1
CAROLINE
My forehead sinks into my palm, and I squeeze my tired eyes shut as I listen to the loans specialist on the other end of the phone tell me why they won’t be going ahead with my application.
“But I can pay. If I could just take a three-month payment break at the start of the loan…”
Even I hate the desperation in my voice, and it’s clearly not doing anything to convince the woman on the other end of the line that they should lend me money.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Leveson. We can’t help you.”
The voice is firm, and I know there’s no point in trying to change her mind.
“Thank you for your time,” I mumble before ending the call and slamming my phone down on the desk.
My mug jumps, and cold coffee sloshes over the rim. I watch it trickle down the side of the “Girl Boss” mug, leaving a muddy trail through the cheerful pink block writing.
With a heavy sigh, I open my laptop. I’ve filled out numerous online loan applications in the last two days and gotten more rejections than I care to count. I can’t handle any more calls with sympathetic but firm loan specialists today.
It’s time to turn my attention to the task I’ve been putting off all day.
There are forty-three unread emails in my inbox. I scan the bold subject lines.
“Where’s my order?” “Missing order.” And the passive aggressive “Thanks for ruining my health kick.”
My fingers are shaking as I open the first one. I’ve been dreading this all day, but I can no longer ignore my angry customers.
The first email is pleasant, simply wondering where their order is. They remind me that the money has already left their account and they paid for three day delivery, but that was two weeks ago.
I hit “reply” and paste the template response I created last week when I realized how far that asshole ex-business partner and soon-to-be ex-husband had ripped me off. It explains that we’re having supplier issues and I’ll send their order out as soon as I can.
I spend the next two hours replying to emails, trying to appease my upset customers, some of whom I’ve met personally at events, and pray that none of them ask for a refund.
By the time I’ve finished replying to the emails, my eyes are strained and my neck stiff. I get out of my chair and stretch, rolling my shoulders as I walk to the window.
My home office is on the second floor. I spend a moment looking at the palm trees that line the road, swaying in the wind. My shirt sticks to my body in the heat, but I daren’t put the air conditioning on. I’m not sure I’ll be able to pay the rent next week. I don’t want to add any unnecessary bills.
A wave of bitterness rises my throat. This was supposed to be my time. After raising my daughter practically on my own, it was my time to finally do what I wanted in life.
The move to LA, launching the food supplement business, the new husband.
But look how it turned out. A failing business, a crook for a husband, and now it’s sticky hot and I’m stuck in my home office trying to get myself out of this mess.
I push myself against the open window, letting the faint breeze sweep across my brow. My eyes close and I strain my ears, listening for the sounds of the ocean.
I’m only a few blocks away, but I may as well be inland. The only noise I hear is the continuous flow of traffic that never seems to stop. So much for the LA dream.
When I open my eyes, I catch sight of a dark car parked across the road. My heart leaps into my throat.
What if it’s him? What if it’s Paul, my ex-husband?
Fear grips me, and I step back from the window, my heart hammering in my chest. My ex took my money and he ruined my business, but that wasn’t enough. He said if I reported him, he’d kill me and come for my daughter.
Yeah, nice guy I got involved with.
With my blood thumping in my ears, I peer around the side of the curtain to take a better look at the car.
The window is open a crack, and through the top of it I catch a glimpse of a bald head—a large bald, shiny head that I’d recognize anywhere.
