Page 39 of Craving

Shaking her head, Camilla squared her shoulders. She poked her head out of the office and called out, “Hey, Em?”

The young woman turned, phone in hand, brows arched. “Yeah?”

“Come here for a minute, will you? I want to talk to you about something.”

Emily shuffled over and sat on the desk while Camilla gathered her thoughts. A week ago, she would have brushed this conversation off—found any excuse not to open the Pandora’s box of her past—but that was before she’d told Marlon about her experience with her first boyfriend. Now, when she looked at Emily, she saw a young girl who reminded Camilla of herself. A young girl who might need someone to speak to her like they cared.

“I want to talk to you about my first boyfriend,” Camilla started, taking a seat in her office chair. The words were stilted, uncomfortable, but she knew she’d be able to say them. She smiled softly at Emily and began to tell the story of her past.

When she was finished, Emily was somber. She slid off the desk and wrapped her arms around Camilla, squeezing tight. “I’ll talk to Anna,” she promised, “but I don’t know if she’ll listen.”

“Come to me if you need anything, Emily. I mean it. Anything,” Camilla said, and the young woman nodded. When Emily walked away, Camilla sighed—but she felt a warm buzz in her heart.

Opening up to Marlon had allowed her to face one of the things that had steeped her in shame. Stripping off her bubbly, friendly armor and having an open conversation with Emily felt good. It felt like she was sinking roots in the ground, building stronger ties to this place and these people.

She wondered if her lifelong fight for independence, for self-sufficiency, had been the wrong approach all along. What good was independence when it meant you were perpetually isolated? Not completely, but in all the deep, important ways.

As she sat in her office and let those realizations sink in, Camilla thought about Frankie. Why was she letting some greasy loan shark push her around? She should have already learned her lesson about men like him. He was just like her ex, trying to take advantage of her in every way he could.

Suddenly, a ten-thousand-dollar late fee felt like total and utter bullshit. Why was she putting up with that? She’d paid him what she owed. Their business was done.

Steeping herself in her self-righteous outrage, Camilla built up her courage. Frankie wanted a thousand dollars by the end of the week, but what he’d get was a piece of her mind.

THIRTEEN

It was Friday morning, and Camilla was itching for a fight. Her pulse pounded and her palms were damp, but her jaw was set. She was done getting pushed around.

Quik-N-Ez Loans was a dump. Camilla clung to her steering wheel after reversing into a spot in the parking lot and stared at the faded yellow sign above the door, stomach churning.

She hadn’t brought the thousand dollars Frankie had demanded. In a few moments, she’d walk in there and tell him where he could shove his late fee and his stupid contract. Grabbing the folder with her copy of the loan documents, she huffed out a breath and stepped out of the car. Wind tore at her clothes, reaching icy fingers under her layers.

She barely felt it. Her anger kept her warm.

Inside the lender’s shop, the air was stale. Camilla strode to the counter, staring at the burly man behind the bulletproof glass. “I’m here to see Frankie.”

“Put your deposit through the slot.”

“I’m here to see Frankie,” she repeated, voice hard.

The man was in his fifties, with greasy, shoulder-length hair tied in a scraggly bun at the nape of his neck. He was wiry, his wrinkled uniform hanging off his shoulders like a coat hanger. He watched Camilla with impassive eyes, looking almost bored. Then he shrugged and went through the door behind him.

Camilla’s breaths felt like broken glass in her throat, jagged and cutting. She glanced at the camera in the corner of the room, then looked away. The space was claustrophobic. Dirt had gathered along all the baseboards. Paint peeled off the walls and doorframes. The windows were streaky. She wanted to leave.

But she wouldn’t go until her business was done. The folder in her hands crinkled where she gripped it, and she finally mastered her breath.

The door opened.

Frankie wore a white button-down paired with navy slacks. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal hairy forearms and big, meaty hands. He arched a brow, amused.

“Hello, Ms. Fox. Give Jason your money, and you can be on your way.”

“I’m not giving you shit,” she spat, straightening her shoulders.

Frankie froze, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“This contract is garbage. There’s no way it would hold up in court. I’m not paying this extortionate late fee. I’m not giving you one more penny of my money, Frankie. You’re going to fill out the loan discharge paperwork right now, and our business will be done. I’m not walking out of here without it.”

Her bravado felt like fire coursing through her veins, but as Frankie watched her beneath dark brows, the flames burned so hot they singed. Her heart hammered, pulsing in her ears in a rapid staccato.

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