Page 1 of The Deal

Chapter 1

Chloe

“Ah, crap,” I groan, quickly shifting down gears before slamming on the brakes as the traffic light ahead changes from amber to red. I’m already running late, but there’s a red-light camera at this intersection, and the last thing I need is a fine I can’t afford to pay.

My leg bounces restlessly as I wait for the light to change, the seconds ticking by far too slowly. “Come on … come on,” I mutter under my breath, my eyes flicking to the clock on the dashboard.

A sharp exhale escapes me as I see the time—great, I’m going to be late for my shift again. I’ll be lucky if I’m not fired; this will be the third time this month.

Juggling three jobs and my aging father is a struggle, but it’s a necessity I can’t avoid. If I don’t keep it up, my dad and I could end up on the streets. We’re barely scraping by as it is.

My fingernail now taps wildly on the steering wheel as the anxiety creeps in. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep going like this. It feels like I’m running on empty at this point—tired, stressed, and just hoping life will throw me a break.

And like the bitch she is, she decides to do the exact opposite.

The light finally turns green, and as I ease my foot off the clutch and shift into first gear, the car starts to cough and sputter as it jerks violently forward.

“Shit,” I yelp as the engine stalls and the car behind me sounds its horn.

Impatient fucker.

I get the engine to turn over again, but the same thing happens. This time, though, it’s worse. I can now see smoke billowing up from beneath the hood, and it’s abundantly clear I’ve got a more serious problem on my hands.

The car behind me sounds its horn again, and it takes all my strength not to wind down my window and flip him the bird. Can’t he see I’m in the middle of a crisis here?

I turn the key repeatedly, my hands slightly shaking as the adrenaline kicks in, but the engine refuses to start. Nothing. Not a damn thing.

“Motherfucker,” I grumble, slamming my balled-up fist against the steering wheel as my frustration reaches breaking point. God, I hate my life sometimes.

I turn on my hazard lights, remove my seat belt, roughly tug on the hood release lever, and exit the car.

I hold my hand up, gesturing a silent sorry to the rude jerk behind me, but when he disregards my half-hearted attempt at an apology and sticks his head out the window and yells, “Get that heap of shit out of my way,” my anger spikes. That’s when I end up doing what I was tempted to do a minute ago; I give him my middle finger and don’t even feel bad about it.

I’d move my car if I could, fuckface!

He yells a multitude of profanities in my direction, so I spin on my heels and round the front of the car. I don’t want toget into a back-and-forth argument with him. I have more important things to deal with right now.

A thick cloud of smoke billows out the moment I pop the hood, so I take a step back and wave my hand in front of my face, coughing, trying to clear the air.

I’m no mechanic, but I’ve picked up enough to handle the basics over the years. When you’re as broke as I am, you don’t always have a choice. Still, I don’t need to be a genius to see my car’s engine is cooked.

My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. This is catastrophic, and it could seriously mess with everything. How the hell am I supposed to get around without a car?

I can catch the bus to my regular day job, but my 3 am cleaning gig is a whole other nightmare, especially with all the equipment I need to haul around.

I tilt my head back and groan as I glance up at the starlit sky, sending a silent fuck you to the universe.

Fuck my life …with a cactus!

The shield I’ve erected around myself over time is like impenetrable steel, but as I wander aimlessly around the city, contemplating my future, I feel like I’m on the verge of tears.

You never know how strong you are until finding strength is your only choice. That about sums me up in a nutshell. I’ve been through some shit in my twenty-seven years—pretty dark times—and it’s hardened me to the point that I worry if I’ve become unfeeling.

After some kind bystanders helped me push the car to the side of the road—so that abusive dick in the swanky Volvo could go on his merry way—I called my boss.

As I expected, he fired me on the spot. I’m a hardworker and would do almost anything asked of me, and he knows it. He said he was sorry to let me go because I was one of his best employees, but my tardiness was something he could no longer overlook.

I understand, I do, and I despise letting people down, but I now find myself up shit creek without a paddle. The rent is due, and I received the final notice for our electricity bill a few days ago. I was banking on the money I would’ve been paid for my shifts this weekend.

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