Claiming His Prize (Spice & Seduction #8)

Chapter 1

Haley

“Hey Mom, how are you?” I ask while letting myself into the apartment that we share.

It isn’t much, but Brenda’s done everything in her power to make it homey.

There are gold and green fake fir streamers strung up around the room, as well as various holiday knickknacks scattered on tabletops.

The pièce de resistance, however, is a mini-Christmas tree that my mom and I bought from the vendor down the block.

The tree is probably only four feet tall, but it was hard getting it up eight flights because once again, the elevator in our building was broken.

I shouldn’t complain, though, because my mom and I live in a decent two bedroom in what’s officially known as the Glendale Towers, but what everyone calls the Projects.

Decades ago, the buildings were erected as middle-class housing for returning veterans, but in the years since, they’ve fallen into disrepair.

Walls are crumbling, the elevators never work, and some winter nights there’s no heat.

But us residents make the best of it. More than a few of us own space heaters, and we share them despite the fact that they cost an arm and a leg to run.

But this is our lot in life, and my mom and I make do. Sure, we don’t have much, but it’s ok. I’ve been working as a barista at a nearby coffee shop full-time and it helps with the bills, although that won’t last much longer.

“How was your day, honey?” Brenda asks. My mom is pretty still, despite her physical condition.

It’s a sad story because not so long ago, my mom was a looker.

But a couple years back, she fell down a set of stairs which caused permanent damage.

Her hip was broken, and some vertebrae cracked.

A plate was implanted in her neck along with fake discs, and she’s now on a regimen of drugs that makes her swollen and puffy.

Literally, she’s gained at least a hundred pounds because of the medication, but Brenda has no choice.

She has to take steroids, and gets epidurals and cortisone shots regularly to control the pain.

Nonetheless, my mom’s a fighter and never complains. She didn’t complain when she fell, she didn’t complain when she ballooned, and she didn’t complain after she lost her job nannying kids. Brenda has always been optimistic, and I hate to be the one to rain on her parade.

“Well, Aroma House is good, but they told me that the most hours they can give me is twenty-five per week,” I say in a hesitant voice. “Don was really apologetic and said that as soon as business picks up, he’ll put me on the shift schedule for more hours.”

My mom’s eyebrows flew up.

“And it’s really because of lack of business?”

I sigh while looking down because I had some skepticism about this as well.

“I’m not privy to the books,” I begin in slow voice.

“But Aroma House is hopping, right?” my mom asks in an arch tone, with her eyebrows up by her forehead.

“Customers are in there all hours of the day for their caffeine fix, right? I hate to tell you, baby girl, but it’s not business.

Or rather it is a business decision. Your employers don’t want to offer you benefits, and so they’re cutting your hours so that they can treat you like dirt. ”

I stare at the floor, biting my lip.

“But Don is so nice, and Josh—”

“Don’t Don and Josh me,” my mom says in an even tone.

“Those brothers are using you, hon. They know that the threshold for benefits in Minnesota is generally thirty-two hours a week. Your bosses want to keep you humble and scared, not to mention grateful for the job, so they’re taking you down to twenty-five. ”

I look down again, hurt by Brenda’s straight talk.

Of course she’s right, but I genuinely like Don and Josh, and have always regarded them as mentors, or even father figures.

It’s tough to realize that they don’t care about me.

Despite their kindness, ultimately I’m an expense to them, and the less they have to pay me, the better.

Like my mom said, it’s a business decision, even if the knowledge stings.

Brenda can read my mind and reaches for my hand in a consoling manner.

“It’s not okay,” she says in an even tone.

“They’re assholes because they should be paying you more, Hales.

Coffee houses always need pretty young things to work the counter.

It brings in business and makes for happier customers, and you fit the bill, sweetheart.

You’re young, beautiful, and innocent, and in fact, those assholes should pay you a premium for working for them instead of trying to nickel and dime you like this. ”

I smile wanly.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll figure something out. I’m sure I’ll get more hours soon, except—”

“Except they already hired someone new, right? Since they can’t use you for forty hours, they went out and found another pretty young thing to stand at the cash register for minimum wage.”

I grimace a little.

“Basically yes, but Bailey is really nice,” I say in a hesitant tone. “She’s young and has no idea what’s going on behind the scenes. She just started.”

“Well, she better learn,” Brenda huffs, “because those men are using you girls like whores. I wouldn’t be surprised if they start asking you to do more than just pull shots all day,” she adds in a dark tone.

“Mom!” I gasp, cheeks coloring. “How can you talk like this? Oh my god, it’s so wrong!”

Brenda’s shoulders sag then, and a sad expression comes over her fleshy features.

“It’s just men,” she says in a bitter voice. “They do it to me. After what happened with your stepfather, I lost all my faith in the male sex. They suck, and can go drown in the sea for all I care.”

I nod because this has been a refrain around our house for a couple years now.

Basically, we didn’t always live in the Projects.

Once upon a time, I had a bestie named Emma Wheaton.

We got along great and we were like Anne of Green Gables with her best friend, Diana.

We were more than buddies; we were kindred spirits.

Even better, Emma’s dad, Chase Wheaton, was handsome and rich.

I didn’t realize how rich he was at that time, but he and my mom hit it off, and the next thing you know, they were married.

Brenda and I moved in with Chase and Emma, and it was a dream come true because Chase owns a huge house on the lake that felt empty with only two people in it.

My mom and I were welcome additions, and those first two years were filled with love, happiness, and contentment.

I finally had a father and a sister, and life was sweet.

But then, my mom fell down the stairs in the big house and everything went to shit.

She had endless medical appointments, and was always in pain.

Again, Brenda’s never complained, but there were a couple months when she was completely bedridden, and the drugs and lack of exercise did it to her.

My mom gained a massive amount of poundage and became almost twice the size she once was.

Chase didn’t like it. Although I never witnessed or heard any unkind words, Brenda said that when her husband looked at her, it was as if he saw something repulsive.

His features would become strained, and his nostrils would flare like he’d smelled something bad.

It was as if she’d become a fat slob by choice, when it was the injuries and medicine causing her to gain weight!

For sure, my mom had a colostomy bag for a little while, and she did smell weird sometimes because those things are hard to keep clean.

But it’s the nature of the beast. Colostomy bags are always going to be odiferous, and even the most meticulous user can’t change that.

But that asshole Chase Wheaton didn’t give a shit. He was merciless.

So the billionaire divorced my mom, breaking her heart in the process.

Sure, Brenda got a nice settlement but it was spent on her unending medical bills, and we were reduced to living in public housing.

We’re lucky we even got a place because demand for an apartment in the Projects has skyrocketed, and I hear that it’s almost impossible to get off the waitlist now.

Nonetheless, Brenda and I moved into our humble two-bedroom, and it’s fine.

I lost touch with my former stepsister, and my mom never talks to her ex-husband anymore either.

It’s almost as if the Wheatons vanished into the mist, just a figment of our imagination.

But Brenda’s bitter and sad. She’s still about a hundred pounds overweight these days, and I know she hates her body no matter what I tell her.

I also know that she’s heartbroken and that she misses her ex.

Who can blame her? My ex-stepfather is a gorgeous CEO with his own AI firm.

He’s at the forefront of technology, and has even appeared in the papers touting the benefits of AI.

In short, Chase Wheaton is single, rich, and probably has a million women throwing themselves at him, while my mom has descended into a personal hell where she’s filled with self-loathing and shame.

I feel bad for Brenda, and hate my ex-stepdad so much for doing this to my mom.

After all, aren’t you supposed to stick with your spouse through thick and thin?

Don’t the wedding vows state that you’re promising to be together for better or worse?

But I guess those rules don’t apply when you’re a billionaire.

Men like Chase Wheaton do what they want, and when a wife becomes inconvenient or unattractive, you drop her.

Then, it’s on to the next pretty young thing.

So I set my jaw.

“We’re going to be okay, Mom. I’ll find a way to make some money. Relax, and don’t worry, because we’ll survive this.”

Brenda looks up from her phone, and then flips it over on the table so that it’s face down. But I catch a glimpse of something on-screen, and quickly reach for the cell before she can protest.

“Hey stop!” my mom protests. “Haley, that’s private.”

My eyes widen as I scan the screen before setting it down with trembling fingers on the table in front of us.

“Mom, you’re looking at a site for plasma donation. Are you really considering it?”

Brenda’s head droops for a moment, but then she nods with defeat.

“Yes, Hales,” she says in a quiet voice.

“We don’t have many options. We have your salary from the café, but your hours are getting cut.

I sit on my fat ass every day, getting bigger and bigger, so I’ll never be able to hold down a normal job, much less interview for one.

The only thing I can do these days is plasma donation.

That, or blood donation. They pay decent, and we could use the cash. ”

I stare at Brenda’s soft, rounded features.

“Mom, no,” I say in a trembling voice. “I won’t let you. You’re sick, and in pain all the time. There’s no way they’ll even take your blood, seeing that you’re on so many drugs.”

Brenda won’t meet my eyes, shrugging as she gazes off into a corner of the room.

“Harvey down the hall told me you get a deposit before you donate. Then you walk into the room, do the donation, and after everything’s screened, the center mails the balance of what they owe to you.

So they won’t know at the beginning that I’m pumped full of drugs.

We’ll at least get the initial deposit, and that’s something, Haley.

It’s almost Christmas and we’re as poor as church mice right now.

I hate that, and I want to do this for you. For us.”

“No, Mom,” I speak immediately while shaking my head.

“We’ll figure out another way. I’ll figure out a way.

I’ll beg Don at the café. I’ll sweep floors, wash windows, and do anything they need.

Hell, I’ll even help him recruit pretty young things to take my place, if he’ll just give me more hours during the holiday season. It’ll work out.”

My mom smiles, but it’s a sad one.

“No, it’s okay, honey,” Brenda says while taking my hand and giving it a squeeze.

“I know you’re trying your best, but I don’t want you making yourself vulnerable to men like that.

The male species is dangerous, honey, and they’re always looking to take advantage of the second sex.

Look what happened to me and Chase,” she says in a defeated voice.

“We had it so good, and then poof! It was all gone.”

The statement is a bit melodramatic, but it pretty much encapsulates our situation. A red-hot hatred for the handsome Chase Wheaton fills my chest, and tears prick my eyes as the blood pounds in my head.

“I’ll figure it out, Mom,” I rasp hoarsely while squeezing her hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out together.”

My mom nods, but I know there’s nothing that Brenda can do.

I have to fix this situation, but how? I’m twenty-one, with a seemingly useless degree in child psychology.

I’m not working in my field of choice, and was only able to land a part-time job pulling shots that I could have done without any degree, period.

So where do I go from here? What do I do?

Through the wall, our neighbor starts playing cheery Christmas carols, and I want to punch him because I’m anything but merry right now.

I hate my ex-stepfather for the choices he made .

.. and I’m going to make the handsome billionaire pay.