Page 2 of The Deal

I have the majority of the money I need hidden away in the secret lining I sewed into my handbag—removing the temptation from my father—but even with the extra cash this weekend would’ve garnered, it still would’ve left me short.

We’ve been without power before and survived it, but if I can’t pay the rent, we risk being evicted. Where would that leave us? I don’t even have a car I could live in now, and I know my dad wouldn’t last long on the streets, but giving up is not an option.

I can’t stop fighting this never-ending war just because I’m losing the battle. I need to change tactics. How, I have no clue, but I’ll figure it out just like I always do.

I glance through the window of the stylish cocktail lounge that’s situated on the ground floor of the swish hotel as I pass. It’s the kind of place I would’ve often stayed at—before my life wasn’t so … hellish.

Glancing at the patrons inside makes me feel melancholy. This is what an everyday existence looks like for most people my age: out socialising with friends … living their best life. Unfortunately, it’s a luxury I can no longer afford.

I don’t even have friends to go out with.

My childhood was very different from the existence I now face. I grew up privileged. The only daughter of Theodore and Angelina Carmichael. I was their spoilt little princess who wanted for nothing. I attended the best private schools and spent my yearly vacations in Italy, living the high life and visiting with my mum’s extended family, but that all seems like a world away now.

When my mother left, our lives began to fall apart. I was devastated when she abandoned us, but as the days, weeks, months and years passed, and my father began to spiral, that love I once felt for her turned to hate.

I’ll never understand it.

How can you love your family one minute and forget their existence the next? I don’t think I’ll ever get over what she did. It was the catalyst that turned my perfect life into a dumpster fire.

I’ve experienced every emotion since: confusion, betrayal, abandonment, grief, loss, anger, resentment, fear, insecurity, guilt, self-blame, loneliness, isolation … helplessness. You name it, I’ve felt it.

Despite all the shitty things my father has put me through over the past thirteen years, I could never turn my back on him. He’s a product of his reality, just like I am. Besides, he’s family … I’m all he has left.

Pausing, I flatten my palms against the pristine glass and continue observing through the window like a voyeur.

I stare at the group of girls laughing and taking shots in the booth along the far wall, blowing out a puff of air as I watch two of them rise from their seats and start dancing beside the table.

I can’t remember the last time I danced.

My warm breath fogs up the glass, so I swipe my hand across it so I can see again. The women appear to be having a greattime, as if they don’t have a care in the world, while my life is crumbling around me.

My attention moves to the couple sitting near the window off to the side. They are holding hands across the tabletop and gazing at each other lovingly. It makes my heart pang. Growing up, I always yearned for a love like that … like the one my parents once shared, until my mother left and quashed all those dreams.

I observe them longer than some would call appropriate, but they’re so lost in each other that neither notices.

My gaze eventually shifts from them, landing on a pair of dark-brown eyes surrounded by thick, inky lashes. Eyes so dark they almost appear black, and they’re firmly locked on me.

The intensity of his stare makes my breath hitch in the back of my throat, and the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end.

Common sense tells me to look away, but I don’t. I briefly scan his handsome face—a head full of thick black hair that’s short on the sides and left longer on top, olive skin, a straight nose, and a chiselled jawline with a dimple that sits right in the centre that appears deepened by his five o’clock shadow.

My first thought is perfection, and I’m so startled by that, and my initial reaction to him, that my hands instantly drop down by my sides as I take a few steps backwards, away from the window …from him. A sheet of glass may separate us, but I still feel the need for distance.

He continues to watch me, like a hunter stalking his prey, and when a smug grin tugs at the corners of his full lips, my eyes narrow. I know his type … rich, gorgeous, and utterly full of himself. I grew up surrounded by men just like him. If my circumstances hadn’t changed so drastically asa teenager, I might have even ended up with someone like that.

That thought has my cheeks ballooning as I exhale another puff of air. I no longer wish for things outside my realm. I learnt that lesson a long time ago. I’ll only set myself up for disappointment if I do.

When the suit-wearing hottie looks away and refocuses on the other two men he’s seated with, I use that as my cue to turn and start walking again. But my impromptu stare-off with the Adonis has me contemplating all the what-ifs.

Where would I be now if my mother hadn’t abandoned us and my father hadn’t gambled away what was left of our fortune? Would I be living my best life? Possibly married with a family of my own. Would I be running the lucrative accounting firm my father used to own? The one he lost during his downward spiral. More importantly, would I be happy? I don’t even remember what happiness feels like. I’m just existing these days, living through one shitty moment to the next.

With that thought in mind, I find myself pausing again. “Fuck it,” I mumble under my breath.

I deserve better than this.

I deserve a goddamn break.

I’m going to be selfish for once.

---