The Lover’s Secret (No Exceptions #1)(25)
Author: J.C. Reed

“There’s always YouTube,” I said. “You could make a lot of money with parodies, and they’d probably never find out.”

We chatted some more, until Sylvie checked the time and grimaced.

“Shoot,” she said. “I wish I could stay, but work’s calling. Got to look at some f**ked-up reports.”

“Oh.”

I watched her get up and squeeze into her expensive coat before handing me a brown paper bag. “I’ve brought you your mail. Someone named Judy—or June or Julie or something like that…” She snapped her fingers in thought, then gave up. “Anyway, whatever her name, she’s been calling a lot. She said she needs you to get back to her as soon as possible.” Sylvie pointed at the bag again. “There’s a letter from her in there.”

“Thanks.”

It was already after 3 p.m. when Sylvie leaned in to give me a friendly kiss on the cheek. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” As I watched her leave, I felt a strange coldness creeping up my body again.

Chapter 15

After Sylvie was gone, I turned my attention to the stack of letters and hope surged through me. Whoever contacted me via email, might work at the legal firm, and might have sent me a letter to tell me more about the offer I had received for the Lucazzone estate. Leaning back, I began to sort through them.

Among the letters was a stunning fuchsia envelope, decorated with glitter, lace, and a satin ribbon, which I could only assume was another invitation to a college friend’s wedding.

Lucky girl.

I banished the dark, envious thoughts that were still lurking in the back of my mind and pushed the envelope back in the bag, then went through the usual brochures and ads next—anything but the frighteningly white envelopes that looked way too familiar. Eventually, I finished sifting through the meaningless stuff. When I didn’t find a letter that carried the Wighton & Harley logo, I had no choice but to turn my attention to the ones that mattered.

Even though I told myself there was nothing to worry about, my pulse started to race as I tore open the first letter and my eyes scanned the writing down to the bottom, where it was signed by a Judith Altenberg. I figured she was the woman who had called.

Miss Stewart,

After repeated attempts to contact you, I’m asking you to get in touch with me in regard to your missing payments over the past few months. Your overdraft has exceeded the limit, and we can no longer allow withdrawals. Your total debt has accumulated to a total of $49,867, and…

I stared at the number, stunned and paralyzed, unable to continue reading.

Fifty thousand dollars of debt.

And that was just the money I owed to the bank.

One bank.

Oh God!

How the heck did I—a twenty-three-year-old with a baby on the way—owe that much to a bank? But even as I asked myself the question, I knew the answer. I wasn’t born rich. Living and studying in New York City had been expensive. There had never been another option but to take out loans to fund my college education and to keep myself afloat. After finishing my education, I went through nine months of unemployment, during which I maxed out all my credit cards, then ended up working for Sunrise Properties with a salary that barely covered rent and food. When Jett hired me, he offered me twice what I had made before. But with a new job came the need for a new wardrobe and other expenses in order to fit into Jett’s world.

I shook my head grimly.

Fifty thousand dollars was almost the price of a brand new car, something I desperately needed to replace my beloved Volvo, which had served me well, but it was now becoming a bit too unpredictable.

It was almost as much as Jett had paid with a single swipe of his card for a weekend at the TRIO hotel.

Dread threatened to choke me as I opened the second letter with shaking hands. Then the third and then another one. They were all reminders of my debts and student loans, accumulating to a whopping…

Ninety…

What!?

Ninety thousand dollars of debt.

My mind froze, and for a moment, I thought I might just throw up all over the floor.

What did you think, stupid? That your money problems would go away just because you have a well-paying job now? That not picking up the mail would make the bills vanish?

I felt physically sick, as if someone had just punched me twice in the stomach and left me lying on a cold floor, only to return with a truck, ready to run me over.

I had worked so hard all my life. Why couldn’t life just give me a break?

In one angry motion, I balled the letters up, and pushed them across the table, as far away from me as possible. Even with my new promotion and the great bonus package, it’d take me forever to repay all of those loans while I struggled to keep my head above water. I buried my head in my hands and took deep breaths, but they didn’t do much to calm me.

There were some possibilities, a few other options, like asking Jett for help. Or trying to find a way to change Alessandro Lucazzone’s will and sell the property I had inherited in Italy. According to Jett’s lawyers, the estate would begin to incur annual property costs and taxes, starting the following year. Only—even if I managed to find a clause that allowed me to sell the property—I didn’t want to touch money that didn’t really belong to me.

But the worst part was that Jett had no idea about my money problems. No one knew, because I was too ashamed to admit it even to myself, let alone to those who cared about me.

The sinking hole wasn’t getting smaller. If anything, I felt as though it was about to swallow me up whole. No matter what, I had to find a feasible solution.

Maybe start my own business?

I groaned inwardly at the thought. That would require another, bigger loan for starting capital, and my credit score was already scary as hell. Sell some personal items?

Maybe…but what?

I had nothing valuable, except for a few pairs of boots and some business attire that had seen more work than a lumberjack.

I snorted at my brain-dead ideas.

It wasn’t just that most my clothes were old. I had been borrowing clothes from Sylvie for years and couldn’t possibly sell the few new items I had bought with my last paycheck.

Asking my mother, who had debts of her own to pay off, was out of the question. Asking Sylvie, after she had been covering a larger portion of the rent for years (she always insisted) to help me out, was unacceptable. I realized that asking Jett for help was out of the question, too, even though ninety thousand dollars would have probably been like ninety bucks for him. He might be the rich boyfriend, who wouldn’t even notice that kind of money missing from his account, but asking him would be like admitting that I was poor, and that I didn’t fit into his world. Besides, I refused to be dependent on Jett; the only thing worse than being single or desperate was to owe a man. I couldn’t live with the guilt and the shame, and especially not with the knowledge that, at some point, he might start to resent me or to look down on me. I didn’t want money or lack thereof to define me.