Chapter 9
Ihad no clue how long I’d sat there crying in the parking lot. By the time I was finished, so was my coffee. It could have been ten minutes or an hour.
I did feel better, though. Sometimes you really do need a good cry. And caffeine.
I saw a branch of my bank at the edge of the mall, which was convenient.
I needed to check my account balance at the ATM.
It was something I easily could have done on my phone or computer, but I thought forcing myself to go out in public would encourage me to get it together—the emotional equivalent of fake it ‘till you make it. It would be far too easy to fall apart at home (Robert’s home, my brain corrected) where nobody was watching.
Although I didn’t want to stress myself further, I had to start thinking about finances, since I’d soon find myself without a home.
I nearly started bawling again as I imagined apartment hunting in San Francisco, a prospect almost as horrendous as being cheated on by my vampire boyfriend.
A vacant apartment in the city offered at a reasonable price, not that such a thing even existed anymore, could net dozens of applications.
I’d hardly be ahead of the competition, either, as I was still unemployed.
Robert had insisted that I not settle for work out of desperation.
He’d suggested that I take my time finding a dream job in the field of psychology, since it was what I’d studied at university and felt passionate about.
He’d even gone so far as talking me out of applying for a couple unappealing entry-level positions, stating that he’d be pleased to take care of me in the meantime.
I have billions of dollars but only one Olivia, he’d said.
If you’re not happy, I’m not happy, my love. He’d sounded so convincing at the time.
I snorted. Yet another way Robert had screwed me over.
He’d obviously been considering ditching me for some time.
He should have insisted that I take any job that had come my way so that I’d have funds saved to move out on my own.
Instead, he’d lulled me into a state of false security, emotionally and financially.
That wasn’t to say I was without blame. I shouldn’t have been so trusting and willing to give up control over my life. I knew better than to let my fate rest in the hands of a man—a vampire man, even. I should have done the wise thing and taken care of myself from the beginning.
Now, I’d be scraping by, impoverished. It would be like going back to being a broke college student. Was that the life for which I was fated, always two steps forward, one step back?
Pathetic.
I sighed, feeling sorry for myself. Ah, depression, the gift that kept on giving.
I vowed to spend the day searching for jobs, then yawned loudly—how was I already exhausted? The only thing I’d done with my day was drive a few miles to get a coffee.
Okay, so after a nap I’d start looking for jobs. I needed to save up my strength, anyway, for the VGO rep coming to take my blood.
I shivered at the thought. My only hope was that they’d send someone pleasant. Or vaguely pleasant; I wasn’t deluded enough to hope for outright nice. The VGO didn’t do nice.
On the topic of vampires, I supposed I always could go back to decoying for Dignitary when times got really tough. Maybe I’d even meet another gorgeous immortal. Fall in love.
I shook my head at myself in the rearview mirror. Was I kidding? Hell no. Absolutely not.
Barring Jerry, I was swearing off vampire men for good, since the ones I attracted seemed to either want to kill me or break my heart. Probably best that I stay single for a while, anyway, given the utter disasters my last two relationships had been.
My situation wasn’t entirely hopeless, I supposed.
Maybe Liz and I could move back in together, since her man had dumped her, too.
We could even find other scorned women and run a lonely-hearts club right out of the apartment.
At each meeting, we’d eat cookie dough and burn mementos from our exes over a bonfire.
I barked out a sour laugh, imagining it.
I grabbed the jumbo sunglasses I’d slid on top of my head and placed them on my face.
I looked insane because it was about to start pouring—Bay Area rain was stealthier than a certain French vampire skank plotting to steal another woman’s boyfriend—but my eyes were puffy from crying.
I exited the car and make my way toward the ATM.
It took all the strength I had to get moving, but I didn’t want to be that person driving across the parking lot only so that I wouldn’t have to walk a few extra yards.
I’d made it all of ten steps when some creeper on a ten-speed jangled his bike bell and simpered, “Hey, sexy lady, you smell nice.”
It was exactly what I needed in a not-at-all kind of way. I rolled my eyes at him—not that he could see it through my dark sunglasses—and skulked off. He muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like snotty bitch, then peddled off.
I shook my head and muttered a few choice words of my own. Why were men such dirtbags? And when has being creepy ever worked for a guy?
What had he expected me to say anyway? Why, thanks for sniffing me, kind sir! I drove into this parking lot just so you could marvel at my sexiness. Love the bike bell!
Asshole.
There was no line at the ATM, which was great. The coffee I’d inhaled was making me need to pee in an urgent way. Bet guy on the bike wouldn’t think I smelled so delicious if I wet my pants. And I nearly did wet my pants when I got a look at my bank statement.
“That . . . That can’t be,” I gasped, looking around as if I was going to find validation from a random stranger.
On the verge of passing out, I signed out of my account and trotted into the bank.
I must have looked like a complete wreck, with my messy hair, puffy eyes, and red nose.
The teller didn’t seem amused, even when I explained my situation for the third time.
I didn’t like repeating myself, but I was not getting through to the woman.
She obviously didn’t believe me, as if going into banks and making up outlandish stories was something I did for kicks.
“Would you please check for me?” I asked, thrusting my card over the counter. “I don’t know why my account is showing that amount. There has to be some mistake.”
With a longsuffering sigh of someone accustomed to dealing with idiots, the teller took my card, though I could tell she didn’t want to.
“Okay, so you want me to check . . .” She eyed me over the top of the computer screen, still confused despite my numerous explanations.
“What specifically would you like to know?”
I fought hard to stay calm. “I’d like to know when and how one million dollars got deposited into my checking account.”
After a bit of typing, the teller’s fingers stopped moving. Her eyes widened at whatever she was seeing on the screen. Guess she believed me now.
“One second, please,” she said, getting up from her chair. “I’m going to check with our manager.”
A couple minutes later, a middle-aged man with a comb-over haircut and friendly smile came over and offered me his hand.
He introduced himself, providing me a name I forgot as soon as he said it.
He then invited me to join him in his office.
On his desk was a photo of him at the beach with a plain but sweet red-haired woman and two grinning, freckled children who were clutching popsicles that had turned their smiles orange. His family, I assumed.
He tossed an empty soda cup into the garbage can by his feet and asked me to repeat all my information again, so that he could bring my account up on his computer.
I did as he requested, then waited for him to tell me that there’d been some epic error, that hackers had breached their system and deposited a million dollars of fraudulent funds into my account.
He turned his screen around so I could see it. He tapped the area that showed my balance. “You can see here that the deposit was made late yesterday. No mistake was made. The money is yours.”
“Who put it in there?”
As if I had to ask. I could only think of one vampire who had the means and motivation to put such an exorbitant amount of funds into my account. Nevertheless, I wanted to see it with my own two eyes.
The manager shrugged apologetically. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“You don’t know, or you can’t tell me?”
“I don’t know.”
How could that be possible?
I thought a moment. “Was it a check? If it was a check, you could see the name on it, right?”
“A check this large would have taken several business days to clear. This was an immediate transaction,” he said.
He hummed quietly as he clicked around on his computer, squinting at the screen.
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t identify who completed the transaction.
This can sometimes happen if it’s a foreign deposit, or if the funds arrived from an offshore account. ”
“Which also means I can’t give the money back.”
The man gaped at me as if I’d said his children looked like goblins. “Why would you want to do that?”
Good question, I thought.
He scratched his chin. “Seems like you didn’t expect this money?”
“I didn’t. Not at all.” I sat back, dazed. I felt like I should have been asking all sorts of clever financial questions, but I couldn’t think of anything to say.
He smiled. “The best gifts are the ones you don’t expect, right?”
I nodded, a thousand miles away. “So . . . I guess I’m a millionaire.”
“Looks that way,” he said with a chuckle.
I made a move to get up, then stopped. “If I spend this money, there’s no way I’ll get into trouble, right? The bank can’t come after me in a couple weeks once they’ve realized they did make a mistake, or if the person—”
vampire
“—wants their money back?”
“No mistake has been made, Ms. Taylor. Banking doesn’t work that way.
Once the funds have been cleared and deposited into an account, it belongs to the account holder.
The payer can’t take the money back if they change their mind.
I can give you a printout of the information if it will make you feel better. ”
I said it would.
Back at the car, I sat staring at the printout, feeling sick, hurt, and angry.
Pitiful as it was, some small, deluded part of me had been clinging to the hope that Robert’s abrupt disappearance was truly a result of foul play. Now, I had a million reasons to believe it wasn’t. A kidnapped man typically didn’t wire funds into his ex’s account.
It was ridiculous, anyway, to entertain that Serena had somehow managed to kidnap Robert and then subsequently forced him to break up with me. Why would she do that, anyway? Though I loathed the vamp, even I could see that she could have any man she wanted without having to resort to kidnapping.
No, Robert was with Serena because he wanted to be. To think otherwise would only be a sad act of desperation. And the million dollars? Guilt money for dumping me, obviously.
I shook my head, so angry that I’d broken out in a sweat despite also being shivery and cold. Was that what Robert thought of me, a woman he could buy off?
What was he trying to do, pay for my silence so that I’d go quietly and without a fight? Clearly, he didn’t know me as well as he’d thought. The fucking coward.
I snapped up my phone and instinctively called his number. I was going to demand an explanation, and he was going to give it to me whether he wanted to or not. After all we’d been through—after all I’d been through because of my association with him—I deserved at least that.
It rang once, and I realized my error.
I pictured Robert’s phone back at the house, buzzing away on the dining room table. Mocking me. You’re a fool, buzz-buzz. He won’t ever be picking up for you again, buzz-buzz. He’s with Serena now, buzz-buzz.
I tucked my phone into my handbag, wondering how many more soul-crushing indignities I needed to suffer before it finally sunk in that it was O-V-E-R.
How many times would I reach across the sofa to hold Robert’s hand before I remembered that he was now holding Serena’s?
Or go to the fridge and pour a glass of blood before it dawned on me that I had no vampire lover to serve it to?
Or roll over in bed, only to grasp empty space?