Jacob
Penelope slings her bag’s straps over her shoulder and reaches for the passenger door handle.
I grab her arm without thinking. She yelps and tries to yank it away from me.
Shit. Her bruise.
I loosen my hold but I don’t let her go. I should. She was about to leave me alone for good, which is exactly what I wanted since she showed up. Why the hell did I stop her?
She’s not the first person to call me an asshole, to my face or behind my back. The way she said it—and that it’s her saying it—got under my skin.
I shouldn’t care what she thinks of me, yet it bothers me I disappointed her. It used to be my goal to make her happy.
“It’s not smart to insult the person you’re asking for help.”
“It’s a good thing I don’t want your help anymore.”
“How much do you owe?”
“I said I don’t—”
“How much?”
Penelope’s eyes sparkle with anger and she’s even more beautiful somehow. Fuck me. It’s happening again. A sudden spark of attraction for her like that moment I caught her from slipping on ice.
I was disgusted with myself then, and also when I held on to her phone for a longer look at her half-naked body. A fresh batch of self-loathing courses through me now.
I let go of her arm as if her skin turned scalding. Physical contact with her seems as unwise as sticking my hand in fire.
She crosses her arm over her stomach, her expression upset as she caresses her bruise.
“It’s down to thirty thousand,” she says in a reluctant voice.
“Down to? How much was it at the start?”
“Forty.”
“You want me to give you thirty thousand dollars. Just like that.” I scoff and shake my head. “You’re really like your mother. All you see is a living ATM when you look at me.”
She scowls. “That’s not true. Stop comparing me to my mother. I’m nothing like her. The only things we ever had in common were blood, a last name, and constant disappointment in each other.”
And trying to send me to prison.
“I wasn’t expecting the full amount either,” she continues. “Or for you to give it. I wanted a loan.”
“You’re still in the hole if you borrow from Peter to pay Paul.”
“I’m hoping Peter won’t charge me three percent interest every two weeks like Paul does.”
“How did you wind up in this mess?”
She averts her gaze, an uncomfortable look on her face.
“Before she got really sick, Mom wanted to start a nail salon. She asked me to be her business partner and said a man named Cedric Rourke would be an investor.” She shakes her head.
“I learned too late he’s a loan shark she borrowed money from because banks wouldn’t lend to her.
And since I co-signed the loan, I inherited the debt when she died. ”
Whatever skepticism I had left that Penelope is telling the truth disappears. It’s replaced by cold anger. The beginning of the end of my previous life was the night Alyssa asked me for a loan.
She wanted to start a business selling beauty supplements. I told her no. She’d already borrowed nearly a hundred grand from me for two other failed businesses. This latest one carried too much risk to my reputation as a CEO in an adjacent industry.
Alyssa harassed me for the loan because she was sure her idea would make her millions. When I still refused to lend her money, she schemed up a sickening blackmail plan with Penelope—she lured me to have rough sex with her, begged me to choke her, then Penelope rushed into the room to “catch” me.
Give me the money or I’ll go to the police and say you raped me.
I called Alyssa’s bluff and lost.
“You helped her screw me over, then she turned around and screwed you over too.” I smile, though there’s no joy in it. “How does the medicine taste?”
“Like bitter regret.”
Again, the genuine remorse in her tone worsens my mood. She’s a liar. That’s how I want her to stay in my mind. I can’t risk trusting her because she’ll show her true treacherous colours again when I least expect it.
“After this Rourke guy came to your place, you should’ve done what your mother did and run crying to the police.”
“I did. They weren’t helpful.”
“Why not?”
“They said there’s nothing they could do because Cedric didn’t physically hurt me, I didn’t have proof he threatened me, and the loan is something I should discuss with a lawyer.”
“Unbelievable. Their priorities are something else. They’ll put innocent people through hell, but give the bad guy extorting others a pass?”
Penelope nods, her expression anxious.
“Cedric also found out I went to the police too. He came to my job and told me he has friends everywhere. He said I’d regret it if I talked to the police again.”
My jaw clenches as an urge comes over me to find Cedric Rourke. The asshole thinks it’s easy to intimidate a young woman. How would he fare with someone his own size?
You want to fight some guy you don’t know to protect a woman you don’t trust?
I turn away from Penelope and look out the windshield. My plan was to drop her off and leave, chalking up her visit as a brief blip of inconvenience while I went on with my life. Yet, I’m still here, ten minutes late for work.
My error was following her into the tow yard. I felt a shift the moment I saw her badly dented car. Not only was she telling the truth about the accident, she was lucky as hell she survived it with only a few bruises.
And now that I’ve heard the rest of her plight, my resolve to walk away and forget about her is even weaker. She’s in some deep shit and I’m probably the only one who can help her out of it.
Give her the money.
“You shaved off ten in six months,” I say to drown out my conscience. “Seems like you can get that thirty paid off in no time.”
“The interest is horrible. The ten wasn’t easy to do at all. I sold everything of value that belonged to me and Mom, except the car. I got lucky and sold one of my paintings for enough money to make a little dent too. I’ve been working two jobs, but I lost one, and my hours at the hotel—”
She cuts herself off and lets out a long breath.
“I’m sorry I called you an asshole. I didn’t mean it.” She bites her lips together, a remorseful look on her face. “I’d be really grateful if you could drop me off at the bus station.”
“You meant it. You’re just sorry you said it out loud with conviction.”
I start the car and pull out of the tow yard’s parking lot, lingering at the mouth of the driveway. Making a right turn should be my next move. Wenora’s only bus station is in that direction and my right indicator is clicking in the silence.
Penelope and her mother almost sent me to prison because spiteful Alyssa couldn’t get money out of me. Giving in to Penelope after the fact feels like succumbing to a long con.
But I don’t think she’s lying about Cedric Rourke. I also don’t have faith she’ll escape her debt to him, or the worse situation waiting for her when she can’t pay.
Can I live with myself if that happened?
Goddammit.
I turn left.
Penelope doesn’t notice the change of plans until I’m heading up the hill. She glances over at me in confusion then speaks up when I pull into my driveway.
“Did you forget something?”
I turn off the car and open my door.
“Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
I ignore her question and exit the car. She follows me at a slower pace. I’ve already unlocked the front door by the time she joins me on the porch, a wary look on her face.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll let you know whether or not I’ll lend you the money when I return from work.”
“I thought you already did and your answer was basically, ‘Fuck no and fuck off.’”
Amusement catches me off-guard and I fight a smile.
“That answer is still a strong possibility.”
“If you decide not to do it, what then? I have to spend another night here and catch the bus home tomorrow?”
I almost offer to drive her home but I stop myself.
“Yes.”
She takes a long breath then glances at the door.
“And you want me to stay in your house for the whole day? You’re OK with that?”
“Would you rather sit on the porch in the cold?”
“I’m just making sure you’re comfortable with this decision.”
“I’m not comfortable with this decision but I’m late for work and this is the best I can do for now. Go inside and wait until I get back.”
I turn away from her and head back to my car, pulling out of my driveway quickly before I change my mind.
Doubt gnaws at me on my way to work. Why did I take on this unnecessary grief? The answer I gave Penelope yesterday was the right one.
I don’t owe her anything. My obligations to her ended when I divorced her mother. If I lend her money, I’ll be tethered to her for who knows how long as she pays me back.
That’s if she’ll even do it.
She’s too afraid of Cedric Rourke to piss him off because he’s a criminal. She won’t see me as a threat or a priority. Even though the loan is for her protection, I’ll still be the fool who rewarded her for ruining my life.
My jaw clenches, my grip tightening on my steering wheel. She already took so much from me. How can I give her more? She owes me after what she put me through.
The arrest, my public humiliation, losing my job and career when everyone—even my mother—considered me a liability. What’s worse was how fucking close I came to losing my freedom too.
Shortly before my trial, there was a scandal about a case similar to mine. Some investment banker’s son got accused of a violent sexual assault against his girlfriend. He walked free despite overwhelming proof he did it.
People were angry, especially when it broke the news the guy did it again to another woman. THE WEALTHY NEVER PAY FOR THEIR CRIMES was the running theme in the media, and the prosecution wanted to make an example of me to prove that wasn’t true.
Things were looking grim despite my lawyer’s best efforts. My options were: give in to Alyssa’s ulterior motive of getting paid off to drop the charges, or face prison time. Thank fuck that video proved my innocence.
Alyssa’s false rape accusation and her serious attempt to send me to prison was bad enough. The worst part was Penelope’s participation. She meant a lot to me, and I thought I was important to her too. Clearly, I was wrong.
While Alyssa paid for her lies, Penelope never suffered any consequences because of her age at the time.
She was right that apologetic words aren’t enough.
Far from it.
The only way she could make up for what she did is if she paid for her betrayal too.