Chapter 19
Evangeline
When I push open the door to my luxurious high-rise condo, my fat, grumpy cat, pads over to the door, gives me a surly glare and trots back into the living room. Completely ignoring me, he perches on his window-front throne – a now-shredded pink cashmere sweater that he must have pulled out of the laundry basket in my bedroom.
I sigh as drop my bag in the entrance and I stroll across the hardwood floor into the kitchen. “Well, it’s nice to see you, too, Mr. Tickles,” I mutter under my breath.
The cat’s bowls sit next to the fridge, filled with food and water. But when I open the refrigerator, the only thing there is a soggy, rotting head of lettuce, a half-eaten cup of strawberry yogurt and a few bottles of sparkling water. Everything else is gone.
I smile to myself because that means that Annaleigh’s been keeping an eye on the place like she said she would. My best friend is one of those housesitters who completely cleans out your fridge and pantry. The girl is always hungry. I can only assume that her pregnancy has made it worse.
I grab a bottle of water and drift over to the counter where my mail is stacked up next to the empty fruit basket. I drop onto the stool and bury my face in my hands. My chest burns, it aches. I have no zeal in my limbs. All I can think about is the way that Raphael walked away, striding off to his car with barely a look back.
He’s already forgotten about me. He’s forgotten about the time we spent together, the way we opened up to each other, the laughter, the fun. We stepped off that plane into an alternate reality, one where I don’t matter to him.
But he matters to me. I don’t know how to neatly fold up my feelings and tuck them into a box and pretend they don’t exist. Is he really that cold, that heartless, just a hard-nosed businessman? Because I thought I’d gotten a glimpse of something else while we were together. I thought I’d met a man who was passionate and fun and adventurous. I guess I don’t know him at all.
With a sigh, I turn my attention toward the envelopes on the counter. My chest tightens at the prospect of bills, bills and more bills. I go through the envelopes one by one. Adulting is bullshit.
Three of the letters are not so kind notices from my internet service provider, chastising me for late payments. Then, there’s a warning letter from the electricity company. And of course, a trio of credit card bills.
I drop my weight against the counter and my eyes sweep over the room. My stainless steel appliances, my butcher’s block counters, my granite tiles, the unbeatable view of the river meandering right below my 18th floor window.
I’m gonna have to sell this condo…
It’s such a gorgeous place. I remember how proud I was the day I signed that deed, the day I became a homeowner at the tender age of 19.
My father had warned me not to buy it. It was too expensive, too ostentatious. This is Reyfield, after all, a little forgotten suburb no one ever bothers with. This 24 floor building was a little over the top, in his opinion.
Did I really need a building with a doorman? Was the built-in sauna really necessary?
I answered ‘yes’ to both of those questions and now I can barely pay the mortgage. Shit!
Massaging my throbbing forehead, I reach for the last envelope in the pile. My bank statement. I tear the packaging open and my jaw nearly hits the floor when I read the transactions. A deposit of $392 475.17 into my checking account.
The money from the auction. That dirty money.
An awful feeling settles under my skin. I need this cash. It solves all my financial problems. But it creates a plethora of new problems as well.
I hate the idea of using that dirty money. It makes me sick to my stomach knowing where it came from. And on top of that, I really want to give it back to Raphael. I want to prove to him that I don’t need his money, I don’t need any part of him. Not after the way he treated me. I won’t give him the pleasure of looking down on me.
I may not know where my next paycheck is coming from but I’ve still got my pride. I’ve made up my mind. I’m giving that money back to Raphael.