Nettie shook her head quickly, hugging her arms across her chest as if holding herself together. “Look, I just need a ride home because they haven’t fixed the tire yet—and now I need two of them. I guess I picked up another nail or something, and I’m sorry—I’m just beyond frustrated right now.”
The salesman’s expression softened, his tone gentling. “Here—why don’t you come sit down for a moment, and I’ll handle this.I’ve got a daughter about your age, and my wife would have my hide if I didn’t help someone out, you know? We believe in karma—and I’d like to think someone would take care of my Olivia if she looked upset too.”
The mention of his daughter cracked something in Nettie’s chest. She nodded mutely and let him guide her, step by step, into a small office tucked off the main floor. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the air faintly scented with fresh coffee and car polish. She sank into a chair opposite his desk, her legs trembling.
With fumbling fingers, she pulled out her phone.
Hey—there is a guy here who said he grabbed the keys from the night drop box. I’ll keep you posted on what’s going on…
She hit send to Tate, then sat frozen in her chair, staring at the screen as though his name might appear instantly with a solution. It didn’t. Minutes dragged. The silence grew heavy. Then footsteps sounded in the hallway, firmer, more purposeful.
A second man entered, trailed by the older salesman. The newcomer was dressed sharply in a dark suit, his stride brisk, his smile practiced and bright.
“Miss Yarborough?”
“Yes?” Her voice wobbled, though she tried to steady it.
“I’m David Yancy, the sales manager of the dealership and?—”
“I’m not buying a car.” The words burst out of her in a panicked choke. Her chest squeezed tight as she looked between the two men, both wearing those salesman grins that made her skin crawl. “I just want the keys to my car and I’m going to take it somewhere else to get the tires put on.”
“Tires?” David glanced at the other man, alarm flickering. “Ollie, does her car need tires?”
“She said it does, but I just looked and it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Nettie’s voice cracked, sharp with disbelief. “It’s not fine - at all. There are two flat tires, and some jokester wrote ‘auction’ across the windshield.”
David’s smile faltered. “Oh, I can see how that would be upsetting to you.” He frowned, exchanging a puzzled look with Ollie, who only shrugged. “Can you show me where your car is parked?”
“Seriously?” Nettie gaped at them, her whole body shaking now. Her nerves were raw, stretched to breaking, and tears stung the corners of her eyes. Salesmen always had some kind of trick up their sleeves, some smooth-talking voodoo that left people signing on dotted lines they didn’t understand until it was too late. She wasn’t about to fall into that trap. Not today. “It’s parked on the side of the building with two flat tires.”
David lifted something in his hand, his expression unreadable. A ball of yarn keychain dangled there—hers. Her quirky little USB charger keychain that she got at a craft store.
“That’s your keychain?”
Nettie’s chest tightened. “That’s my keys—yes.”
David’s smile spread slowly, confidently, as though everything had just fallen neatly into place. He pressed the button. Across the showroom, a sleek black Mercedes sedan chirped to life, headlights flashing like eyes winking at her. A massive red bow sat on the hood like something out of a holiday commercial.
“Look, no flat tires. I believe that if this is your keychain, thenthatis your car, Miss Yarborough…”
Nettie’s mouth went dry.
Her knees wobbled.
“That’s not…” Her words trailed off into nothing. The showroom blurred around her as her vision swam. Then, as if gravity had betrayed her, she sank down, legs folding until she landed on the cold tile floor. “That’s not my car…”
David crouched beside her, voice soft and gentle, like he understood that she was beyond reasoning, but he still had a job to do – and that was to convince her that he was right. “But yousaid this is your keychain… right? This little ball of cords that looks like yarn?”
The older man leaned down, chuckling kindly, and offered a steadying hand. “I’m Ollie, if you ever need anything—just feel free to let me know and I will handle everything. Mr. Cassidy said you weren’t to worry about a thing—ever.”
Mr. Cassidy?
This was… Tate’s doing?
“He didn’t…” Nettie’s whisper was hoarse, broken, disbelief cracking her words apart. Her heart fluttered wildly, panic colliding with shock. “He couldn’t… and Gina? Oh my gosh – Gina…”
Her head dropped into her hands, a sob breaking free. The weight of everything—the flat tires, the fight with Tate that kept her up all night worrying, the stress of the missing car, Gina rushing off— it poured out all at once. Her whole body trembled as she tried to make sense of the impossible.
