herself as an acceptable pillar of the community, not a burden on their finances.

  She did want a husband from the Meadow. She wanted to live here for the rest of her life with a man she loved, a cozy little mansion, and a couple of kids.

 
; Of course, she didn't just want any man from the Meadow. No, she had her sights set on one particular man—Reid Harper, her high school sweetheart. They'd been inseparable in high school. She'd fallen in love. Hard. And then he'd graduated and gone off to college to become a doctor, taking her heart with him.

  She had faith that even though they'd lost touch over the years, he would come back to the Meadow. When he did, she'd be there waiting for him. Ready to pick up right where they'd left off.

  But with every overdue notice that came in the mail, her dream life slipped farther away. She forced her mind to focus on the contents of her now sparse closet. What things could she sell next that wouldn't be missed? Which ones would fetch the best price?

  The red vintage handbag with the beaded details? Maybe. The silver stilettos? No, those went with everything. She'd be better off keeping that pair. The five-hundred dollar, three-inch teal heels she'd worn on New Year's Eve last year could go, though. She loved them, but really, once she'd worn them out on such a high-profile night, they were too recognizable to wear a second time.

  Rebecca picked up her pace. She needed to get home and take pictures of everything to list online before she left for work, then maybe, by some miracle, it would all sell by the time she got home tonight.

  Sighing, she slowed her pace again. Of course, that plan involved waiting on auction sites and checks to clear. She needed money now, not sometime next week.

  Rounding the corner from Lark Avenue, then on to Cedar Lane, she walked the last half block to her apartment and tried to tally the amount she could get for her things. If the buyer at Marsha's Designer Attic was in a good mood today, she might get as much as a thousand. If not, then it could be as little as four or five hundred. But anything in her pocket was better than nothing.

  The front door to her building squeaked as the doorman opened it for her. "Good morning, Ms Sanders. You're looking lovely as usual today."

  "Shh!" She hissed and nodded toward the landlady's closed door.

  He put his finger to his lips in the universal sign for quiet and winked.

  "Thank you," she whispered, slipping past him. She held her breath, praying the click of the door closing wouldn't ring out in the tiny hallway like a gunshot. It clicked. She froze.

  Nothing but the sound of daytime TV dramas seeped out from beneath the landlady's door. A slow breath escaped Rebecca as she sagged with relief.

  She climbed the marble staircase carefully, making sure to stay on the balls of her feet and not let the heels of her boots touch the steps. She'd gotten lucky with the door, but there'd be no mistaking the sound of her heels clicking up the stairs.

  The door to her second-floor apartment closed softly behind her as she pulled off her boots and set them gently on the carpet. Two more overdue notices taunted her from the mail she'd collected on the way up. She pulled them from the stack and stuffed them behind the throw pillow that hid her other bills from sight. She rearranged the pillow, so it sat nicely on the couch then she carefully folded her favorite fuzzy blue blanket, and draped it across the entire section of the couch.

  There. Perfect. Out of sight, out of mind.

  She'd look at the bills later when she had cash in her pocket and could read them without her eyes tearing up. Until then, they would be comfortably hidden away.

  A bang on the door made her jump. "I know you're in there. I heard you come up."

  "Shit," she swore under her breath. It really wasn't becoming to curse, but sometimes she had to say the hell with etiquette. Of all the curse words currently sprinting through her mind, that one was the least vulgar.

  "Open this door, Miss Sanders. I need to talk to you."

  Fire escape? Oh no. Someone would see her. Under the bed? No, she wasn't five years old anymore. Besides, who knew how big the dust bunnies were under there? The last thing she needed was to kick her allergies into gear and end up with an asthma attack. She couldn't even afford the copay to see the doctor right now, let alone the prescription for a new inhaler since her old one had run out.

  She clenched her jaw. I'm better than this. Suck it up, buttercup.

  Steadying her will, she opened the door and forced a smile. "Hi, Sally. How are you?"

  "I'd be better if you'd pay your rent on time one of these months instead of making me tromp all the way up here when my shows are on." Sally folded her arms and gave her "The Look."

  "The Look" was never good. It meant Sally was at the end of her limits and wouldn't leave without a solid chunk of money in her hand. Not possible today when Rebecca's pockets were still empty, thanks to the bank.

  She pushed her black handbag under the corner of the couch with her foot, feeling the guilt of her purchase gnaw at her. Somehow, she had to figure out a way to avoid shopping trips with the girls. She couldn't resist the lure of new purchases when her friends were around, expecting her to buy like they did, like she always had.

  "I'm really sorry about that," Rebecca said with a smile and as much heartfelt remorse as she could pull together. "I meant to get you the rent last week, but then I just got so busy with work and everything. I—"

  "Oh, good," Sally said, cutting her off mid-excuse. "I'll just collect the money now then since you had it ready last week."

  "Well, not exactly ready. You see I had to buy a few… things before I was able to get home to give you the money."

  "And?"

  Rebecca pulled a strand of her crazy red hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. "And I sort of don't have it anymore."

  Sally shifted her weight, and Rebecca could see the color of anger rising in her cheeks. Before Sally could threaten her or yell at her again, Rebecca said, "But I'll get it for you. I've got a plan, and you'll have your money tomorrow. I promise."

  "I better have my money. This is your last chance, missy. You got that? Your late payments throw my bookkeeping off, and I won't have it anymore. Either you start paying on the first of the month like everyone else, or you find yourself somewhere else to live."

  "I will. I swear."

  "You have until tomorrow. Then I put your stuff on the curb and change the locks. There's lots of rich people in this town who will pay their rent on time." With that, Sally turned and padded back down the stairs in her bare feet, ending their conversation with a definitive door slam.

  Wow.

  Rebecca chewed on the inside of her cheek, which was already raw and sore, and walked directly to her closet with purpose. What could she live without today so she still had a place to live tomorrow? She pulled shoes, handbags, and belts—all with designer labels—out of the closet and stuffed them into a large duffle bag. Her black jeans, polo-style shirt with the diner's logo embroidered on the back, and sneakers for work went into a cute little leather backpack. With one last solemn glance into her ever-thinning closet, she shut off the light.

  It was too sad and pathetic in there to look for long.

  She collapsed on the couch for a minute, taking a bite of the last apple in her fruit bowl that now sat on a bare kitchen counter instead of the non-existent kitchen table, and looked around her apartment. Her closet wasn't the only pathetic thing in the place. If things kept up this way, she'd have nothing left to sell in another month or two.

  At least she still had stuff to sell now.

  She tossed her apple core into the garbage, shouldered her heavy duffle bag, and swung her backpack over the other. Shoving a reusable bottle filled with water and her apartment keys into her handbag, she walked out the door. Giving it one quick tug, she made sure it was closed before heading down the stairs and out onto the street.

  As she rounded the corner back onto Lark Avenue, she felt the weight of the bag on her back. The contents shifted with every step on her wobbly, too-high heels. She should have worn her work sneakers instead of her boots. Then at least she'd have better balance under the unsteady bag. There must be more stuffed in the duffle than she'd thought.

  Her Beamer waited for her across the street, and she
said a silent thanks to the universe for lucking out with her parking spot last night when she got home from work.

  She stepped off the sidewalk and into the crosswalk, intent on waiting for the light to change so she could cross, but the bag on her shoulder slipped suddenly, falling to her elbow. The shift sent her off balance on her spindly boot heels, and she stumbled, fighting to regain her footing and not drop the heavy bag. The contents would be even more discounted if they got scuffed on the way to the thrift store.

  "Damn it," she muttered, pissed off for filling the one bag so full. Why hadn't she used two bags, instead of one giant one? Then maybe she wouldn't be teetering around on heels like a kid wearing her mother's shoes for dress up and feeling like a total moron.

  Squealing tires and honking startled Rebecca out of her thoughts. It was as if someone had honked directly into her ears. She glanced up just in time to see the motorcycle barreling toward her as it skidded to a stop. She opened her mouth to scream, but fear choked her into silence.

  Smoke rose from the tires as the motorcycle came to rest a mere foot from her hip. She swallowed hard. Huh, she hadn't seen that coming.

  The horn fell silent, but the ringing in her eardrum squealed along with the pounding of her pulse. Just what she needed to continue her all-too-wonderful day—ringing ears and a near-death experience. Excellent.

  * * * *

  "Haven't you ever heard to look both ways before you cross the street?" Finn Daton asked as his heart pounded in his chest. What the hell was with this chick? Was she so self-absorbed that she couldn't even pay attention to the things outside of her little bubble long enough to cross the damn street safely?