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I find the car parked exactly where McTavish said it would be.
It’s orange: almost — but not quite — the color of my little convertible; the one McTavish has towed off to be fixed for free by his “friend”.
You can’t tell me this is a coincidence? Seriously, it’s pretty rare to see an orange car these days; or not a brand-new one, anyway, which this one obviously is. Most new cars tend to be black or silver, maybe red, if their owner was feeling particularly adventurous. But McTavish has somehow managed to find me a ‘loan’ car that’s almost the same color as my own.
Which makes me suspect this is way more than a favor from a “friend” somehow.
It’s a cold night, though, and I’m still worried Violet might turn up and see me, so I open the door and get into the driver’s seat.
The vehicle is brand new, and still with that showroom smell to it, and the interior is all creamy leather and polished wood.
This iswaytoo nice to be a company car.
What on earth is McTavish thinking, giving me the keys to it, “loan” or not?
I sit there for a second, wondering if I should go back inside and tell him I’m calling a taxi after all. Then I remember Violet; and, in slightly more cheerful news, my wages.
I pull the envelope McTavish gave me out of my pocket and open it, using the interior light to peer inside.
£200, cash.
For just a few hours of hanging round a bar, and delivering 3 bottles of beer to the only table in use.
I reflexively raise my fingers to my mouth and start biting the nails anxiously.
I don’t know what to do.
I really need this money; more than I’ve needed any money in my life.
But I know I can’t accept it. Or the car. Or even the phone, much as it’s going to pain me to have to give it back.
Fuuuuccckkkkkk.
I bang my head lightly against the steering wheel in frustration, stopping only when the horn gives a loud BEEP.
I don’t know what to do.
I mean, Idoknow what to do.
I just really don’t want to do it.
I reach forward and put the key in the ignition, making my mind up.
I’ll go home and sleep on it. I’ll use the money McTavish gave me to pay the most urgent of the bills, then I’ll come back in tomorrow and hand in my notice. I’ll tell him I’ll work until the end of the week, just so we’re even, and I don’t have to feel like I owe him anything. Then I guess I’ll find yetanotherjob; this time one where there’s absolutely no chance of bumping into Jett Carter.
I will do all of these things, I promise.
Because, like Jett said, nothing keeps Lexie Steele down for long.
And I’m going to keep on telling myself that until I believe it.
Thirteen
I wake up the next morning to a message from my “dad”.
Which is pretty weird, really, considering that, until this week, I didn’t evenhaveone.
“Hello, Lexie,” Lochlan Bell has written. “I hope you don’t mind me contacting you directly. Someone from the news station passed on your number. I was wondering if you’d like to meet for a coffee so we can talk?”??He’s written the message a bit like he’s inviting me for a job interview, rather than a cosy father-daughter chat. Not that it can bethat, though, when I don’t even know if he really is my father.
