Chapter 31
Garrett
A knock startles me from sleep. I stretch my limbs, pull on my shirt, hope to God that whoever’s at the door hasn’t looked inside, and go to greet my guest.
A thin woman with an ambitious smile stares at my sorry, disheveled form. By her dress, I’d say she has something to do with the bank.
“Garrett Flint?” she says, holding out a hand. I offer mine up, and she shakes it so vigorously I worry my hand’s gonna pop off my wrist. “Madison Briar here, from the bank.”
Called it.
“Madison Briar, from the bank,” I say through clenched teeth.
“I’m here because—”
“I know why you’re here,” I say tersely. “Might as well get on with it.”
“Finance said we could put this for sale for around $85,000.”
I run the numbers through my head, positive she’s got it wrong.
“I bought this place for $155,000 not six years ago, and the appraiser—”
“Mr. Flint, I am aware of that, but a lot has changed since then, and of course the appraiser’s going to set the price as high as he can. More people are moving to the city, or at least away from the middle of nowhere. Everything’s taking a hit.”
I exhale in frustration. “There’s just no way I’m puttin’ it up for so much less than I owe.”
Madison tilts her head, an unsuccessful attempt at conveying empathy. “Mr. Flint, you’re already upside down on…everything. You don’t have much room to negotiate.”
“Can we at least put it up for one-oh-five?”
“Mr. Flint—”
“It’s Garrett.”
“Garrett, the bank wants this to turn over quickly. A price like $105,000 will have this on the market for months. We were thinking of going down to $75,000 to move it quickly.”
“And I’ll assume you’ll write off the rest?”
“We’ll negotiate a deal for you to pay off the rest of the loan,” she says. “Oh, almost forgot, you need to leave the tools.”
“I came to you guys so I could avoid bankruptcy, and you’re pushing me to the brink.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Flint. Please come by my office later today to sign some papers.”
Madison pivots on her heels and walks to a Mercedes in the parking lot, getting behind the wheel.
That car is worth more than your damn life.
I slam my office door, blood boiling, ready to deck anyone that rubs me the wrong way.
I leave a message on Mrs. Robinson’s voicemail, telling her to come pick up her car and sit down to think about the one thing that can pull me out of my misery.
Ali Kat Carter.
I don’t let the worry and shame in, that’ll have to wait. I think of her icy-blue eyes, the curl of her lips as she smiles, her proud breasts, and those gorgeous legs wrapped around my waist.
When I dare to dream, Ali is all mine. Beautiful and sun-kissed, she sits across from me on the blanket as we eat a picnic lunch. She tells me about her day, and I just listen.
