C
HAPTER
25
T
he traffic light at the intersection ahead of me turned red with absolutely no warning. Really. I slammed on the brakes.
I was in no mood.
I sat there fidgeting in my seat, tapping my palm against the steering wheel. That conversation with Shuman. What was up with that?
The light changed and I drove forward.
Where was my best friend when I desperately needed to discuss the situation with her? And whyâ
why
âin a time of crisis did I always think of Ty
last?
It was so irritating.
My cell phone rang. I grabbed it and saw Madam CeeCee's name on the caller I.D. screen. I nearly ran up onto the sidewalk.
Oh my God. If ever I needed my luck to change, it was now.
“Madam CeeCee?” I think I shouted into the phone. “This is Haley.”
“Yes, I know.” Her voice was calm, quiet. Soothing. “What seems to be your problem?”
Jeez, where to start?
“I'm having some financial troublesâwell, okay, a lot of financial troubles,” I said.
“I see,” she commented.
“But I can still pay you,” I said quickly. “The big thing is, well, some lady put a curse on me.”
She didn't say anything.
“And I have to find some way to get rid of it,” I told her. Jeez, I sounded awfully desperate. “Can you help with that?”
“Certainly,” Madam CeeCee said. “Let's make an appointment, shall we? How about November fourth? Two o'clock?”
November?
November?
Did she honestly think I could walk around with a curse on me for another five months?
“I'll only be in town a few more days. I'm here on business. I'm staying at the Culver Inn on Saint Rose Parkway,” I said.
Maybe she knew the place. Maybe she knew how awful it was and would take pity on me, and give me an appointment immediately. I mean, jeez, if staying at the Culver Inn didn't demonstrate a desperate need to have a curse lifted, what did?
“Do you have anything sooner?” I asked.
“Let me check into it,” Madam CeeCee said.
The line went dead.
“Hello? Hello?” I'm pretty sure I screamed that into the phone.
No answer. Damn. I tossed my phone into my purse.
What kind of psychic was she? Shouldn't she have known
before
she
called
how desperate I was for curse-lifting assistance, and had an appointment available for today?
I whipped into the parking lot of the Culver Inn and slid into a slot near the front entrance. My cell phone rang again.
Oh my God. That had to be Madam CeeCee with a new appointment time. Or maybe Marcie.
I yanked out my phone. It was Ty calling.
Okay, was this good luck or bad luck?
“Yeah, hey, hi, what's up?” I asked.
I hated to rush Ty off the phoneâit's not like he called me all the timeâbut I didn't want to take the chance of missing Marcie's or Madam CeeCee's call.
“I've got a surprise for you,” Ty said, sounding pleased with himself.
Jeez, he'd already promised to take over my bills, buy me a beach house and a convertible, and send me on a month-long international shopping spree. What did he want to do now? Carve my face on Mount Rushmore?
Whatever it was, I hoped he could spit it out quickly.
“I'm taking you to a reception for the designers showing at the handbag convention this weekend,” Ty said.
I stared out the windshield at the entrance to the Culver Inn, too stunned to speak.
“You know about the convention, don't you?” he asked.
I meant to say yes, but only a little squeak came out.
“The reception is very exclusive. The fashion elite, industry insiders, some celebrities,” Ty said. “It's Saturday afternoon. How does that sound?”
I made a little mewling noise.
“I know you don't have anything to wear with you,” Ty said, “so I'm sending a car for you. I've arranged for a personal shopper at Neiman Marcus to have some things ready for you to look at. “
I opened my mouth, but not even a groan came out.
“Would you like me to fly Marcie up so she can go with you?” Ty asked.
I stopped breathing. Really. I'm pretty sure my heart quit beating.
Oh my God,
oh my God.
Ty was taking me to a reception for the gods and goddesses of the fashion world? I'd rub elbows with them? Talk with them? Get the inside scoop on upcoming trends?
And all of this on Saturday, smack in the middle of the handbag convention, the most fabulous thing that had happened to meâso farâin my entire life?
Oh, wait. No. No, no. No.
The handbag convention. The handbag convention that I'd already committed to work because I desperately needed money so I could eat, because I'd been cursed by a crazy old lady in a crappy midrange department store.
I leaned forward and banged my head against the steering wheel. This couldn't be happening. It could not be happening. Ty had arranged something fabulousâbeyond fabulous, reallyâand it was an event that he actually planned to attend with me. Only I couldn't go.
I hate my life.
“Well, uh, it sounds great, Ty,” I said, forcing the words out syllable by syllable. “But, uh, you see, well, I . . . I can't go.”
Silence.
I waited. He didn't say anything. For a moment, I wondered if he'd put me on hold or something.
“I thought you'd enjoy this,” Ty said. He sounded a little hurt, but more puzzled than anything.
“I would,” I assured him. “But, well, I'd already made plans to work the convention.”
“Doing what?” Now he was really puzzled.
Ty was a smart guy. He ran a huge chain of department stores, he'd started boutique and specialty stores, and he'd just launched Holt's International. He managed thousands of employees, billions of dollars in assets, in six states and on two continents. Nobody did that by looking only at what was in front of them. Ty's mind was always jumping three, four, or five steps ahead.
I knew he was doing that now. I pictured him dressed in one of his awesome suits, wearing a silk necktie, hunched forward on his desk, pressing the phone against his ear, making that I-can-figure-this-out-and-make-it-my-bitch face.
He's so hot when he does that.
“My friend Maya hooked me up,” I said, and managed to put more enthusiasm than I felt into my voice. “We're hostessing. You know, handing out info packets, pointing, smiling.”
“Why are you doing that, Haley?” Ty asked in his you've-completely-lost-me voice.
I get that a lot.
“A girl's got to eat,” I said, and managed what I hoped was an oh-well-that's-life little chuckle.
“I told you, Haley, I'll take care of you,” he said. “You believe me, don't you?”
Of course I believed him. That wasn't the pointâor maybe it was.
I didn't want to look pathetic and desperateâwhich was exactly the way I felt at the momentâbut still, I didn't want Ty to know that. I didn't want him to thinkâto
know
âI was such a colossal screw-up that I couldn't take care of myself.
Yeah, okay, I knew he was my official boyfriend and we were considering moving in together. Under those circumstances, I should be able to tell him anythingâyeah, I knew that.
But I couldn't bring myself to ask him for money. Money changed things. It would be like we weren't equal partners. He'd be superior and I would be subservient.
And, yes, I knew that in a long-term, serious relationship, those things shouldn't matter, and there would always be times when one of us would have more or accomplish more than the other. But if I took his moneyâ or all the other things he'd promisedâit would be like I was suddenly less of a person.
Not a great feeling.
“Yes, of course I believe you,” I told him. “And I appreciate the thought and all the effort you put into arranging everything. It's great. Really. But I've already committed to working the convention. My friend is counting on me, so I really can't back out. It wouldn't be right, and I just can't do it.”
Silence.
I heard nothing. Not a sigh, a groan, a grumble. Nothing. I had no idea what Ty was thinkingâor maybe he'd just put me on hold.
So, okay, I couldn't take him up on his offer of a lifetime, but maybe I could salvage something.
“Could you get me a Delicious handbag?” I asked. “I've looked almost everywhere in Vegas and haven't found one yet.”
“You won't find one in Vegas,” Ty said. “Stores are withholding them until after the handbag convention.”
Anger whipped through me quicker than a supermodel sliding into a silk slip dress.
“What?” I demanded. “You're kidding.”
“It's one of the grand prizes in the raffle at the convention,” Ty said.
A Delicious handbag was a grand prize in a raffleâand I had a curse on me?
Just my luck.
I didn't ask Ty if he was still coming to the convention. Maybe he wouldn't want the fashion elite, industry insiders, and celebrities to know his girlfriend was handing out info packets.
I hate my life.
“I've got to go,” I said, and hung up.
My whole life was a messâa complete mess. The only thing I knew for sure was that I was working as a minimum wage grunt at the handbag event of the century when I could have enjoyed it, being pampered at every turn, in the lap of luxury, getting face time with the rich, fabulous, and famousânot to mention my way-hot official boyfriend.
Somebody was going down.
I glared out my windshield and spotted Bradley's Lexus in the parking lot.
This was all that rat-weasel's fault, I decided. If he hadn't charged all those nights to my credit card and maxed it out, I could have blown off working at the convention and gone to the reception with Ty.
I got out of my car, slammed the door, and stomped into the lobby of the Culver Inn. Maya sat on one of the chairs near the registration desk. I'd never seen her here in the evenings, only at the morning buffet. Her arms were folded and she was tapping her foot against the floor.
“I'm here to pick up my final check,” she said.
“You're kidding,” I said. “Bradley really fired you?”
Maya looked up at me and I saw tears pooled in her eyes. “I'm done.”
“That little bastard,” I muttered.
She nodded toward Bradley's office door behind the registration desk.
“He told me to be here at four,” she said, “and I've been sitting here waiting for him all this time.”
“He knows you're here?” I asked.
“He knows.”
Okay, now I was really mad. I'd been mad before I walked into the lobby. Now I had somebody to take it out on.
I stormed around the registration desk. The girl on dutyâyet another new clerkâcalled to me but I ignored her. I pounded on Bradley's door, then yanked it open. He was reared back in his chair, his feet up on his desk, flipping through a magazine.
“Have you got Maya's check, or not?” I demanded.
Bradley swiveled in his chair and threw me a smirk. “No. Tell her to call me tomorrow. I'll have it for her then. Maybe.”
I was so angry I could have slapped that grin right off his face. It took everything I had to hold back. I left the office and slammed the door.
Maya walked over. “He doesn't have it, does he?”
“No,” I said, and managed to keep my anger in check.
She drew in a deep breath, steeling her emotions. “At least I'll get paid for working the convention. Arlene usually gets our checks to us in a week.”
A week? One whole week more before Mayaâand Iâwould get money?
“I'll pick you up Saturday morning,” Maya said. “We'll ride to the convention together.”
“Sure, okay,” I said, but I wasn't really paying attention.
She left. I walked outside. It was blazing hot and the wind had kicked up. In the distance, I saw the tops of the casinos on The Strip.
I thought about hitting the slots, taking a chance on winning a boatload of cash, even though I knew I shouldn't. But money wouldn't break my bad mood. Not now. Only one thing would do thatâgetting even with Bradley.