Chapter 22 An Inexplicable Ache
Sunny Lin couldn't stand watching Clara Bennett get picked apart by Stacy Chen at Rainbow Trade Co.. So she took her under her wing, dragging her out to chase leads and introducing her to every client in her book.
She even shared her hard-earned tricks of the trade.
"Here's the deal," Sunny said. "Sales isn't a one-and-done thing. A single deal might take ten, fifteen pitches. That's normal."
Clara nodded softly.
"You've got to keep those client relationships warm," Sunny went on. "Get cozy with them, and they're more likely to sign on the dotted line."
"Got it," Clara said.
"But the real key?" Sunny grinned. "You've got to be shameless. Check your pride at the door if you want to eat. Understand?"
Clara's big, bright eyes crinkled into crescent moons as she smiled. Just then, the screen overhead flashed their order number, and she hustled to the counter to grab their food.
Lunch was bare-bones fast food. Sunny noticed Clara's tray held only the cheapest veggie option and frowned. "You sure that's enough to keep you going?"
"It's fine," Clara said with a light laugh. "I don't eat much anyway. This'll do."
"No way!" Sunny protested. "Running around for sales takes energy. Look at you—you're tiny! This..." She trailed off, then gasped. "Wait. Did your husband drain your bank account or something?"
Clara opened her mouth to explain, but her phone buzzed. A text from Mason Reed. She read it, and her face fell into a quiet, troubled silence. Sunny, sensing trouble, snatched the phone and nearly exploded.
"What kind of guy is this?!" Sunny sputtered. "He's out shopping? For a belt? And it's over three grand?!"
"Sunny, shh!" Clara grabbed her arm, pleading.
Truth was, Mason had been acting strange lately, finding new ways to live it up every day. One afternoon, on a whim, Clara had called him from work to check in. His answer? "Having afternoon tea." When she asked where, he sent a photo—of The Regal Haven, no less.
She'd nearly fainted. Minutes later, her bank app pinged with a deduction notice.
Staring at the shrinking balance, Clara felt a physical pang. But to keep up her "rich girl" act, she'd forced a grin and texted back, all breezy: Enjoy your tea! Like it was nothing.
It wasn't a one-off either. Her account kept dwindling, and every time she confronted Mason, he'd give her that half-smirk. "Evelyn, aren't you the Bennett heiress? What's a few bucks to you?"
She'd clench her jaw, glare, then deflate like a punctured balloon, retreating to her room to grind out sales pitches. She never caught the gleeful spark in his eyes—like a kid whose prank was this close to paying off.
Clara scrolled through her phone. Her bank balance sat at exactly three thousand dollars—no more, no less.
If Mason were standing in front of her right now, she'd be tempted to throttle him. The guy didn't just have X-ray vision—he had a calculator for a brain, down to the penny!
"Hey!" Sunny grabbed her hand as she started to type. "You're not seriously sending him the money, are you?"
Clara paused, then gave a sheepish smile. "He doesn't ask for much. If he likes it, let him have it. I've still got a couple hundred in cash. I'll stretch it till payday."
"Are you out of your mind?!" Sunny yelped. "What's so great about him? You're spoiling him rotten!"
"It's not spoiling," Clara mumbled, her voice fading as she dipped her head.
It wasn't about spoiling him. It was this weird, aching softness she couldn't shake.
When she thought of Mason's old life—alone, broke, scraping by—or the times he'd been in and out of jail, the way the punks back in Willow Creek sneered at him... her heart gave way.
She didn't know where it came from, this tender pang. Could it be... she was actually falling for him?