This will never work. It can’t work.
But then again, I’m wearing a cursed ring and I’m the new slave caretaker of a horned, hooved beast called Pell who comes with a rulebook that sounds suspiciously like a manual for a dominant-submissive sex club.
Old-Lady Blue comes back and plops down in her seat. “He’ll meet you out back, Pie.” She smiles at me when she says my name. But it’s way too saccharine sweet, to be honest.
We’ll see who’s smug when I leave here with my Jeep and all you get in return is a piece of paper off your own notepad.
“Thanks,” I say, my appreciation just as fake as her smile.
Out in the yard, MoMack is waiting for me by my Jeep. He has unhooked it and is holding my purse. “Honey,” he says, handing it over. “You don’t have enough money in there to pay this bill.”
“Don’t you worry about it,” I say, snagging my purse from him. “I’m good.”
I go back inside and shove the piece of paper through the glass at Old-Lady Blue.
“What’s this?”
“Huh?” Shit. Please, please, please tell me this is going to work.
“What is this paper?”
“Oh, sorry,” I say, sliding it back towards me. “I thought you dropped it—”
“Two hundred and twenty dollars, sweetie Pie.”
I point at her. “Clever. Never heard that one before.” Then I proceed to dig in my purse, pretending to look for money. But really, I’m replaying that conversation back in my head. They told me to write down the word ‘money’ on a piece of paper. That’s all I needed.
Obviously, they left out a detail or two, because it’s not working.
“I really did think you were speaking another language,” Old-Lady Blue says.
“Huh?” I look up at her without interest.
“When you came in here. Pie Vita. I thought you were speaking Latin or something. Livin’ la Vida Loca.” She does a little shoulder shimmy. “Isn’t that what the kids say?”
“That’s a Ricky Martin song and he’s Latino, but I’m pretty sure the similarities end there… ooo! Latin!” Of course! That must be it. I need the Latin word. Pell was insisting that we were speaking Latin even though we weren’t. Welp, it can’t hurt to try. “One more sec,” I tell her, then grab my phone and do a search for the Latin word for money. I snatch the pen from the counter, cross out ‘money,’ and write ‘moneta.’
I pass the paper back.
Old-Lady Blue smiles. And this time it’s real. “Thank you very much for your business, Pie Vita. We really do appreciate it. You have a good day now.”
Holy fucking shit. It worked!
“You too, ma’am.” I smile back. And my smile is real as well.
I have literally been given a blank check.
I can spend as much as I want.
I can buy anything I want.
The first thing I do is take the Jeep to the mechanic place because one of my tires is looking suspiciously low. The mechanic finds a nail in the wall of my back tire and tells me I should buy all new ones since they are mostly bald.
I get that sinking feeling of panic when I hear this. It’s the kind of panic only people who don’t have money for a full set of tires can appreciate.
But then I rally. Because I don’t need money. “Sure,” I tell the mechanic. “I’ll take four brand-new tires. The big ones. You know, the kind that makes Jeeps look cool.” Then I spy shiny chrome rims stacked on the one side of the waiting room. “And a set of those too. Give me the best ones you’ve got.”
The mechanic looks at me like I’m stupid. Because my Jeep is a piece of shit and this purchase is probably worth more than the actual vehicle.
But I don’t care.
Not my money.
Not money at all.
I snicker as I slide my key off my ring and give him my phone number so he can text me when it’s ready.
Then I hit the shops. And I hit them hard.
So I totally forget that I planned on canceling my date with Russ Roth until he pulls up beside me as I’m walking down the main street, my hands filled with bags of clothes, and candles, and makeup, and all kinds of fancy shit I could never afford to buy before today.
Russ’s window slides down. “Pie Vita. If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re trying to stand me up.” Then he winks at me.
And yeah. There is no freaking way in hell I’m breaking this date.
This man does things to me. I can’t explain the way he affects me, but affect me he does.
Russ doesn’t even wait for me to answer. He gets out of his car, opens the back passenger door, takes all my packages and puts them inside, and says, “Get in, Pie. We’re going on a date.”