Summer "You kneed me?" He growls, actually growls. A shiver of heat ladders up my spine. My heart begins to thud. Oh, hell I’ve done it now. Men and their delicate egos. Bet he won’t take this lying down. I shove at his shoulders and he lurches to the side. I spring up, glance down to where he glares up at me, hunched over. My nerve endings tingle. Why do I have such visceral reaction to him? Pompous prick. He straightens, then shoves himself up to standing. What the—? How could he have recovered from that knee to his balls so fast? I blink. No one has that much endurance, not unless he’s trained for it... Nah! I shove the thought aside. He is a spoiled, pampered brat, no doubt. Typical. One of those who likes to flaunt what he has. Why do those with money think that is the solution to everything, huh? Because it is? A hot sensation stabs at my chest. I’ve screwed it up. I’ve messed up my future and a chance for my sister to live a normal life. The jackass in front of me swipes out his hand. I duck. His features harden. He leans forward on the balls of his feet. Hell no, not going to let him catch me this time. I grab my bag from where it hangs on the hook below the bar counter, and head for the exit. Shoving open the heavy glass door, I burst onto the sidewalk. "You! Stop, right there." Something brushes my collar. I scream, lunge ahead. Adrenaline laces my veins. The blood slams so hard at my temples, I am sure I am going to faint. Two cops approach me. Oh, my God! I wave at them. "Help!" One of them catches sight of me; his forehead pinches. The heat at my back turns up to a furnace. Shit, he’s close. He’s really, really, close. The hair on the nape of my neck rises. "Help me, please." There’s a low exclamation behind me. My stomach flip flops. Damn the man, how did he get here so quickly? The first cop reaches us, "Everything okay here?" "This chap," I stab my thumb in Mr. Grouchy Pants' direction, "he’s harassing me." The second officer glances between us, then straightens, "Sinclair." "Hello Jos ephine, Will." He nods at them. What the—! He's on a first name basis with the cops? Does he have them on his payroll?
Of course he does. Asshole here would do everything to ensure circumstances are always within his control. I dart forward. "We're not done." His low growl follows me. I sprint past the cops, up the street, veer right, then a left onto crowded Oxford Street. Safety in numbers. Okay, I go this! The breath rushes out of me. When I reach the entrance to Tottenham Court Road tube station, I peek a glance behind me. There's no sign of him. Whew! I swipe my card at the barriers, run down another flight of st eps onto the platform as my train pulls into the station. I jump into the first open doors and collapse into a seat. Sweat beads my forehead; my hair is plastered to my cheek. I bend over, gasping. Close call. The woman opposite stares at me, wide-eyed. I meet her gaze and she promptly looks down at her Kindle. Y
Ep One good thing about the tube in London, most people avoid eye contact. The anonymity that this city affords is precisely why I love it... and hate it. I slump against the barrier on my right. It means no-one cares how I dress, or what I eat, or do for a living. It is why no one gives a shit about my sister lurching closer to her grave every day. Nope, not gonna happen, not on my watch. I am going to find a way out of this mess. I am. At the next station, I check my phone. There's a new email in my inbox. From: Meredith Vincent To: Summer West Dear Ms. West, Your appointment to pitch for the innovative marketing strategy for 7 A Investments is confirmed. Mr. Sterling, our CEO, will see you at 9 am, tomorrow. Address is below. Pls confirm your acc eptance of the meeting by r eply. Yours sincerely, Meredith Vincent Executive Assistant Wow! Okay. Did I write to 7 A investments asking to pitch for their account? I don't remember it. I frown, toss my head. Doesn't matter. This is my chance. It is an opportunity to salvage my future and I am not going to turn it down. I type out my acc eptance, hit r eply, then drop my phone into my shoulder bag. I am going to get this account, if it is the last thing I do. The train pulls into Mill Hill East tube station, and I st ep off. The phone dings again with a text message. Isla: Soooo sorry, had a work emergency. You know how it is with us wedding planners... Me: Now you tell me! You got me into so much trouble you biatch! Isla: What... what? Did you meet someone at the bar? Me: No, I didn't. Is that all you can think of and... hold on... you wouldn't do that to me, eh? I huff. Me: Would you? Isla: What are you talking about?
Me: You stood me up on purpose? Isla: Moi? What are you talking about? Me: So help me Isla, if I find out you did this to me... Isla: Is he that hot? Me: No. Isla: A dominant stranger with a take charge attitude that melts your panties and makes you want to lick him up? Me: What is it with your hang up with obstinate mules... I mean males? Isla: Ha, ha. *snort* Don't mock it until you've tried it. Me: I have no idea what you're talking about. Isla: Sometimes you need a hug you know...? Me: Exactly. Isla:.... on your backside... with a paddle. Me: What the... Isla: Administered by an obnoxious know-it-all who doesn't take no for an answer. Me: Sweet baby goats, are you getting off on this text message, Isla? I swear if you are... Isla: Sorry... sorry... *not*, you're waaay too uptight my girl. Give in, live a little. Me: If by that you mean fantasizing about some alpha male making rough love... Isla: Don't bring that four letter emotion into the mix. Me: Yeah, not all of us want to be controlled. Isla: Famous last words. Me: Thanks for shoving your kink in my face. Isla: Hey, how did you guess that I love doing that? Me: TMI, bye. Isla: Are you blushing, West? I bet you are. Seriously I'm sorry for standing you up. Last minute change, a bride called off her wedding and uh, it wasn't pretty. Me: Wow, good luck handling the pieces of that. Isla: I'm gonna need it for this one. PS, the bridegroom walked into the office and he's not happy. Me: Can't your boss handle him? Isla: She's not around. And gah! This man is completely unreasonable! But wow! Is he smokin' hot. *gulp* Wish me luck. Me: Luck! Go get him GF. Isla: Laters xxx Typical Isla, always taken in by a pretty face. And I’m not?
I suck my cheeks in, drop my phone into my tote bag. Walking out of the tube station, I race home, then up the short flight of st eps leading into the one-bed apartment I share with my sister. For how much longer, though? If I can’t ke ep up the rental payments on it...? I'll find a way, I will. "Karma?" I cross the living room into the tiny bedroom. "Summer?" My sister glances up from her embroidery machine. Her dark hair flows around her face. Her skin seems paler than usual. I sink down on the bed across from her, "You okay?." Her amber eyes flare. "Why wouldn't I be?" "No reason." I shuffle my feet. "No breathlessness, no numb fingers or toes. The hole in my heart hasn't eaten me up completely." Her lips thin. "Yet." "Why do you get so defensive about your condition?" "Umm, let's see." She holds up a finger tipped with black nail-polish, "Because I'm trying to live and you ke ep thrusting my disease in my line of sight every time you bring it up?" I draw in a sharp breath. "That's being uncharitable. Just because I worry about you and do my best to take care of you—" "—doesn't make you my mother." All the blood drains from my face. Bet I'm as pale as her, though on Karma, her dark goth get-up enhances her luminous beauty. On me... bet I am as chalky as the paint on the wall behind her. "Hell, sorry, Summer." She blows out a breath. "I'm more on edge than usual. Tomorrow's market day, so I need to get my clothes done in time. I need to be at Camden Market before 5 am so..." She raises her shoulders. "Right, I'll leave you to it then." I jump up, head for the door. "Summer, stop." I cross the floor to the small counter on the far side that doubles as our kitchen. Fill a glass with water from the tap and drink from it. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier." Karma pauses at the doorway to the bedroom. "You know how to get to me, don't you?" I firm my lips. "My specialty, Sis. Chalk it up to my teenage hormones." I snort, then turn and lean a hip against the counter, "You're almost as clever with words as you are with your clothing designs." She holds up a hand, "Uh, oh, I sense a Summer sermon, coming on." "Don't be ridiculous." I redden. "It's just, I don't understand why you'd give up a paid fashion scholarship at Central Saint Martins..." "They were too mainstream." She sets her jaw.
"What's wrong with that?" I throw up my hands. "Do you see what you're wearing?" I glance down at myself, "You made it." I raise my shoulders. "It's offbeat but... it mirrors my personality." "Exactly." She tosses her head, "My ideas are too... off- beat for their sensibilities." "So?" I tilt my chin up, "You could have... adjusted..." She stares, "Says the woman who is a walking talking encyclopedia of trivia that's largely useless." "That..." I rub my forehead, "That's different." "Right." She snorts. "How many other twenty-one year- old women can give trivia nerds a run for their money?" I wrap my arms around my waist. "I'm not sure that's something to be proud of," I mumble. "You made enough money winning pub quizzes and TV game shows." "It was one show—" "That earned you £100,000." She raps her knuckles against the door frame. "It’s k ept us going this far." That's how we've survived since I left the homeless hostel at nineteen. It was because of the money that I'd been able to take on responsibility for Karma and pull her out of the care system. I'd also used a portion of it to launch my marketing consultancy. I'd expanded the scope to supply quizzes to pubs, bars, parties and to my growing list of online subscribers who love to receive a daily trivia quiz from me... For a fee. My dream job. I thrust out my chest. I had defined it, created it, pursued it. I bite the inside of my cheek. What had I been thinking? Following my intuition? Thought I could earn a living from my passion for movies? Why did I have to turn down the job of marketing manager for the—ugh! —accounting firm? I hunch my shoulders. It would have paid well, allowed for specialist medical consultations for my sister. I'd been bloody selfish, that's what. I'd held onto some stupid notion that I could have whatever I wanted without compromising on my dreams. Exc ept, I'd lost the client who contributed to 80% of my business. I twirl a lock of my hair, bring it to my mouth and chew on it. "Horrible habit." She frowns. "It helps me think." I push off from the counter, begin to pace. "I have a big meeting tomorrow. If I get the account..." "You will." My phone dings. I stare at my bag. "You going to see who it is?" I shake my head. "Want me to?" I raise my shoulders, and let them drop, "How much worse could it get, huh?"
She reaches for my bag, pulls out my phone, reads the message. "Who is it?" She drops the phone into my bag. "It’s nothing." "Karma!" I scowl, then flounce over to her and check the screen. There's a new text message. Smelly Guy: You have one week to pay the rent or else... Right! I drop the phone into the bag, then for good measure zip my bag shut. "Vanilla or chocolate?" I cross the floor to the tiny refrigerator, pull open the door of the freezer. "Is that a trick question?" "Yeah. No." "Do I have a choice?" She returns to the settee. "Nope." I chuckle, pull out the carton of vanilla ice- cream. "I did the shopping so..." Karma sinks into the sofa, "Your tastes are boringly predictable." "Yeah, well, I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am." I grab the carton of ice cream, straighten. She blinks. "Is that from On the Waterfront?" I chuckle. "You've been paying attention to my trivia quiz emails, huh?" “Bet you can't guess which movie this is from? She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want.” I pull out two plastic spoons, then join her. "Too easy." I scoop up some ice cream, "10 things I Hate About You." Her face breaks into a smile. Strange word games the two of us have. Spouting dialogues and having the other person guess the film it originated from is one. Words don’t cost, and they comfort. We can use them to weave a world in which we are safe, away from the nightmares that haunt our lives. "My turn." I pass the carton to her. "Gotta celebrate the Now. Live in the moment." She licks the ice-cream from her spoon, scoops up more. Her forehead scrunches. "Give up?" I snatch the ice cream carton from her. She frowns, "Okay, which is that from?" I snicker. "None, that was all moi." I lick the remaining ice cream from my spoon. She grabs at the carton, then peers into it. "Gah! Not fair, you finished it." I chortle, "See, you shouldn't underestimate me." I hand the empty carton to her. "Now shoo, I need to work on the deck for tomorrow's meeting.
"Brilliant!" She brightens, "I have the right set of clothes for you."