Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
But with the debt piling up, and the interest killing me on the two credit cards I’d maxed out to get Brecken necessities for her dorm room and books for the semester, it was hard not to think about his offer. I mean, one million was probably nothing to him, but it would change my life.
I was already one of the best budget bitches around, according to Jesse, so it’s not like I’d blow the newly found cash on—
No, what was I thinking?
I couldn’t possibly take Crossland up on his offer. Who knew what he actually wanted me to do? He might claim he needed me to pretend to be his girlfriend for three months to win a bet, but what if all he wanted was an on-call fuck? Or maybe he’d be like that guy in that movie and he’d trap me in a locked room and surgically remove pieces of me to feed to other rich people?
An ice-cold shiver raced down my spine, and I laughed at myself as I finished tidying up. My imagination and the ability to picture the worst-case scenario in every possible situation was some unavoidable gift of mine.
Crossland could’ve done a lot more in the thirty minutes he’d bought with that ten grand last night, but he hadn’t. I’d been perched on his lap, even going as far as wiggling around a little to see how he’d react, and he hadn’t so much as attempted to take advantage. Hell, he’d barely even touched me unless he needed to. I highly doubted he was like the murderer in the movie, but one could never be too careful.
Besides, like I concluded last night, I wasn’t living in a fairytale. Some gorgeous billionaire wouldn’t magically fix my problems. They’d be fixed by hard work, picking up these extra shifts, and doing my best to get a loan at this bank.
An hour and two irritated customers later, I finally clocked out and changed into what I hoped was a presentable, responsible, adult-looking outfit. One that said, I’m a trustworthy individual who you’d love to loan money to.
I headed to the bank a few blocks away, making it to my appointment ten minutes early. Lucky for me, the loan advisor was ready for me, politely shaking my hand across her desk as we both took our designated seats.
“Miss Reed, we’ve extensively reviewed your application for a loan. I’ve spoken to three of my superiors, and unfortunately, we can’t approve you at this time.” She dipped her head slightly, a heavy dose of pity in her eyes as she looked at me.
I probably would’ve curled inward with shame at that look, the one I’d seen all too often when people found out how broke I was, if I hadn’t been so busy trying my best not to break down in tears.
This was the third time I’d been turned down.
“I have a steady job,” I blurted desperately. “I work over sixty hours a week. My credit score wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head as she flipped through the papers on her desk. “It wasn’t your credit score. You just don’t have the equity or assets that we would need in order to ensure that the loan would be repaid.”
I tilted my head. “So, I need to prove that I have enough money to not need this loan to be approved for it? What kind of sense does that make?” I tried to keep the sharpness out of my tone but was unsuccessful.
After being turned down for the third time, I was at the end of my rope. Cost of living was insane, and I lived in Brooklyn. It’s not like I lived in the city or in a high-rise. I lived in a very cheap ground-level studio apartment. I ate packaged ramen and boxed mac and cheese most of the time. Things like good bread, milk, and eggs were luxuries to me.
Thankfully, every shift I worked, I earned a free meal—a salad or a chicken wrap or one of the protein snack boxes. Thank the universe I’d been able to get Brecken on the cafeteria plan. I’d never seen the girl so excited in my entire life, even more than when she got accepted into NYU. When she found out she had unrestricted access to the cafeteria twenty-four seven, you would’ve thought I handed her the keys to a brand-new Mercedes.
My heart sank at the reasoning behind the excitement—a childhood filled with the stress of not knowing when her next meal would be or where it would come from. Once again, the hatred toward my parents swelled to the point of pain. I shoved it down, focusing on the positives—Brecken was attending NYU, the college she’d busted her ass off in school to get into, and she had finally stopped insisting she skip a year and get a job like me. I refused to let her see the struggle because of that fact. The last thing I wanted her doing was putting off her dreams because of money. I could handle this.