Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Words I’m beginning to think I’ve been a fool to trust…
“Okay, give me the dirt,” Sydney says after I’ve taken several bracing sips of the strong drink. “Who hurt you and where do I find them? Because I will find them, and I’ll make them sorry.”
“I hurt myself,” I confess. “I’ve been so stupid, Syd.”
Then, I spill it all—the secret plan to buy an apartment building and move to New York, the risky offer I made, the disastrous inspection results, and how the math is no longer mathing to make the deal work.
She winces at each revelation, assuring me I’m as screwed as I think I am. “So basically, I’m out thirty thousand dollars for nothing,” I say, fighting tears again. “If I back out now, I’ll lose my earnest money and the cost for the inspection. But if I go forward, there’s no way I can pay for the repairs, and there’s a good chance I’d end up in bankruptcy before it was all over.”
“You should have asked me for help, Maya,” Sydney says, her pale blue eyes pained for me. “Real estate is what I do. It’s what my father and his father did. It’s literally in my blood. I could have kept you from getting in this kind of trouble.”
“I know,” I say. “But I wanted to show everyone that I could do this on my own. That I wasn’t sweet, sheltered Maya who needs someone looking out for her all the time. But now…” I sigh. “Well, obviously, I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not,” she says, setting down her martini glass with a sharp clink. “Stop that kind of talk right now. You are brilliant and ballsy. And you aren’t the first person to take this kind of risk. Most people who aren’t born with silver spoons in their mouths have to take chances to get a foothold in a competitive market.” She nods firmly. “But as a silver spoon jerk from way back, I’ve never had to worry about that. Which is why you should let me help you fix this.”
I shake my head. “No, Syd, that isn’t why I wanted to talk.”
“I know it isn’t, but I want to help. I’m a very wealthy woman in my own right, honey, and now that Gideon and I—”
“No.” I hold up a firm hand, hoping she’ll see the determination in my eyes. “That’s so generous and kind, but I can’t take your money. I made this bed, and now I have to lie in it. Or…get up and walk away from it after learning a very expensive lesson.”
She scrunches her lips into a disapproving line. “I get it. I don’t like it but…I get it. But let’s look at this from all angles first, okay? Maybe there’s another way to get the capital you need to move forward.”
We brainstorm alternatives—a HELOC on the property after closing, a private loan from my parents as an advance against my inheritance, selling my eggs to a fertility clinic—but none of them are really viable.
Maybe not even my eggs…
“I’m not even sure if my ovaries are functioning properly,” I mumble, my lips a little numb from my Elf on the Top Shelf martini, a peppermint concoction even stronger than the Dirty Santa. “I could be infertile.”
“You are not,” Sydney says, with a defeated shake of her head. “But you don’t have enough eggs in your ovaries to finance those kinds of repairs. Not and have any left for making babies of your own, anyway.”
Tears spring into my eyes again, proving the hot mess train is still barreling toward Breakdown Station. “I won’t have babies. I can’t even find a normal guy to date who isn’t a walking red flag.”
Sydney blinks faster. “Wait, what? Who are you dating? And why is his flag red? Girl, you have really been holding out on me.”
“Well, that’s what you do when you decide to reverse Pretty Woman a Richard Gere of your very own and end up thinking that male prostitutes and small-town virgins have a shot at living happily ever after,” I say, lifting my glass in a sarcastic toast to the biggest idiot in the room.
Who is, of course, yours truly.
As soon as Sydney’s done choking on her drink, she demands I tell her what the hell I’ve been up to, and I do.
All of it. From begging Weaver to connect me to his sex-club madame friend, to Anthony sweeping me off my feet, to how fabulous he is with Pudge, to the way he makes me feel so beautiful and fascinating and safe.
To the way he lied and left me this morning after making a big deal out of being at the inspection…
“Holy shit,” she says, looking stunned. “I’m going to kill Weaver. Dead. He is so dead!”
“No, don’t kill Weaver,” I say. “I begged him to help me. He was just trying to be a friend, and I’m a big girl. I knew what I was doing.” I exhale a long, miserable breath. “Or…I thought I did. Until I met Anthony and had the most amazing sex ever and fell in love with a guy who is probably lying about everything. Including having feelings for me and my cat.”