Show Me the Way (Fight for Me 1)

Who would these people be rooting for in this race?

For me?

For my grandmother?

For the vacant, deserted diner that sat only three miles away, begging for someone to take mercy on its desolation?

Scrubbing away the grime would only get me so far.

If I were going to get any farther, I needed money. God knew that five dollars I’d had left to work magic with hadn’t gotten me very far.

A woman appeared at the end of a hall. “Ms. Dayne?”

“Yes?”

She cast me a generous smile. “Mr. Roth will see you now. Right this way.”

Trembling, I stood, fingers shaking as I straightened my skirt. “Thank you.”

I attempted to gather my wits, to put on a brave face, to wear resolve and confidence. I knew I would be riding the fine line of approval since my loan was high risk, and I could only hope my belief in the business would throw it over the edge in my favor.

I followed her down the short hall to where the private loan offices were located. My heels clicked on the tile floor, in tune with the hammer of my heart. It drummed harder and harder with each step.

She gestured with her arm into an office, murmuring, “Good luck,” as she turned to walk back the direction we’d come.

Swallowing hard, I lifted my chin, painting on that firm confidence and forcing myself to wear a smile as I turned the corner of the doorway and stepped into the office.

I faltered to a standstill.

My breath gone.

Stolen.

Stopped by an obstacle I wasn’t sure I could overcome.

Timothy Roth.

Tim.

Handsy asshole from the bar.

Doesn’t understand the word no.

He cracked an arrogant smile. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the lovely . . .” He paused to inspect the name on the application that sat open on his desk. The pre-approval application I’d dropped off three days ago before my scheduled appointment with the head loan officer.

Timothy Roth.

“Corinne Dayne.” He rocked back in his big leather office chair, looking as if he’d just won the lottery. Or more like he was just holding hostage the numbers to my winning lottery ticket.

That sounded about right.

Dread slithered up my throat, like the slow, slimy slide of a snake. Constricting from the outside. Suffocating from the inside.

“Mr. Roth.” It was a breath of uncertainty. Of indecision and doubt.

Why? First Aaron, and then this asshole? What was I going to do?

He gestured a little too eagerly to the chair that sat across from his desk. “Please, shut the door and take a seat.”

My body quaked, but I did what I was told, the door snapping shut behind me, my feet unsteady as I took the three steps to stand in front of his desk. In discomfort, I eased down onto the chair.

Get it together, Rynna. This is too important for you to mess up now. Don’t let either of these jerks hold you back.

I wasn’t fool enough to think all things didn’t come at a cost. And sometimes that cost was your pride.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” I managed.

He had his elbow propped on the armrest of his chair, his index finger at his temple and his thumb under his jaw. Blatantly, he looked me up and down. His eager smile curved into a smirk. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

I ignored the lump that thickened in my throat. “I hope you’ve had the chance to look at my application.”

“Yes, I have, and we appreciate you looking to our establishment for your needs.”

Okay. This was good. We could totally ignore our previous awkward situation.

I nodded, continued. “As you read, I inherited Pepper’s Pies from my grandmother when she passed away several months ago.” God, I hated the way it came out, as if she were nothing but a distant memory. Not when her loss was a fresh wound that ached inside of me. I forced a small smile. “The location is on Fairview, a prime location, especially with all the renovations currently happening in the area.”

He thumbed through the paperwork. I eased a little, my rigid spine softening when he turned his attention from me and to the reason I was here.

“And you’re asking for two-hundred-thousand dollars?” he asked, still perusing the sheets. “How did you come to this number?”

“Yes. I had an estimator come in before I took over holdings on the building. It should be sufficient to get us up and running again.”

He nodded. “That’s good.”

Hope blazed to life.

I shifted to the edge of the chair. “You can see we have the profit and loss estimates on page thirteen. With the reputation of the diner, I was told I could expect profits to exceed the loss within a year. It will give me plenty for the upkeep of the diner, a modest salary for myself, and the ability to pay the loan each month.”

Okay, maybe it was a bit of a stretch. I’d be riding a fine line. But I was willing to put in the extra work.