The Deal

1. Chloe

Chapter 1

Chloe

“ A h, crap,” I groan, quickly shifting down gears before slamming on the brakes as the traffic light ahead changes from amber to red. I’m already running late, but there’s a red-light camera at this intersection, and the last thing I need is a fine I can’t afford to pay.

My leg bounces restlessly as I wait for the light to change, the seconds ticking by far too slowly. “Come on … come on,” I mutter under my breath, my eyes flicking to the clock on the dashboard.

A sharp exhale escapes me as I see the time—great, I’m going to be late for my shift again. I’ll be lucky if I’m not fired; this will be the third time this month.

Juggling three jobs and my aging father is a struggle, but it’s a necessity I can’t avoid. If I don’t keep it up, my dad and I could end up on the streets. We’re barely scraping by as it is.

My fingernail now taps wildly on the steering wheel as the anxiety creeps in. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep going like this. It feels like I’m running on empty at this point—tired, stressed, and just hoping life will throw me a break .

And like the bitch she is, she decides to do the exact opposite.

The light finally turns green, and as I ease my foot off the clutch and shift into first gear, the car starts to cough and sputter as it jerks violently forward.

“Shit,” I yelp as the engine stalls and the car behind me sounds its horn.

Impatient fucker.

I get the engine to turn over again, but the same thing happens. This time, though, it’s worse. I can now see smoke billowing up from beneath the hood, and it’s abundantly clear I’ve got a more serious problem on my hands.

The car behind me sounds its horn again, and it takes all my strength not to wind down my window and flip him the bird. Can’t he see I’m in the middle of a crisis here?

I turn the key repeatedly, my hands slightly shaking as the adrenaline kicks in, but the engine refuses to start. Nothing. Not a damn thing.

“Motherfucker,” I grumble, slamming my balled-up fist against the steering wheel as my frustration reaches breaking point. God, I hate my life sometimes.

I turn on my hazard lights, remove my seat belt, roughly tug on the hood release lever, and exit the car.

I hold my hand up, gesturing a silent sorry to the rude jerk behind me, but when he disregards my half-hearted attempt at an apology and sticks his head out the window and yells, “Get that heap of shit out of my way,” my anger spikes. That’s when I end up doing what I was tempted to do a minute ago; I give him my middle finger and don’t even feel bad about it.

I’d move my car if I could, fuckface!

He yells a multitude of profanities in my direction, so I spin on my heels and round the front of the car. I don’t want to get into a back-and-forth argument with him. I have more important things to deal with right now.

A thick cloud of smoke billows out the moment I pop the hood, so I take a step back and wave my hand in front of my face, coughing, trying to clear the air.

I’m no mechanic, but I’ve picked up enough to handle the basics over the years. When you’re as broke as I am, you don’t always have a choice. Still, I don’t need to be a genius to see my car’s engine is cooked.

My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. This is catastrophic, and it could seriously mess with everything. How the hell am I supposed to get around without a car?

I can catch the bus to my regular day job, but my 3 am cleaning gig is a whole other nightmare, especially with all the equipment I need to haul around.

I tilt my head back and groan as I glance up at the starlit sky, sending a silent fuck you to the universe.

Fuck my life … with a cactus!

The shield I’ve erected around myself over time is like impenetrable steel, but as I wander aimlessly around the city, contemplating my future, I feel like I’m on the verge of tears.

You never know how strong you are until finding strength is your only choice. That about sums me up in a nutshell. I’ve been through some shit in my twenty-seven years— pretty dark times— and it’s hardened me to the point that I worry if I’ve become unfeeling.

After some kind bystanders helped me push the car to the side of the road—so that abusive dick in the swanky Volvo could go on his merry way—I called my boss.

As I expected, he fired me on the spot. I’m a hard worker and would do almost anything asked of me, and he knows it. He said he was sorry to let me go because I was one of his best employees, but my tardiness was something he could no longer overlook.

I understand, I do, and I despise letting people down, but I now find myself up shit creek without a paddle. The rent is due, and I received the final notice for our electricity bill a few days ago. I was banking on the money I would’ve been paid for my shifts this weekend.

I have the majority of the money I need hidden away in the secret lining I sewed into my handbag—removing the temptation from my father—but even with the extra cash this weekend would’ve garnered, it still would’ve left me short.

We’ve been without power before and survived it, but if I can’t pay the rent, we risk being evicted. Where would that leave us? I don’t even have a car I could live in now, and I know my dad wouldn’t last long on the streets, but giving up is not an option.

I can’t stop fighting this never-ending war just because I’m losing the battle. I need to change tactics. How, I have no clue, but I’ll figure it out just like I always do.

I glance through the window of the stylish cocktail lounge that’s situated on the ground floor of the swish hotel as I pass. It’s the kind of place I would’ve often stayed at—before my life wasn’t so … hellish.

Glancing at the patrons inside makes me feel melancholy. This is what an everyday existence looks like for most people my age: out socialising with friends … living their best life. Unfortunately, it’s a luxury I can no longer afford.

I don’t even have friends to go out with .

My childhood was very different from the existence I now face. I grew up privileged. The only daughter of Theodore and Angelina Carmichael. I was their spoilt little princess who wanted for nothing. I attended the best private schools and spent my yearly vacations in Italy, living the high life and visiting with my mum’s extended family, but that all seems like a world away now.

When my mother left, our lives began to fall apart. I was devastated when she abandoned us, but as the days, weeks, months and years passed, and my father began to spiral, that love I once felt for her turned to hate.

I’ll never understand it.

How can you love your family one minute and forget their existence the next? I don’t think I’ll ever get over what she did. It was the catalyst that turned my perfect life into a dumpster fire.

I’ve experienced every emotion since: confusion, betrayal, abandonment, grief, loss, anger, resentment, fear, insecurity, guilt, self-blame, loneliness, isolation … helplessness. You name it, I’ve felt it.

Despite all the shitty things my father has put me through over the past thirteen years, I could never turn my back on him. He’s a product of his reality, just like I am. Besides, he’s family … I’m all he has left.

Pausing, I flatten my palms against the pristine glass and continue observing through the window like a voyeur.

I stare at the group of girls laughing and taking shots in the booth along the far wall, blowing out a puff of air as I watch two of them rise from their seats and start dancing beside the table.

I can’t remember the last time I danced.

My warm breath fogs up the glass, so I swipe my hand across it so I can see again. The women appear to be having a great time, as if they don’t have a care in the world, while my life is crumbling around me.

My attention moves to the couple sitting near the window off to the side. They are holding hands across the tabletop and gazing at each other lovingly. It makes my heart pang. Growing up, I always yearned for a love like that … like the one my parents once shared, until my mother left and quashed all those dreams.

I observe them longer than some would call appropriate, but they’re so lost in each other that neither notices.

My gaze eventually shifts from them, landing on a pair of dark-brown eyes surrounded by thick, inky lashes. Eyes so dark they almost appear black, and they’re firmly locked on me.

The intensity of his stare makes my breath hitch in the back of my throat, and the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end.

Common sense tells me to look away, but I don’t. I briefly scan his handsome face—a head full of thick black hair that’s short on the sides and left longer on top, olive skin, a straight nose, and a chiselled jawline with a dimple that sits right in the centre that appears deepened by his five o’clock shadow.

My first thought is perfection, and I’m so startled by that, and my initial reaction to him, that my hands instantly drop down by my sides as I take a few steps backwards, away from the window … from him . A sheet of glass may separate us, but I still feel the need for distance.

He continues to watch me, like a hunter stalking his prey, and when a smug grin tugs at the corners of his full lips, my eyes narrow. I know his type … rich, gorgeous, and utterly full of himself. I grew up surrounded by men just like him. If my circumstances hadn’t changed so drastically as a teenager, I might have even ended up with someone like that.

That thought has my cheeks ballooning as I exhale another puff of air. I no longer wish for things outside my realm. I learnt that lesson a long time ago. I’ll only set myself up for disappointment if I do.

When the suit-wearing hottie looks away and refocuses on the other two men he’s seated with, I use that as my cue to turn and start walking again. But my impromptu stare-off with the Adonis has me contemplating all the what-ifs.

Where would I be now if my mother hadn’t abandoned us and my father hadn’t gambled away what was left of our fortune? Would I be living my best life? Possibly married with a family of my own. Would I be running the lucrative accounting firm my father used to own? The one he lost during his downward spiral. More importantly, would I be happy? I don’t even remember what happiness feels like. I’m just existing these days, living through one shitty moment to the next.

With that thought in mind, I find myself pausing again. “Fuck it,” I mumble under my breath.

I deserve better than this.

I deserve a goddamn break.

I’m going to be selfish for once.

Turning before I have a change of heart, I glide through the revolving glass doors and step into the hotel lobby. The rubber on the sole of my shoes squeaks against the marble floor as I cross the opulent foyer with purpose, and enter what I can only surmise by its location: the ridiculously expensive, chic cocktail lounge.

My head is held high, gaze fixed ahead. I side-eye the women I was watching through the window as I pass, but I intentionally don’t seek out the suit-clad hottie … that’s not why I came in here .

Once I settle onto a stool at the bar, I order a drink I can’t afford, and for a brief moment, guilt stirs inside me, but I push it down. I’m going to savour this cocktail. After all the sacrifices I’ve made over the years, I’ve earned this.

I’ll worry about the fallout later.