One Day Fiance

“Too fucking late,” I snap. Nope, he’s lost my cooperation. I don’t even slow, bitch-walking my way right out of the office, my heels clicking on the tile.

The clerk flinches as I pass her, and I’m sure she heard every word of that last bit. Good. I want everyone from the lowest patrolman to the chief of police himself to hear how unhelpful, judgmental, and rude Detective Jax Carter is.

“Miss Woodstock? Is everything okay?” the clerk asks, probably reveling in someone else getting some of my ire after I freaked out on her earlier. Hell, maybe appreciating that someone knocked me down a peg or two as well.

“No, it most definitely is not. If that’s what you have to work with every day, I am so sorry for adding to the shitshow earlier. You have enough to deal with.”

The clerk’s brows jump up, but there’s a bit of ‘you got that right, sister’ in her eyes, and I feel like my apology is at least accepted.

As for Detective Carter’s half-assed request for me to come back to his desk for more questions, I ignore the fuck out of that.

My phone dings, reminding me that it’s now nine in the morning. Last night feels like it was a decade ago, and my addled brain is aching from the lack of sleep. I’ve pretty much stress eaten every sweet, salty, or otherwise ‘junk’ item in my pantry, and as I stagger to the kitchen to suck down another cup of coffee, the streaky raccoon that looks back at me from the reflection in the machine reminds me that nope, I haven’t even washed up since getting home.

I’ve just wept, raged, walked circles in my living room, and raged some more. Nut and Juice finally gave up on me and flopped down in the corner to sleep, and maybe I passed out for an hour or two, somewhere in between my double stuffed Oreos and my salt and vinegar chip binges.

But whatever. I’ve got to do this . . . I’ve got to call Hilda. Still, I procrastinate, not wanting to do it. I go to the bathroom to pee and then wash my face so that at least I don’t make this call worse than it has to be. I fake smile at myself in the mirror, aiming for a confidence boost, but the cookie crumbs crowded around my gums dash that hope too. I don’t bother with toothpaste but at least scrub away the grossness with a wet toothbrush. But with that done, there’s no putting off the inevitable.

With trembling fingers, I dial Hilda’s number, and she picks up on the first ring. “You’re welcome.”

“Hilda . . . it’s gone.”

Hilda, obviously expecting me to answer with a happy ‘thank you’ and some gushing, pauses. “What?”

Quickly, in one long, semi-coherent rush, I explain what happened. Hilda listens, and her first question is a punch to my gut. “And you didn’t back up the file?”

I groan, another round of fresh tears threatening though I’ve surely got to be cried out by now. “Hilda, I know it’s bad, and I did go to the cops, at least. And I’m going to fix this. I don’t know how, but I’m going to.”

“You’d better,” Hilda says. “Look, I can talk with Bluebird. Maybe they’ll give you a little more time if you have to start from scratch . . . but there’s not going to be any more advance checks until you actually turn work in, you know? Whatever’s in your bank account, that’s it.”

“I know.”

Hilda sighs. “I know I shouldn’t need to ask this, but you’re okay bill-wise?”

“Oh . . . I’m okay,” I assure her, even though I’m going to have to be careful. I’ve got the advance funds in the bank, but most of the profit from the first book went to buying this townhouse. “I’ll figure it out, Hil.”

“Do that. But when you get a replacement laptop, pick up a flash drive and make it a habit to use it from here on,” she says with some force in her voice, but then she softens. “I’m glad you’re safe. If you need anything, call. Okay?”

“Okay. Uhm, bye for now?”

“Call me this evening and tell me about your new computer,” Hilda says before hanging up. A yip from behind me tells me that Nut and Juice are up, and when there’s a growl and yip in reply, I realize they’re going at it for round 6329 or whatever it is.

“Quiet, guys,” I growl, looking over at them and trying not to yell. It’s not their fault my head is pounding. “Momma really doesn’t need that this morning.”

Juice looks at me, and I swear those two have knocked a few brain cells out of each other in their tussling. But before I can repeat myself, I hear folks outside making noise and then the rumble of a big diesel engine.