3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Terms and Conditions
Aubrey
Red numbers mock me from my laptop screen, each digit a tiny digital middle finger. I’ve rearranged this spreadsheet so many times the cells are practically dizzying, but math is math. And math, apparently, is a cold-hearted bitch.
Basic arithmetic has become my enemy, and no matter how I juggle the numbers, I’m still three hundred dollars short.
Three. Hundred. Dollars.
The amount taunts me, especially since I know exactly where that money went: the car repair I couldn’t put off, the dental filling that couldn’t wait, and that one moment of weakness when I chose to buy actual groceries instead of living off ramen for another week. Real food seemed important at the time. Now I’m wondering if I should have just embraced scurvy.
I scrub my hands over my face, trying not to think about tomorrow. About walking into that shop. About facing him .
Sundar.
God, even his name in my head makes me feel fuzzy. Over the past month, I’ve thought about him way more than any sane person should ever think about their pawnbroker. I’ve replayed our interaction approximately eight million times, analyzing every word, every gleam of those mesmerizing golden eyes, every subtle shift of his powerful tail.
That tail. The way it moved, so fluid and strong, coiling beneath him like living silk…
“No,” I tell myself firmly. “Absolutely not. We are not fantasizing about the scary snake man who’s about to keep Gran’s bracelet forever.”
But my traitorous mind wanders anyway, remembering how his voice seemed to resonate through my whole body, how his cobra hood flared slightly when he was interested in something, how surprisingly gentle his hands were when he examined the bracelet, those scaled fingers moving with such delicate precision…
The spreadsheet blurs as tears of frustration prick at my eyes. This is ridiculous. I’m sitting here having inappropriate thoughts about a naga while simultaneously preparing to beg him for mercy.
Talk about mixed signals.
“You’re welcome to visit sooner,” he’d said that day, and my heart had actually skipped. Like some romance novel heroine, I’d gotten butterflies over a simple invitation to come back and look at his weird cursed stuff.
I bang my head softly against the desk. “Focus. Focus. Focus.”
“Okay, what did that desk ever do to you?”
I jerk upright at Maggie’s voice. She’s standing in my bedroom doorway, purple hair tied up in a messy bun. Her expression shifts from amused to concerned as she takes in what must be my absolutely pathetic state.
“Spill,” she demands, crossing her arms. “You’ve been weird all week, and now you’re doing your sad spreadsheet face while physically assaulting the furniture. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I lie, but my voice cracks. “Just doing some budgeting.”
“Uh-huh.” Maggie plops onto my bed, making herself comfortable among my scattered pillows. “And I suppose those aren’t tear tracks on your keyboard? Come on, Bree. Talk to me.”
I spin my chair to face her, and something in her expression—that mix of concern and fierce loyalty that only comes from years of friendship—makes my carefully constructed walls crumble.
“I can’t get the bracelet back,” I whisper. The admission feels like failure coating my tongue. “I’m three hundred short, and the deadline is tomorrow, and I just…” I gesture helplessly at my laptop. “I tried everything, Mags. But it’s not enough.”
Maggie’s face softens. “Oh, sweetie.” She pats the bed beside her, and I practically collapse onto it, letting her wrap an arm around my shoulders. “What are you going to do?”
I twist the hem of my shirt between my fingers. “I thought maybe… I could ask for an extension? I have most of the money. If he’d just give me another week or two—”
“That could work!” Maggie sits up, suddenly energized. “You’re good at talking to people, Bree. When you’re not overthinking it, anyway. Just explain the situation, show him you’re good for it.”
“You think?” The knot in my stomach loosens just a little. Maggie’s optimism has always been infectious. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“Exactly! And hey, if he says yes, maybe you could impress him by bringing up some facts you learned from that cobra documentary I caught you watching—”
I throw a pillow at her face. “Out. Get out of my room.”
Her laughter echoes down the hall as she goes, and I turn back to my spreadsheet with a slightly lighter heart. But as I stare at those red numbers, I can’t help wondering if maybe Maggie’s right about more than just the extension.
I mean, he did want me to come back so he could show me more of his collection, and if nagas are as protective of their treasures as all my covert research claims they are…
Then maybe he actually likes me for some reason?
I sigh, and just as quickly as Maggie’s optimism had rubbed off on me, it disappears.
There’s no way. I’m just going to go there, get my extension, then get out. This is about reclaiming Gran’s bracelet, not about reigniting my historically disastrous love life.
Better to remain single forever. Maybe get a few cats. Develop a wine addiction. Yeah. That’s the plan.
Morning comes too quickly, dragging me from fitful dreams where powerful scaled muscles kept wrapping around my body, tighter and tighter until…
I blink hard, shaking away the sensation that felt all too real in the middle of the night. Now I stand in front of my closet, overthinking every piece of clothing I own. Professional enough to be taken seriously, but not so formal it looks like I’m trying too hard. I settle on a blue sundress that makes me feel confident without looking like I’m headed to a business meeting.
Who am I kidding? I look like what I am—a broke millennial about to beg for mercy.
The walk to the pawn shop is torture, each step bringing me closer to what will probably be the most awkward conversation of my life. The Houston heat is already oppressive this early, making me second-guess the dress as sweat pricks at my neck.
I have to pause outside the shop for a full minute, practicing what I’m going to say. The speech I rehearsed all night sounds hollow now, each practiced word evaporating in the muggy air.
When I finally work up the courage to enter the shop, the bell’s cheerful chime feels like it’s mocking me. The air inside is cooler than I remember, heavy with the scent of old books and that earthier smell I now know is specifically him .
My heart stutters as I spot Sundar behind the counter, his tall form bent over some ancient-looking text. He’s wearing a deep green vest today that makes his scales gleam like black opals, and when he looks up, those golden eyes pin me in place.
“Miss Garrett.” His voice is exactly as I remembered—deep, smooth, with that hint of an accent I still can’t place. “Or should I say, Aubrey. Right on time.”
Of course he remembers me. Of course he knows exactly why I’m here. I clutch my purse tighter, trying to draw strength from the wadded bills inside—all I have to show for a month of overtime.
“Sundar.” My voice sounds steady, even if my heart is pounding. “I… We need to talk.”
His hood shifts slightly—the tiniest flare of interest—as he closes his book. “Indeed.”
God, why does he have to be so… so much ? Everything about him commands attention, from the way his tail coils beneath him to the sharp angles of his face. It’s not fair to look this impressive while about to crush someone’s hopes.
“The thing is,” I begin, then falter as he moves from behind the counter. His full height is even more overwhelming than I remembered, and watching him move makes my thoughts evaporate.
Dammit, I need to pull it together. “About the bracelet…”
“You’re short on the payment.”
It’s not a question. I nod, unable to meet his eyes. “I tried. I really did. I picked up extra shifts, cut every expense I could, but there was this car repair, and—” I’m rambling. I stop and force myself to breathe. He doesn’t need to hear my excuses. “I have most of it. I just need a little more time.”
The silence that follows feels endless. When I finally dare to look up, Sundar’s expression is unreadable, those golden eyes studying me intensely.
“A deal,” he says slowly, “is a deal.”
Something inside me cracks at his tone—so formal, so distant. Like the past month of me thinking about him, wondering if there had been something more than just business between us, was just my imagination running wild.
I feel so stupid. I forget everything I felt about him, my entire focus turning toward the one thing that matters.
“Please.” The word comes out raw and desperate. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but that bracelet… It’s survived generations, and now I can’t even…” My voice breaks embarrassingly. “I can’t even earn it back after a month.”
His tail shifts, the scales catching light as he moves closer. Too close. I have to tip my head back to maintain eye contact, and oh God, this was a mistake. Being this close to him, breathing in his scent, watching his hood flex slightly as he considers me—it’s too much.
“You humans,” he says softly, almost to himself. “So attached to these physical reminders of your short lives.”
The words sting, even though his tone isn’t cruel. Still, I argue, “Maybe because our lives are short. Maybe because some of us are just trying to hold on to something meaningful while working dead-end jobs and living paycheck to paycheck and constantly doubting every decision we’ve ever made.”
I clamp my mouth shut, mortified. Where did that come from? But now that I’ve started, the words keep spilling out.
“Do you know what it’s like? To wake up every morning wondering if this is all there is? To feel like you’re drowning in responsibility while everyone around you seems to have it figured out?” Tears blur my vision, but I keep going, unable to stop. “I’m almost thirty and I can’t even manage to save a family heirloom. God, my ex was right—I’m completely useless at being an adult.”
The silence that follows my outburst is deafening. I want to crawl under one of his display cases and die. Or maybe touch that cursed mirror in the corner and hope it transports me to another dimension.
Sundar remains perfectly still, in that way only predators can manage. His golden eyes study me so intensely that I want to look away, but I make myself meet his gaze.
In the quiet, I notice things I wish I didn’t—how his scales shift color under the shop’s warm lighting, how his chest rises and falls with each measured breath, how his tail has coiled closer to where I stand, as if unconsciously drawn to me…
Finally, he moves. It’s subtle—just a slight softening of his hood, a tilt of his head that makes him look almost… concerned? When he speaks, his voice has lost its professional edge, becoming softer, richer, sending a warmth curling through my chest despite my embarrassment.
“I have…” He pauses, and for the first time since I’ve met him, he seems to be choosing his words carefully. His tongue flicks out briefly, tasting the air between us. “I have a new offer for you.”
His tail shifts, coiling closer, and something in his eyes makes my breath catch—a heat, a hunger, that has nothing to do with business transactions.
“A new offer,” I repeat weakly.
“Yes.” His voice drops lower. “Though I suspect you may find the terms… unconventional.”
And suddenly I’m very aware that I’m alone in a shop with a predator who’s looking at me like I might be his next meal.
And worse… Some part of me hopes I am.