Stolen Lust (Beauty in the Stolen 1)

He scratches his head. “I’ll be honest with you. It ain’t worth much.”

I catch his gaze and hold it. It’s always harder to look away from a direct stare. “How much?”

Sighing, he shoves his hands in his back pockets. “The best I can do is try to sell the usable parts. It won’t earn you more than a couple of grand.”

My rent is six grand. I don’t know from where I’m going to get the other four, but every penny is one penny closer to paying my rent and not being homeless. “I’ll take it.”

He shakes his head as he walks to a petty cash box and pulls out a few bills. “Here,” he says, holding them out to me.

My cheeks heat as I accept the charity. We both know my rusted old car isn’t worth that much. “Thanks.”

“You take care now,” he says as I turn on my heel.

The walk back home gives me time to think. The only lawyer I know is a classmate from school. At the next block, I turn toward the Midtown Mall and go past the German cake house to Mariette’s office on the square.

“She’s busy,” her secretary says but calls to ask if Mariette can see me.

After speaking to her boss, she informs me Mariette will meet me at lunchtime in the cake house.

I’m early, so I take a table next to the window and order a coffee while I wait. I’m starving but unable to stomach food. The caffeine does its magic, settling me somewhat and giving me the boost my tired body and wrung out mind need to not collapse completely.

When Mariette steps inside, her gaze immediately finds me. The place isn’t busy. Offering me a wry smile, she makes her way over. She’s never forgiven me for being more popular with the boys than her, even if I never asked for the attention. She’s held the grudge against me unfalteringly, using her brain as a weapon against my beauty—her words—at every chance she got.

“This is a surprise,” she says, taking the chair opposite me.

I cut to the chase. “I need your professional opinion.”

She hooks the sling of her bag over the chairback. “Hire me.”

My smile is tight. “You know I can’t afford you.”

“Told you to study something useful after school.” She folds her hands on the table. “Being pretty isn’t enough to earn a living.”

I clench my jaw at the jab. It wasn’t my dad’s fault we lost the farm. She has no idea what it’s like to fight a losing battle against drought.

A retort is on the tip of my tongue, but I let it slide. I need her. I don’t have a choice. “Nick fired me.”

She glances at the papers in my hand and reaches over the table. “Let me see.”

I hand them over with reluctance, even if I’m the one asking for the favor. I hate begging. I hate being in her debt.

Her gaze scans over the print as she reads. She flicks over the page and carries on, in between ordering a toasted cheese sandwich and apple strudel when the waiter comes to our table.

After going through the last page, she lifts her head to look at me. Her expression is bland. “They’re within their rights. You signed the clause when you accepted the position, which, may I add, was a dumb move. With this, they can get through any legal loophole.”

My spirits sink to the bottom of the pit. I’m not sure I’ll be able to claw my way out. “What about compensation?”

“According to this,” she waves the papers in her hand, “you owe them more interest for the money they advanced on your salary than giving you three months’ worth of layoff pay. I’d advise you to cut your losses. You stand to lose more in a drawn-out court case than you can possibly win.”

“This is your honest opinion?” I ask with the last hope I manage to scavenge.

She lifts a brow in silent answer.

Right. Mariette never gives anything but her honest opinion. I sag back in my chair. “Thanks, I guess.”

Taking her bag, she zips it open and goes through her wallet.

“What are you doing?” I ask as she takes out a stack of bills.

“It’s about six hundred.” She puts it in the middle of the table. “It’s all I have on me.”

I look from the money to her face. “I didn’t ask.”

“You don’t have to pay me back.”

I can’t. I simply can’t take the money under her judgmental stare, because there’s satisfaction in the quirk of her lips. The knowing smile says she’s happy about my misery. A woman like her, too envious to appreciate her own beautiful qualities, will never be happy for my fortune. She needs to push me down into the dirt, just like she’d done with her comments in high school.