Hundred Reasons (Money for Love Book 1) Read online

  When I made it back to the shop, Garret was waiting for me outside. He leaned against the outer wall of the shop with a look of deep concern etched on his face. It was a look I knew all too well. It had appeared the day my father died and had remained in place ever since.

  “How’d it go?” he asked when I reached him.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, my voice short.

  “Not how that works, kid. Talk to me.”

  “Garret,” I warned.

  He sighed and stepped away from the wall. His eyes found mine as he slipped his hands in his pockets and stood in front of me.

  “I’m here for you, okay?” he said. “Whatever you need.”

  Garret’s kindness made my anger vanish. I suddenly felt weak as if I were coming down from an adrenaline high. I shook my head and led the way inside the office with Garret at my heels.

  I sat down in the first chair I saw and put my head in my hands. I’d never been one to cry, but at that moment, I fought back tears with all the strength I possessed. Garret sat down beside me without a word. He knew better than to comfort me. He knew my thoughts had turned to my dad.

  It wasn’t easy to get by without him. Not only was the shop failing, but I felt like my entire life had taken a turn down a dark road. I’d been driving blind for months, and I couldn’t seem to find my way to the light.

  “He would be proud of you,” Garret said gently. “That much I know.”

  “It’s not about that.” I sighed and sat up. “I mean, it is, but not right now.”

  “Then, what’s bothering you so much?” Garret asked. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t like the Gamble family, either, but all that anger, it had to come from somewhere, Alex.”

  I shook my head and looked away. Garret was right, but he wasn’t the person I wanted to talk to about it. As much as he loved me, some things were too personal to share.

  “Can you cover for me today?” I asked.

  “Sure.” Garret frowned.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I need to see my mom.”

  Understanding dawned on Garret’s face. He nodded and stood up, patting my shoulder gently as he stepped behind the counter.

  “Go,” he said. “I’ll stay till closing.”

  “Thanks,” I said again. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I slipped out the front door and hurried to my bike. It didn’t take long to get to my mom’s house. She lived just three minutes down the road. My dad had bought their house for that exact reason. He wanted to be close to the shop.

  “Honey,” Mom said when I let myself in the back door. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “Probably,” I said, already collapsing onto my usual chair at the kitchen table.

  Mom considered my face for a few seconds. When she saw how upset I was, she got us each a glass of water and sat down beside me. She didn’t speak. Instead, she watched me silently until I was ready to tell her everything.

  “These guys came by the shop two days ago,” I said.

  “Okay,” Mom said patiently. “Who were they?”

  “Declan and Samson Gamble,” I said simply.

  “Ah.” Mom nodded. “Gamble Realty. I wondered when they would show their faces. Did they make you an offer?”

  “You know them?” I stared at my mother in shock.

  “Not personally,” Mom said. “An associate of theirs has been asking around. His name is Barry, I think.”

  “What did he want to know?” I demanded, anger bubbling up inside me again.

  “About the business,” Mom said. “I guess they caught wind of our financial troubles. Gamble Realty specializes in flipping properties.”

  “I know,” I said. “Garret filled me in after they left. I was ticked off but didn’t think anything of it until I looked them up this morning. Do you know they do this all over town? They bought out Grace’s Antiques last year. That’s why it’s a damn Hallmark now. They leveled that place and then sold it to a fucking chain.”

  Mom sighed and looked away. She hated when I cursed. It was her biggest pet peeve when I was growing up. No matter how much she tried to make me a lady, my dad’s personality was too strong. I took after him in almost every way.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this,” I said. “How could you keep something this big from me?”

  “It was just some guy poking around,” Mom said. “Barry made sure not to say anything committal to anyone. He just asked me about the business. There was nothing to tell.”

  “Obviously, there was something.” I snapped. “Or Declan and Samson wouldn’t have shown up at the shop.”

  “Maybe they were just looking around.” Mom shrugged.

  “No.” I shook my head. “They said they were there to check out the shop. I thought they were potential customers, so I showed them around. Samson talked about the changes we’d made.”

  “He’d been there before?” Mom’s face tightened.

  “Once.” I scoffed. “He brought his bike in a few years back. I guess we helped him out. He knew about the yellow paint in the office.”

  “You father talked about that paint with anyone who would listen.”

  “I know.” I fell silent. Memories of my father often hit me like a punch to the gut. Even months after his passing, it still hurt.

  “What is it?” Mom asked gently. She reached over to touch my cheek, but I pulled back before she could.

  “They’re scum,” I said with disgust. “The way they run their business. Taking over properties without a care. These are people’s homes! Their life’s work. Do they care? No. They just want to make money. God, Mom, you should have seen their office. It was so lavish, I wanted to puke all over their marble floors.”

  “You went to their office?” Mom’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”

  “To confront them!” I said. “They lied to me about who they were. They tricked me into thinking …”

  “Thinking what?” Mom asked.

  “I thought they were just interested in the shop for repair purposes,” I said. “I had no idea they were looking to buy the property. They didn’t say anything!”

  Mom sighed and took her glasses off. She laid them on the kitchen table and rubbed her forehead slowly. When she looked back at me, there was something in her eyes that I didn’t quite recognize.

  “You’re overreacting.”

  Her words made me blink. Suddenly, I realized what that look was. She was readying herself for a fight. I couldn’t remember ever fighting with my mom. Pam Tanner was docile by nature. Strong, but silent and always patient.

  “I’m not,” I said slowly. “How can you even say that?”

  “You stormed into their place of employment and attacked them,” Mom said. “That, my dear, is the definition of an overreaction.”

  “I didn’t attack them.” I lied.

  “Oh?” Mom raised her eyebrows. “What did you do then? Have a nice polite chat? Somehow, I doubt that.”

  “Why?” I demanded. “You don’t know what I said. You weren’t there.”

  “I know you,” Mom said simply. “And the woman I know doesn’t drive across town for a nice, polite chat. The woman I know only goes through that much trouble when she’s pissed off.”

  “I have every right to be angry.” I snapped.

  “Sure,” Mom said. “You can feel however you feel, honey, but ask yourself why.”

  “What?”

  “Why are you so upset? Why are you so angry? What is it about these boys that got to you? What is that made you react like a teenager?”

  “I didn’t—” I began, but Mom cut me off with a look.

  “What they did was sketchy,” Mom said. “I’m not denying that, but that’s business. They had to check out the property before they could decide whether to make an offer. I understand that. Why can’t you?”

  “Because they should have been honest,” I said.

  “Maybe.” Mom nodded. “But it wasn�
��t personal.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Mom was right. No matter what I thought of Declan and Samson’s work, they didn’t come to the shop to hurt me. They were just doing their job. So, why was I so angry with them?

  “He knew Dad,” I said softly. “Samson. He doesn’t know it. He doesn’t know who Dad was or even that I’m his daughter, but they met. How else would he know about the paint? Dad must’ve told him.”

  Mom smiled sadly and slid her chair closer to mine. She wrapped her arm around my shoulders. For the second time that day, my anger vanished in an instant. I felt weak again. I laid my head on my mom’s shoulder and let her hold me.

  “That’s why you’re upset,” Mom said gently. “He met your father, so you thought of them as friends.”

  “Not friends,” I said quickly.

  “You made it personal,” Mom said.

  “I guess so.”

  I sniffed and pulled away from her. My eyes were wet from repressed tears. I wiped them quickly and inwardly berated myself for almost crying. That was the last thing my mother needed.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I made it personal, but that doesn’t make what they did okay.”

  “No,” Mom said. “It doesn’t.”

  “They still should have been honest,” I said.

  “True.” Mom nodded.

  “You should have seen the older brother.” I scoffed. “He was such a dick. He barely spoke a word to me when they came to the shop, and then today, he kept pushing me. Challenging me. Like he actually thought he was right.”

  “Maybe he does.” Mom shrugged. “Different people see things different ways. What you think is right isn’t necessarily right to other people.”

  “He was just so cold.”

  “You don’t know what he’s been through,” Mom said. “Some people could say the same thing about you.”

  “I’m not cold,” I said defensively.

  “You’re guarded,” she said. “Maybe Declan is too. You don’t know what he’s been through. You don’t know anything about him or his life. It’s not right to label someone until you get to know them.”

  “Will you ever stop trying to teach me lessons?” I asked.

  “Never.” She smiled at me again and pushed my water glass closer.

  I took a sip and closed my eyes. I was finally beginning to relax. Seeing my mom helped bring me back down to earth. She was right. None of this was personal, and yet, everything about it felt personal.

  It wasn’t just because Samson unwittingly brought up my dad, though that made my blood boil. It was the way Declan behaved. When I first saw him, I let myself soften. He was exactly the kind of man I always pictured myself with, handsome but not at all a pretty boy. He gave off an air of quiet strength that drew me to him. I thought about him for hours after he left. It wasn’t until Garret told me the truth about them that my attraction to Declan disappeared.

  I stopped myself from thinking about him. I put him out of my head completely until this morning. When I looked up their business, things changed. I became angry so fast that I didn’t stop to think about why. My mom was right. I made it personal. Because, for some reason that I couldn’t explain, Declan felt personal.

  11

  Declan

  My cell phone rang, but I ignored it. I was elbow deep in the contacts for Frank’s place. He’d agreed to sell, which I always knew he would. It was a huge win for the company. The amount of money we would get after repurposing the building would be enough to pay both mine and Samson’s mortgages for over a year. Maybe even two. Money wasn’t a problem for either of us, but I still wanted to push the deal through as quickly as possible. If Frank had a chance to change his mind …

  I didn’t let myself think about that possibility. I’d always been a natural skeptic. My mind tended toward pessimism, optimism being a foreign concept altogether. I worked best under pressure, so I drove myself forward and sent off the last of the documents just as my office phone rang.

  It was my secretary. She paged in to tell me I had a call on line one. I picked up the receiver and leaned back in my chair.

  “This is Declan Gamble,” I said.

  “Mr. Gamble,” a nervous voice said. “This is Tracy McGee, your daughter’s school nurse.”

  I sat up straighter and pressed the phone closer to my ear. The school nurse had never called me before.

  “Is Mila okay?” I demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  “She has a slight fever,” Tracy said. “And she’s been complaining of a stomach ache. I think it would be best if you picked her up. She should really spend today resting.”

  “Of course,” I said, already jumping to my feet. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Great,” Tracy said. “See you soon.”

  I hung up and flew out of my office, almost colliding with Samson when I got to the hallway.

  “Whoa!” he said. “Where’s the fire?”

  “Mila’s sick,” I said. “I have to go pick her up.”

  “Oh, crap.” Samson shook his head. “Need anything?”

  “No. I’m sure she’s fine. Just needs to rest.”

  “Call me,” Samson said. “Let me know how she’s doing.”

  “I will.”

  I hurried down the hall and stepped into the elevator. It seemed to be moving slower than normal as my anxiety grew. I meant what I’d said to Samson. Mila was probably fine. Kids got sick. It happened all the time, and yet, I couldn’t stop myself from worrying.

  It took me fifteen minutes to get to Mila’s school. By the time I pulled into the parking lot, I’d convinced myself that she needed to go to the hospital. I ran through the front doors of the school and quickly signed in at the front desk. They directed me to the nurse’s office, and I ran until I found it.

  “Mr. Gamble.” Tracy smiled and extended her hand. I shook it impatiently, my eyes darting around the room.

  “Where is she?” I demanded.

  “She’s right here,” Tracy said calmly.

  She led me to the back of the room where a dark blue curtain was pulled. She tugged the curtain back to reveal Mila lying on a small sick bed with her eyes closed.

  “What was her temperature?” I asked Tracy.

  “One hundred point seven,” she said. “She’ll need some Tylenol when you get home.”

  I nodded and inched forward to wake my sleeping daughter. When I touched her arm, she groaned and slowly opened her eyes. They blinked sleepily up at me.

  “Hey, kid,” I said. “What hurts?”

  “Everything,” Mila said. “I don’t feel good.”

  “I know.” I sighed and scooped her into my arms. “Let’s get you home.”

  “I hope you feel better, Mila,” Tracy said.

  “Thank you,” Mila said, her voice weak.

  Tracy smiled at me, and I nodded my thanks before heading back to the front of the school. I signed Mila out at the front desk and then hurried to my truck.

  Mila rested her head against the passenger window while I pulled out of the parking lot. I felt a lump in my stomach that I knew all too well. It was the same feeling I got every time Mila was sick. No matter how many colds or stomach aches she got, I could never get used to the helpless feeling that overwhelmed me whenever it happened.

  “We’re gonna stop by the store and get you some medicine,” I said. “Then, we’ll head home and go to bed, all right?”

  “Okay,” Mila said.

  She closed her eyes until we reached the store. I carried her inside and grabbed some Tylenol and a little something for her stomach. When we left the store, it was starting to rain. I groaned and ran through the parking lot to get Mila inside the truck before it really starting to come down.

  We barely made it. Heavy raindrops beat down on the roof of the truck and fell in sheets down the windshield. I cranked up the truck’s heater so Mila wouldn’t get cold, but I saw her shiver out of the corner of my eye. I pressed my foot down on the gas and flew down the
street. We weren’t far from home, but I didn’t want the chilly air to make Mila feel even worse.

  “Daddy,” Mila said. “Can I have some water?”

  “I don’t have any in the truck,” I said. “But, I can get you some when we get home.”

  “Okay,” Mila said. “How much longer?”

  “Ten minutes,” I said.

  Mila nodded and laid her head back against the window. I sighed and rubbed her arm gently as I drove through the pouring rain. Mila always seemed younger when she was sick. It was like she was a baby again, curled in a ball inside her crib with her thumb stuck between her lips.

  “I’m sorry you don’t feel good,” I said.

  “It’s okay,” Mila said. “I’ll be okay.”

  She made her voice louder when she spoke, trying to sound tough. I laughed to myself and shook my head. That was my girl. Always the one to tough it out and act strong even when she wasn’t.

  We were still seven miles from home when I felt the truck lurch slightly. I frowned and glanced down at the dash. The check engine light was lit up. I felt a tightness form in my chest. The last thing I needed was for my truck to break down.

  Just when the thought entered my head, it happened. The truck lurched again and then began to sputter. The cab shook as the truck slowly rolled to stop. I turned the wheel and made it to the side of the road just as the truck’s engine shut off and the whole thing died.

  “Dammit,” I muttered.

  I hit the steering wheel and let my head fall forward. This was perfect. Of all the times for my truck to break down, it had to happen now.

  “What’s wrong?” Mila asked.

  I looked over to see her blinking at me. She looked so tiny, curled up on the passenger seat with her hair falling over her face. Her knees were pulled up against her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Her lips were pale. Her cheeks were flushed. She looked awful.

  “The truck died,” I said. “I’m going to go outside and see if I can fix it, okay?”

  “It’s raining,” she said with a frown.