by Ella Goode
Loyalty Card
Ella Goode
Contents
Summary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
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Summary
Birdie has been alone most of her life. Even before her mother took off for Chicago, Birdie’s been in the one in charge of her household. She has her own small apartment and a decent job doing the books for her one friend, ol’ Mr. Higgins. She doesn’t need anything else—particularly not a man who steals her phone and then her tampons just because she can’t locate her grocery store loyalty card.
After his parents were killed in a freak car accident, Nick moves his grandmother to a small town in southern Illinois where he plans to grieve and plot a course of revenge. He doesn’t have any intentions of falling for the girl at the grocery store. He didn’t mean to steal her groceries but now that he has them, he’ll have to figure out a way to return them even if it means using her phone number he memorized inside the grocery store. Once he laid eyes on Birdie, he realized he can’t live without her love—and her loyalty.
Chapter One
Nick
“Do you have a Shoppee loyalty card?” the bored clerk asks the girl in front of me.
“Helen, you know that I do. I’m here every week.” The girl digs through her purse, pulling out a giant wallet stuffed with God knows what, a keychain with three tiny dogs attached to it, a hairbrush and one of those doohickies that girls supposedly wear in their hair but I’ve only ever seen on their wrists, and a calculator. Who carries around calculators? “I can’t find it.”
“What’s the number?”
“Don’t you know?”
“I don’t got your number memorized, now do I, ‘cuz that’d be against the law,” the clerk snaps back.
“How is it against the law to memorize loyalty card numbers for the store you’re employed by?” she asks, shoving the stuff back into her purse.
I wish I knew what a loyalty card was because I’d give her mine so I could get out of this hellhole. I’ve got three other tasks on my list of normal people activities so I can prove to my gran that the old bat of a nurse can be shown the door. I’m all Gran needs.
“I don’t make the rules, girlie. Besides, it ain’t the Shoppee number. It’s your phone number.”
The girl’s head jerks up and she stares at the clerk. “All you need is my phone number? Why didn’t you say so?”
“I did. I said, what’s your Shoppee number and you just gave me some attitude about me not knowing what it is.”
This conversation is going nowhere. I tally the two bags of groceries the girl purchased and slide two one-hundred dollar bills across the conveyor belt. “Here. I’ll pay for it.”
The girl grabs the money and throws it in my face. As in actually crushes the two bills in her tiny fist and launches the paper at me. “I don’t need your money.” She rattles off seven digits, like she’s about to audition for a rap battle with Eminem, grabs the receipt and stomps off, leaving her two bags of groceries behind.
“I got it,” I say before the clerk can call for the girl’s attention. I drop the two damaged bills on top of the counter, throw my few items into a bag and then haul ass after the girl. My boots splash in a couple of puddles from the recent rain before I catch her in the middle of the parking lot. “Hey, you forgot these,” I tell her, holding up the groceries.
She flushes. “I was coming back for them,” she snaps but her face grows red with chagrin.
“I know. I saved you a trip.” My dad once said that there were three rules he lived his life by. First, think before speaking; second, never give up; and third, never argue with the people you love. Apparently he’d learned the hard way and had to chase Mom for a whole year before she agreed to marry him. “I’ll carry them to your car.”
“No. You won’t.” She lunges for the bags, which I swing out of her reach.
“It’s not a problem.”
“It will be if you don’t give me my groceries. Just give them to me and no one gets hurt.” She gets a determined look on her face and lowers into some weird kind of fighting crouch.
I’d scratch my head in confusion but my hands are full. “Are you worried I’m going to stalk you once I know your license plate number?”
She makes a face. “No. I hadn’t even thought of that, but now I am. Thanks for the heads-up about your creeptasticness.”
“Wanting to help you with your groceries is creeptastic?” Now is not the time to tell her that I memorized her phone number.
“You’re holding them hostage. That’s what’s creepy.”
“I mean...I can put them on the ground.” I start lowering them but she yelps out an objection.
“Wait! It’s wet.”
I straighten up. “I can’t help you carry them to the car but you don’t want me putting them on the ground. If I hand them over, our hands might touch and from the sounds of it, you may find that creepy.”
“I never said that.” She marches up and yanks the bags out of my hands. There’s a brief electric contact that makes her eyes flare. I hide a smirk by dipping my head down and pulling my few items out of the bag.
“Those are mine.” She grabs the box of tampons from my hand.
I raise my eyes to the heavens and implore my old man for some forgiveness. “Nah, I’m sorry, but those are mine.”
“They’re tampons. Tampons,” she repeats in case I missed it the first time.
“I know,” I reply placidly. I tuck the box under my arm and grab the four-pack of Red Bull and package of raspberries. “Gran likes to drink sweetened caffeine in the morning. I’ve tried to talk her out of it but she claims that old people deserve to eat whatever they want and if that means drinking Red Bull with raspberries and grenadine, then that’s what she’s drinking.“
“Then why are you taking mine?” She makes another grab for it, but slips in the water—“Oh no,” she cries--and tumbles into my chest.
“Hope you didn’t have eggs in your bag,” I say, a little dazed by the thigh to tit contact. She’s an armful. Full tits, curvy hips, small waist. Too bad we’re standing in the middle of a public parking lot and people frown on public nudity. With a reluctant sigh, I push her to her feet and take a step back--not because I don’t want her, but because I want her too much. All it took was one arrow from her deadly eyes to make me tumble in love with her. It happens that way for the Bowman men. I don’t know why but it’s always been the case.
“I don’t,” she says, dusting herself off and grabbing her bags. “Anyway, thanks for the help. Don’t follow me.”
I dip my chin and turn the other way. I don’t need to know her car. I have her phone number.
Chapter Two
Birdie
I grab my bags from the stranger and head toward my apartment building. I steal a few peeks over my shoulder. He stands there watching me go. He thought I was heading for a car but I walked to the store. It isn't far from home. He hasn't moved so I don’t think he’s going to follow me. Is it weird that I might kind of want the guy to follow me? I shake the creepy thought from my head because now I am being the creeper.
I’ve already had a long day and that little episode has added to it. I was so frazzled in the store and it was partly his fault. I’d seen him in the store cruising the aisles looking a little los
t. He looked out of place in his fancy suit holding the bright yellow grocery basket.
I’m not sure if it was a random act of kindness or the handsome stranger had an ulterior motive. My boss, Mr. Higgins, is always warning me about men and their ways. He says that there isn’t a decent one out there and that I shouldn’t even bother dating because no man will ever be good enough for me. I always laugh when he tells me that. I’m glad that he thinks I’m so perfect that all men are beneath me. I always nod in agreement, knowing I’ll never win a fight with him. He is like a dad to me at this point and I don’t want to argue with him. It is easier to nod in agreement.
The truth of the matter is that I’ve never had much luck in the dating world. I’ve never found anyone that I’m really interested enough in to make an effort to pursue a relationship. My eyes flick back again to see if the handsome stranger is still watching me as I go. My heart gives a funny flutter, the same as it did when his fingers grazed mine. A zap of something hit me so hard it knocked the air right out of my lungs. I turn my head in time to barely catch myself from running into a light pole.
“Holy cow,” I gasp, dodging it just in time. I would have landed on my ass this time. No handsome stranger to stop me from hitting the hard wet ground. My body had melted into his. Hitting him was like hitting a wall but one that smelled good. I didn't know hitting a wall could feel good but it had. Too good. I shake my head, knowing that chance encounter was only a fluke and the way my body reacted to his when I lost my balance was only a sign of being tired and nothing else.
I need my bed and maybe one of those Red Bull cans he had. Either way, in hindsight, it’s funny. I am being a nut. Mr. Higgins has made me wary of all men. Plus that one date I went on with that guy I’d found on a dating app… I stop my train of thought. I’m not even going there. That man still freaks me out. Thank God he doesn't know where I live or my phone number. He keeps finding out my email addresses. I delete them and within a week of getting a new one he’ll have tracked me down again. It’s scary and a big reason why I don’t do the whole social media thing.
I round the corner to the laundromat, heading in the front door toward the back. It’s dead in here tonight. I peek into Mr. Higgins’ office to see if he’s there. He can be hit or miss. He doesn’t lock the door but I don’t see him. I place his favorite candy bar on his desk before heading upstairs to my small apartment.
I lucked out when I found the job of helping Mr. Higgins. He’s not only given me a job but the apartment that sat empty over the laundromat that also offered dry cleaning. Well, it offered it but we outsourced it. There isn’t enough space here to do it on site. That is part of my job. I take in the orders and get them ready to be picked up each night. Every morning the orders return and are ready for pick up. It is easy, but I spend a lot of time on my feet. The harder work comes with keeping up Mr. Higgins’ bookkeeping. He thinks he can do it himself. At least he tries until he curses up a storm and I have to fix it for him. I wonder where he’s off to now.
I enter my place, setting the bags down on the small table before heading over to my day bed and falling back onto it. My stomach protests, wanting me to get up and make something to eat. My feet are telling me not to move but I need to take my shoes off. My toes are cold and my sneakers and socks are soaked from the rain. I blow a piece of hair out of my face.
God, I bet I look a mess. My mind flashes to the handsome man at the store. When I think back on it, I was the one acting crazy. My face heats with a little bit of mortification. I shouldn’t care; I’ll likely never see him again. What if he was only trying to do something nice and I acted as though he was trying to creep all over me? A ball forms in my chest at the thought of never seeing Mr. Handsome again. It’s for the best. It’s not as though I really have time to date anyway.
I pull myself from the bed, my eyes going to the mirror that hangs over my bed. It’s one of my favorite things in my little place, since it’s in the shape of a heart. My reflection shows me that the rain has turned my curly hair into a fuzzy ball. My cheeks are still flushed and I’m not really sure why, to be honest. It’s probably a mixture of everything. I groan, falling back down onto the bed. Yeah, so never seeing him again.
I sit up. Wait. Did he steal my tampons?
Chapter Three
Nick
“Here’s your meds, new contact pads for your pain machine, a four-pack of Red Bull, raspberries, grenadine, and a box of stationery. The good kind,” I add before she can ask.
“Caring for a person takes more than being able to run errands and gather things on a list,” the nurse interjects. “You have to be timely, anticipate her needs, watch for signs of--”
“It’s not like the boy is going to take your job away,” Gran cuts in. “All right. I made a promise that if you could do the things on my list, I’d let you be my primary caretaker. I don’t go back on my promises.”
“But-but, he’s too young!” the nurse nearly shouts.
“Don’t worry. You’ll still get a fat check,” I tell the cranky woman as I herd her toward the door. “But now you only have to work a few hours a day instead of eight of them. It’s a win for everyone.” At the entry, I stoop down and swipe her purse off the floor. I set the bag in her hands and gently nudge her out. “See you tomorrow at ten,” I say brightly before shutting the door in her face.
“I’m not sure why you dislike Nurse Pat so much,” Gran calls from the sofa.
“She’s nosy and we don’t need her.” I sit down on the edge of the coffee table and pull out the new contact pads. “We’re doing fine on our own.”
Gran huffs at this. “Even so, child, I’m going to need her when you go back and deal with that uncle of yours. You know you can’t hide out here forever.”
I tear the old pad off the lead and toss it to the side. “Define forever.”
“Nick.”
“Gran.”
She gives me a fierce look. I attach the new contacts and set the pain machine on the table. Reaching out, I take her hands in mine. The skin feels thin and brittle. She’s getting old and I hate that. She’s all I have left now. “I need to find out who in the company is loyal to Dad—was, I mean,” I correct myself. Dad’s gone now, and so is Mom, in the car accident that sent me on the run to this small town in southern Illinois. Scared that my uncle was going to do my gran in, too, I kidnapped her from her condo and brought her here.
“You need to go back. You should leave me here with Nurse Pat, hire a boatload of bodyguards, and just plant yourself in that executive boardroom until you’ve wrestled control of the company from that asshole’s hands.”
“I need the board of directors to vote me in, Gran.” I say it gently because Gran doesn’t have a lot of experience in the boardroom. She likes to say she knows an asshole when she sees one, though, based upon the thirty years she spent cleaning toilets before my mom married my dad.
“Hmph,” she grunts, crossing her arms across her chest.
I understand her frustration. I have enough cash to last us for a year, if I’m careful, but if I let a year go by without confronting my uncle, I’ll have lost. I’m sure that he tampered with the brakes on my dad’s Maybach. That car was only three months old so there should’ve been no failures. It’s not like that car is mass-produced. Only a few thousand of them are made every year. They’re supposed to be as safe as a presidential limo, yet my parents died, careening off an overpass. The press said it could’ve been a murder/suicide, but what would be the reason? They loved each other from the moment they laid eyes on each other twenty-four years ago. Sure, it took a whole year to convince my mom that the rich kid from the North Shore who showed up at her door every night bearing expensive gifts wasn’t in it for just sex or conquest, but because he truly loved her, and he was so persistent she eventually gave in to her own feelings. Nine months later, I was born. I mourn them, but right now I’m more angry than anything. Plus, I need to be strong for Gran, so I’m shutting away all those bad feelings and
focusing on what’s good in my life. Gran’s alive. I’ve got enough funds to take care of us and I’m looking into ways to oust my uncle.
I start to shove things into the bag when I see an unfamiliar box. “Huh.” I pull it out and inspect it.
“Those for my nose?” Gran asks. “They look a little big for me. I like the small pink ones.”
“I know.” I reach down and pull out the ones she likes. “I bought you these.” They’re for her nose bleeds. She gets them frequently and there isn’t anything like a tampon to staunch the flow, which makes sense since that’s literally what they’re made for—only not for the nose.
“Then what are you doing with those?” She eyes the box suspiciously. “You got a medical problem I don’t know about?”
“No, Gran.” I shout out a laugh. “I’m healthy as an ox. These—“ I shake the box—“are my ticket to love.”
Her eyes narrow even further. “Did you drink something already? It’s not even four in the afternoon.”
I get up, place the contact pads on Gran’s shoulder and hand her the pain machine. “Nope. I’m completely sober. I met the woman I’m going to marry at the grocery store and now I have an excuse to contact her.”
“Oh?” Gran perks up. “What’s her name?”
“Dunno,” I say with my head bent over my phone.
“Whaddya mean you don’t know? How’re you contacting her on that phone of yours if you don’t know her name?”