Page 18 of Cuffed (Everyday Heroes 1)
“Preapproval letters aren’t a loan approval,” he states, eyes hardening.
“I’m aware,” I say with confidence while hating that his veiled threat only serves to intensify my anxiety over getting my loan.
We stare at each other for a few seconds. I refuse to back down or be intimidated by him. The man clearly isn’t the type of person I thought he was.
“Oh my. Is it already six o’clock? Where did the time go? I need to get going.” I begin putting the papers into a messy stack as a way to show him I’m serious about needing to leave. He doesn’t budge. “Excuse me, Chris, can you please let me get out of the booth?”
He narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side as he studies me. “I need the rest of this information by tomorrow night.” His voice is cold when moments ago it was warmth laced with suggestion.
“Tomorrow night?” I laugh as if he’s joking but then realize he’s not. Panic hits me. It’s going to take me all night to pull this together. “I don’t understand. You told me I had until next Friday.”
“Yeah, well, plans changed. I need it by tomorrow night.”
“You’re serious.” I state the obvious, still dumbfounded by the personality switch he just flicked over to the asshole side.
“Deadly. Unless of course . . .” He leaves the words unspoken, but his fingertip trailing down my bicep says it all for him.
I yank my arm away and start scooting myself out of the booth, my hips hitting his to try to push him along. He relents but makes sure to stand well within my personal space as I gather the rest of my paperwork. I hate the feeling of him watching me as I bend over to grab my purse and briefcase from the inside of the booth.
All I want to do is get the hell out of here but I grit my teeth, force myself to face him, and sound cordial.
“Thank you for the dinner and for answering my questions. I’ll do my best to get the documents to you by tomorrow night.”
“Don’t try, Emerson. Make it happen.”
With bile in my throat and a film of disgust coating my skin, I walk out of the restaurant as quickly as I can.
How could I be so stupid?
How could I have been so wrapped up in making sure I understood everything needed for my loan that I missed the signs Chris was giving off?
I press the pedal down harder. The speedometer hits seventy miles per hour, but it isn’t fast enough.
First Chris.
Then the realization that I have no other options but to deal with him and his creep factor.
The needle hits eighty.
Nothing will ever be enough to outrun that feeling I get every time someone expects me to bend to their will. To be subservient. To play the victim.
Never again.
No way. No how. Screw that.
The long road is stretched out before me. Just fields, grape vines, trees, and flat asphalt, making me feel as if I were the only person on the face of the earth.
Hitting the outskirts of town, I push the envelope of safety, but when you jump out of airplanes for a living, that envelope is harder to breach than for most.
With each mile I put between myself and the restaurant, I feel the stress begin to shed. The pressure of making sure all my documents are in order so I don’t lose the loan because of some stupid mistake eases. And with the clearing of my mind comes the clarity.
Despite it being so much easier to pick up and move when people started asking too many questions about my past, I let Desi talk me into coming back to Sunnyville. My need to put away the gypsy life I have been living and settle down to plant roots for myself was just a thought back then, yet, I’d been will
ing to try.
Then I found Blue Skies, which was in desperate need of some TLC, and decided that the girl, who liked to go where the wind blows her, suddenly wanted something permanent. A business. A fixture. Something to be proud of.
My desire to own Blue Skies and make it one hundred percent mine had made me stay to fight for something.
