Can't Stand the Heat (7 page)

“Oh, don't worry about me, Jay.”

I intend to get back out there soon
. But for now his desire was intensely focused on one woman in particular and he planned to track her down.

“T
hat'll be $68.54, Miss Gibbons,” the young woman said as she turned away from the electronic screen over the cash register.

Lauren fought the urge to cringe. Even with her bonus card and coupons, her groceries still totaled almost twenty dollars more than she had budgeted. She stared at the bags now in her cart, at the plastic-wrapped boneless chicken and the head of lettuce. She thought she had bought the bare minimum.

Her electric and phone bills were both due in a few days. She would have to pay those soon and that would definitely put her checking account into overdraft again. That would be another thirty-five-dollar fee.

Lauren bit her bottom lip and dragged her debit card through the scanner. She punched in her password, half expecting the screen to suddenly flash red with the words, “Alert! Alert! Do not accept this broke-woman's money!”

“You know, you're one of ten people in town that do their grocery shopping here at ten thirty in the morning on Wednesdays.” The eighteen-year-old cashier smiled as she turned back around to gather Lauren's receipt, which was loudly printing with an automated hiccupping and screeching sound. “And it's always the same people. I guess you guys like to have the store all to yourselves, huh?”

“No, it has more to do with my work schedule,” Lauren said, trying her best to sound pleasant despite the knot forming in her stomach. “I work long hours both weekdays and weekends. My boss gives me at least one morning off to do my errands.”

“Aww, that's nice of him!” The cashier handed Lauren her receipt. “And here I was thinking you were just trying to stay out of the long lines.” The girl laughed and waved. “Have a nice day, Miss Gibbons!”

“You, too, Shana. See you next week.” Lauren gave a distracted wave as she stared down at her receipt and scanned the line items. She slowly made her way to the sliding automatic doors, left the air-conditioned store, and walked into steaming heat of the nearly empty parking lot.

Maybe I should finally break down and ask to borrow money from my sisters,
she thought.
I can ask for just a small amount of cash to hold me over until my next paycheck, then pay them back.

But Lauren had decided months ago that she was no longer going to depend on a man to pay her bills and buy her things. No matter how hard it got for her, she wouldn't get another sugar daddy. Unfortunately, whatever money she borrowed from her mother or sisters more than likely came from the pocket of one of their many suitors or ex-husbands. So if she borrowed money from them, she would be breaking her rule. It would still mean dependence on some man's wallet—just vicariously through her sisters.

If I'm going to do this, I'm going to have to do it on my own
.

“Even if it means I'm slowly going broke,” Lauren muttered.

She sighed before shoving the receipt into the pocket of her jeans shorts. She picked up the pace and quickly steered her cart toward her Toyota Corolla, which she saw in the distance.

Lauren had parked farther away from the store on purpose. She had put on a few pounds in the past few months after giving up her gym membership to save money. She had decided she could exercise instead by climbing steps more often and walking longer distances, a health tip she had read about in a magazine.

She unlocked the trunk of her car and opened it with a loud creak that echoed throughout the parking lot. Lauren then loaded her grocery bags inside and shut the trunk. She glanced at her watch as she returned her shopping cart to one of the lot's cart corrals and estimated that she had enough time to stop at a library and drop off a few books that were dangerously close to being overdue.

“It's not like I need to pay
another
fine.”

She unlocked the driver's-side door. Determined to make the best of her day, she started to whistle a tune she had heard on the radio earlier. It raised her spirits a little. She reached for the door handle.

“Hey, beautiful.”

At the sound of her ex-boyfriend, James's, syrupy baritone, Lauren instantly froze. Her hand stayed suspended just above the handle. Her leather purse dangled from the crook of her arm. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm her racing heart, which now seemed to be making a valid attempt to pound its way out of her rib cage like a sledgehammer pounding at a steel door.

It's OK
, she told herself silently.
He caught you by surprise, but he can't hurt you . . . not anymore. You won't let him. It's OK.

She heard he had developed the habit of popping up out of nowhere lately. Stephanie said he had surprised her at a house blessing more than a week ago to ask her to “pass along a message” to Lauren. Lauren was none too happy to hear that. It was one thing to harass her, but trying to intimidate her family was something else entirely.

After some seconds, Lauren finally regained her calm and turned to look up at James.

He was wearing a suit, so she guessed he had probably taken a short break from the law office. His facial features were barely discernable against the glare of sunlight behind him, but she could clearly see his bleached-white grin. He stood less than two feet away from her, and his shadow seemed to loom over her like the shadow cast by a towering colossus.

“Hello, James.”

He chuckled. “Why so timid, baby?” His grin broadened. “I didn't scare you, did I?”

Oh, you'd just love to hear that you did scare me, you controlling bastard
.

“No, James, you didn't. You just surprised me.” She pretended to keep her cool as she opened her car door and tossed her purse onto the passenger seat. “How did you know I was here? Were you following me?”

He chuckled again, making her shudder. “Don't flatter yourself. I just happened to be near here. I saw your car and came over because I had a gift for you.” He reached into the inside pocket of his tan suit jacket. “I've been carrying it around all week.”

“Is this what you were telling Stephanie about . . . what you had to give me?” Lauren nodded. “Yeah, she told me. She also told me how you manhandled her.” She pointed her finger up at him. “I may have let you push me around for two years, James, but if I ever hear of you doing anything like that to one of my sisters again, I'll—”

“Oh, Lauren,” he said, cutting her off. “Always full of bluster, aren't you? I really do look forward to giving you these.”

She watched cautiously as James pulled out several envelopes.

“Bills.” He extended the white stack to her. “Lots and
lots
of bills . . . all addressed to you.”

She took the stack. She slowly began to rifle through it.

There
were
several bills there, all from credit card companies and department stores she didn't use or go to anymore. She scanned the totals in the stack: $5,547 here, $9,032 there. These were charges she had made months ago, back when she would make daily trips to Saks Fifth Avenue and Nordstrom before heading to the local spa and later meeting her sisters for lunch.

Lauren gave a dispirited sigh as she stared down at the pile of envelopes. These bills were a reminder of how sad and empty her life had been back then. She had traded so much—her talent, her self-respect, and her
voice
—for what? A six-thousand-dollar purse and a weekly manicure and pedicure?

The bills also reminded her how she was still shackled to her old life by backbreaking debt. After she left James, he had decided to punish her the best way he knew how: with money, or lack thereof. He refused to pay the bills he had footed for so long, and Lauren would have proudly paid them herself . . . if she could afford it. The cards had all been in Lauren's name and now she was nearly eighty thousand dollars in debt. Bill collectors called her apartment constantly. She rarely if ever answered her phone anymore.

It's my own fault,
she thought as she continued to stare at the pile of envelopes with disappointment.
I shouldn't have been so careless. I shouldn't have bought things I couldn't afford to pay for myself.

“I'm surprised they didn't know that you don't live at that address anymore,” James said, interrupting her thoughts. “It's been
months
since you moved out. I'm surprised you haven't told them, Lauren.”

He was needling her, taunting her just like he did in the old days. But she didn't have to take it anymore. She wasn't going to take it.

“Yeah, well, thanks for bringing these to me.” She began to climb inside her car. “Now if you'll excuse me, James. I really have to—”

Lauren stopped midsentence when she felt him grab her forearm. Half of her body was inside the car. Her other foot remained on the parking lot cement.

Her eyes suddenly darted up to his face. She could see all his features now that he was no longer backlit. She could even see the brown freckles on his button nose. James still held his grin, but the smile didn't go past his pink lips. The rest of his face looked angry,
very
angry. His dark brows were furrowed and his eyes had narrowed into thin slits. Veins bulged along his brow.

She recognized this face. It was the precursor to his equivalent of a volcanic eruption.

“Why are you rushing off?” he said with a false lightness. He took a step toward her. “That's not all I had to say. Those bills aren't the only debt you owe, Lauren. Have you forgotten that you owe
me,
too?”

“James, I don't . . . I don't owe
you
anything,” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm and not to tease his anger. “What you gave me when we were together were gifts. You never said I had to pay you back.”

“Perhaps, but when I gave your sisters or your mother money, that wasn't a gift. Maybe you were paid”—he paused and looked her up and down—“for services rendered, but they weren't. I loaned them money out of the kindness of my heart, because they are
your
family.”

James was telling the truth. During the years she had dated him, he had spent liberally on her family, even giving her mother a six-figure loan when she asked for it.

“But they all seem to have forgotten that,” he continued.

“Where did all the niceness go when I was no longer footing the bill? Now they're rude to me . . . abrupt. So now I want to collect. I want
all
my money back.”

She shook her head. “That's not fair. You never stated those terms in the beginning. If you had, they never would have taken it.”

“Fair?” He laughed. “Who gives a shit about fair, Lauren? I want my money, but”—he paused, holding up his finger—“I
am
willing to reconsider. I'm willing to forget and let bygones be bygones if . . .”

“If what?”

“. . . if you come back to me.”

“Why do you want me to come back, James? So you can beat me?
Humiliate me?”

“So I got angry one night and made a mistake! You made mistakes, too! But I forgave you! I
love
you, Lauren.”

“
Love me?
You don't love me! You want to
own
me, but you don't. Find yourself another human punching bag! I'm not going back to you, and I'm not paying you a goddamn dime!”

She tried to tug out of his grasp and climb into her car, but he wouldn't release her. Her heartbeat began to accelerate again as she frantically looked around the parking lot. With the exception of her car and his car, the lot was mostly deserted. If James decided to try something and she screamed, no one would hear her out here, and even if they
did
hear her, it would take them time to get to her. She was on her own.

“Let go of me!” She hoped that her voice wasn't trembling, even though she was a quivering mass inside.

He looked bored by her display of bravery.

“I said, ‘Let go!' ” She tried to tug her arm away, but to no avail. James's grip only tightened. She winced at the pain in her arm.

“Why do you insist on dragging this out, Lauren? What are you trying to prove?
Huh?
You know if you come back, I'll take care of all of this for you. I'll forget about what Stephanie owes me . . . what your mother owes me. I'll wipe the slate clean. No more bills, and you get your old allowance back. Come on.” His voice dropped an octave. “Let daddy make it all go away.”

Lauren cringed. She hated when he called himself “daddy.”

“Let go of me, James!”

“You can move out of that crappy little basement apartment you rent.” He glanced at her dented car. “I'll give you back the keys to my Bentley. Wouldn't you like to drive the Bentley again? Come on, Lauren, this isn't you, honey. You and I both know you weren't meant for the life of a pauper.”

“If you don't let go of me, I'm going to scream my head off! Is that what you want? For someone to call the police and for all your friends back at the firm and at the country club to find out the son of a bitch you
really
are?”

He didn't respond.

“On the count of five, I will scream. Do you understand me?”

She could see his jaw tighten.

“One . . . two . . .” She nervously licked her lips. “Three . . . four . . .” She paused, waiting for his hold to slacken, but it didn't. “Five.”

Lauren opened her mouth, letting out an ear-piercing screech that made him wince. But no one came. The automatic doors to the grocery store stayed closed. No one drove down the road in her direction. She started to scream again.