A Deal With the Devil (9 page)

Apparently dissatisfied with her answer, Rob pressed for more. “When will that be?”

“Hopefully I’ll be back in a day or two. It’ll depend on the weather.”

“You’re the best, sis.”

You’re a pushover
, Kate’s evil twin whispered.

She was exhausted—that’s what she was.

Amanda muttered a curse as she disconnected the call and flopped back on the cushions. Her brother might as well have asked for a million bucks, because that crazy sum would be as easy to come up with as the twenty thousand. Her financial well had run dry. The ATM was out of service and the sooner Rob understood that, the better.

Chapter Five

manda pulled a worn spiral notebook from her tote bag and flipped to the dog-eared page with her budget. Then she sank back into the sofa cushions, waggling her pen as she scrutinized each line item entry. It wasn’t necessary. She already knew the contents by heart. But for some inexplicable reason, she obsessively reviewed her catalogue of debts several times a day—as if by doing so, she’d magically discover a way to make them disappear. So far she hadn’t.

Her bills consumed every last penny of her income, which made saving impossible. Her 401K was zilch, she’d maxed out every credit card with cash advances and her meager rainy day account had long since been drained. She’d even taken out a second mortgage on her new condominium. Despite her generous salary—and even with her recent promotion—the money she’d given Rob had wiped her out.

She glared at the page. She detested every single line and number on it; hated anything that made her feel helpless and vulnerable and out of control. But for some reason, no matter how many times she promised herself differently, she found viewing the list of bills impossible to resist.

In a sudden act of rebellion, Amanda ripped the page from the notebook with flourish, wadded it into a tiny little ball and tossed it into the fire. A smile touched her lips as the flames surrounded it, licking at it and turning the edges bright orange just before it transformed into ashes. If only she could make her debts disappear as fast.

She sat up straight and threw back her shoulders. It was time to get creative.

Amanda stared at the blank page for what seemed an eternity, clicking the pen in and out. She solved multimillion dollar brand strategy problems for a living and she didn’t owe anywhere near that amount, thank God. She just needed to come up with a measly hundred thousand. Okay, maybe measly was stretching it a bit, but how hard could it be? She just needed to list out all her options for making extra money, evaluate the pros and cons, pick one and then go.

She bit her lip and racked her brain. She knew how to wait tables. That was a great option for a second job. Amanda scribbled it on her pad. She’d waited tables all through college, graduating to a gig as a cocktail waitress as soon as she turned twenty one. The higher tips had come in handy, especially since the job had been her primary means of supporting Rob after her parents died. There’d been a modest life insurance policy; just enough to pay for her brother’s college education and supplement their income for the first several years until her career started to take off. Scholarships and loans had funded her own college tuition and her waitress job had helped pay for the apartment and food.

If she worked at the right place, even six months could help her power down some bills. Granted, her skills were a little rusty, but schlepping a tray with drinks was probably a lot like riding a bike. It would come back to her.

Maybe Rob could hire her once his restaurant opened. After all, she’d helped fund the damned thing. Employing her seemed the least he could do since she knew he’d never actually pay her back. Despite her foul mood, Amanda giggled as she imagined her irresponsible brother as her part-time employer.

Her laughter died away. It was impossible. Not only would she be tempted to kill Rob—which, given his status as her last living relative, she’d rather not do—the truth was her day job didn’t allow her the flexibility. On a good day she worked ten hours, many days went longer and between the long hours, last minute client catastrophes and frequent travel, a night job seemed next to impossible.

Amanda waggled the pen. This little brainstorm session wasn’t going very well. She couldn’t even come up with another viable option beyond waiting tables, which she’d already deemed impossible. She couldn’t do retail either as it would require too many hours and she’d never earn the kind of money she needed to pay off her six figure debt. She could always go for Jake’s fake engagement idea. After all, he had told her to name her price, so clearly he was as desperate as she. But would he be willing to fork over a hundred grand?

Her cell buzzed.

She glanced at the display and pressed the button to connect. “Hi.”

“You said you’d call with an update,” Kate said.

“It’s only been” —Amanda checked her watch— “an hour and a half.”

“A lot can happen in ninety minutes.”

Amanda set the notebook in her lap and sighed. “A lot did happen, I guess. The electricity went out. I helped Jake haul wood to the porch and, in the process, I nearly broke my ankle.”

“I don’t feel the teensiest bit sorry for you,” Kate said, her sugary Alabama drawl enlarged her haughty tone. “Girls aren’t supposed to carry wood.”

Amanda rolled her eyes and tapped the pen on her notebook. “I must have missed the memo. Be sure to include me in the distribution next time.”

“All women know this,” Kate sniffed.

“Now you sound like Jake. But you might be right. I think I ruined my boots.” And given her money situation, she couldn’t afford to replace them. The thought made her even crankier.

“Amanda Wilson, do
not
tell me you traipsed through the snow in your new Stuart Weitzman boots—the ones with those cute little kitten heels.”

“You always say my full name when you’re pissed,” Amanda said. “And in case you wondered, it’s super-irritating. Yes, if you must know, my boots are toast.”

Kate groaned. “Amandaaaaaa. I could just
kill
you. I planned to borrow those next week.”

“Buy your own damned boots,” Amanda didn’t bother to mask her irritation. It was barely ten thirty and in her view, she’d filled her quota of lectures for the day. “I need to discuss something important.”

“What’s going on?”

Amanda paused briefly to consider the wisdom of confiding in her friend. When the topic concerned her brother, the conversation tended not to go well. Kate’s opinions of her brother had been formed early; in those first few years after her parents died. They’d been college roommates and Rob had moved in with them. Her teenage brother had not only cramped their freewheeling lifestyle, but his presence had put Kate right in the middle of Amanda’s colorful and often disastrous experiments in parenting. Ten years later, Kate showed no signs of changing her mind about Rob. Of course, his recent behavior hadn’t helped. Kate knew all about the money she’d given Rob and if she found out he’d just asked for another twenty thousand, her head might pop off.

Still, Amanda needed to talk to somebody and as her BFF it was Kate’s job to listen. So she drew in a long, calming breath and blurted out, “My brother called.” In the uncomfortably long silence that followed, Amanda experienced the first dull throbs of a headache.

“What did he want?” Kate’s voice sounded wary.

Amanda’s grip on the phone tightened. She should’ve kept her mouth shut. But she hadn’t, so she forced herself to say, “Twenty thousand.”

Kate gasped. “
Dollars
?”

“No nickels,” Amanda said with an exaggerated sigh. “Of
course
, dollars.”

After an inordinately long pause, Kate started in, her uncharacteristically sarcastic tone making her words all the more effective. “So, after you issued your authoritative no, which of course you
always
do with your bother,
then
what happened?”

The dull throbbing ache in her temples bloomed into sharp, stabbing pain which settled behind her eyes. She needed to lie down. Amanda shifted the frozen peas from her ankle to her forehead and then rested her head on the arm of the sofa as she contemplated which body part hurt worse.

“I
did
tell him no,” Amanda said. But her voice sounded decidedly more tentative as she added, “Sort of.”

“Sort of,” Kate repeated.

Amanda pressed the peas against her forehead and burrowed further into the cushions as she said, “I said no, but . . . well, you know how he is.”

“Yes. I
do
know.” Kate’s tone signaled the return of the steel magnolia. “And I know how
you
are.”

“How I am.”

“Yes. You’re usually all independent and tough—or at least, you pretend to be. But when it comes to your brother, you’re confused and wishy-washy,” Kate said, sounding exasperated. “I don’t get how someone as practical and responsible as you can be so incredibly naïve where your brother’s concerned.”

Probably for the same reason she bought every over-hyped cosmetics product she ran across. Like the Tahiti in a Bottle crap upstairs. When she thought of the amount she’d paid for the over-priced shower gel, her blood pressure rose. Still, she wasn’t going to give Kate the satisfaction of thinking she was right. “I’m not confused or wishy-washy.”

“Oh, please. You’re talking to me and this brother thing has gone on for a
very
long time.”

“What brother thing?” She made a silent vow to never confide to Kate about her brother ever,
ever
again. It wasn’t worth it. Well, she probably would, but not for a very long time.

“Your brother wants money, or anything else, and he gets it—no matter the cost to you.” Kate kicked the know-it-all tone up a notch as she added, “I’ll bet you’ve got that raggedy old notebook and pen out right now, trying to figure out a way to find the money to give him.”

Amanda frowned and glanced from the notebook to the pen. She pulled the phone away from her ear and stuck out her tongue and then pretended to pound the device into the sofa cushions. She should have known she’d get the lecture; she’d certainly heard it often enough.

When she put the phone back to her ear, she caught Kate mid diatribe, her sermon progressing in its normal track as Kate was saying, “…and the real problem is you continually ask yourself the wrong question. You try to figure out what your parents would do to support Rob. But the truth is, at this stage of the game, your parents
wouldn’t
help him.”

Amanda felt compelled to jump in. “If my parents hadn’t died—”

Kate’s voice grew louder. “If your parents hadn’t died, they’d give your brother the kick in the patootie he needs and maybe he’d
finally
grow up.”

She paused and then said, “I’m guessing patootie is Alabaman for ass.”

“Not funny. You know I’m right.”

Amanda knew no such thing. “You’re wrong. My parents would support Rob’s dreams, which is all I’m doing,” Amanda said.

Kate made an exasperated sound. “You’re
not
supporting Rob’s dreams.”