Page 12 of Miss Fortune

“I wondered if you got your car into the shop for an estimate on the damage.”

I’d dropped it off this morning before my meeting and already had an estimate. The damage was over a thousand dollars. The downside of having a BMW was the expense of fixing one. “It’s all right. I have it covered.” I’d pay my deductible of five hundred and be done with it.

Her lips flattened. Instead of appearing relieved, her expression reflected temper. “You absolutely don’t have it covered. I’m paying for the damage.”

She was temping and working odd jobs in one of the most expensive cities in the US. I wasn’t about to stick her with a thousand-dollar unexpected expense. “It’s not necessary.”

Her hands went on her hips. “It is necessary.”

“You can’t work for me and owe me money. It wouldn’t look good.” I figured the argument was sound, but she flipped it.

“Fine, then I quit. How much do I owe you?”

My lips twitched at her unexpected stubbornness. “Do you want Doris to find out you quit on her day of surgery?”

Her eyes narrowed, but her lips started to curve as if she were about to laugh. “Do you use these types of tactics in a courtroom?”

“If it means I win, then yes.”

She huffed but didn’t bother to hide her smile now. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?” She didn’t strike me as the type of woman to give in so quickly.

“You win. For now.”

Why did I feel as though I might have won this battle only to go on to lose the war? And why did the idea of watching her come up with her next move excite me?

The text message flashing up on my phone was a welcome diversion.

“Doris’s husband says she’s out of surgery and in recovery.” I was relieved to get the message.

“Great news. Thanks for letting me know. Good luck in court tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” I wouldn’t need it. After all, in divorce court, were there really any true winners?

Chapter Eight

Daisy

I knew what Caleb was doing by not letting me pay for his car damage. Like most people, he assumed since I didn’t have a steady job, I must be struggling for money. A year ago that would have been true, and I’d have been forced to delay paying him for his car’s damage. After moving to Los Angeles, I’d depleted my savings within the first couple months and had barely been making ends meet. Then I’d turned twenty-five and inherited a small fortune from the trust my grandmother had set up for me. Leave it to her to give me a sign from the heavens about the importance of continuing my journey.

Now that I was more than comfortable financially, I could pick and choose what I wanted to do. Which included helping out people whenever I could and paying for car damage I’d caused.

Since Caleb was in court the next day, I didn’t see him in the office. While I wished I could witness him in action arguing before a judge, at the same time I realized I had no desire to watch someone’s worst day and the splitting of assets. The thought of divorce made me sad. My parents had recently celebrated thirty years together, and my grandparents had loved one another until the end.

Last night I’d devised a plan I dubbed “Operation Payback.” It sounded more devious than it was since I truly was simply paying him back the money I owed him, and no retribution was involved. I giggled as I walked into his office and shut the door behind me. Why was my heart racing like I was a thief when I was only giving him money? Probably because I anticipated his reaction would not be completely pleased. Hopefully, he’d find the humor in it and would realize I was serious about paying him for damages I’d caused.

I’d not yet been in his office long enough to soak in the details, so I surveyed everything now. I started with his full wall of books, perusing the titles. All were law-related books. How boring. A few paperweights and some firm-imprinted knickknacks were scattered about. But nothing personal. On his desk there wasn’t so much as a family photograph or a souvenir from a trip. Not even a paper or a pen were out of order. Nope, his space was as uptight as he was.

The first two twenties went into the top drawer of his desk, the next two slid into the bottom left drawer, and the last one I stuffed into the jacket pocket of a dry-cleaned suit hanging on the back of his door. I’d just snuck out and closed his door when I came face-to-face with a man standing at my desk.

“Hello,” he greeted when he saw me walking out.

My face heated despite the fact it was perfectly acceptable for an assistant to come out of her boss’s office. Even if I had been in there stuffing twenties into drawers in an attempt to pay for his car damage, I had no reason to feel guilty. “Hi.”

“You must be Daisy.”

The man was attractive, and appeared to be in his late-twenties, with a baby face topped with sandy brown hair. He had a great smile.