Money Hungry: A Second-Chance Romance Read online

  MONEY HUNGRY

  Sloane West

  Copyright © 2017 Sloane West

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the reader. It is the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied, or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

  Cover Design by Sloane West

  EBook design by Sloane West

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Note from the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Epilogue

  Bonus Stuff

  Continue the Series

  About the Author

  Other Books

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Hello, busy reader! I hope you enjoy Money Hungry, the first bite-sized romance in my Money Hungry Series. This sweet, romantic, and steamy series is designed to provide quick, delicious reads you can devour on your lunch break. The best part? No calories. My miniature love stories offer big romance in small packages. But don’t worry, all my novelettes are complete, well-balanced meals, and you won’t walk away hungry.

  After all, it only takes a few pages to fall in love.

  P.S. Did you think I’d forget about dessert? Each novelette comes with a free extended bonus epilogue on the side that is exclusively available to my newsletter subscribers. Not a subscriber yet? You can sign up here:

  Sloane West's Newsletter

  If you’d rather just dig right in, that’s okay, too, babe! You’ll have another opportunity to sign up at the end of Money Hungry. You’ll also find a link to a bonus Money Hungry Q&A podcast with yours truly.

  Hugs and kisses,

  Sloane

  www.sloanewest.com

  www.facebook.com/SloaneWestAuthor

  A wise person should have money in their head, but not in their heart.

  — Jonathan Swift

  1

  “What do you mean you gave him the money?” Amy asked, setting the bag of groceries on the chipped counter and eying her sister with rising dread.

  Christina stared back at her with manic, mascara-smeared eyes, their pupils much too large. Despite being the younger sister, Chris looked like an emaciated, haggard version of Amy. Chris’s voice wobbled. “I needed it, Aims. I . . . had to. You don’t understand. I needed it.” She let out a sob. “I’m sorry. You know I am.”

  If Amy had a nickel for every time her sister had apologized over the years, she wouldn’t have to work two jobs to put food on the table. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as her temples started throbbing. She struggled to keep the shrillness from her voice. Christina clammed up like she had lockjaw at the first sign of confrontation. “Chris, tell me again why you gave Wayne, of all people, our last fifty dollars. My last fifty dollars.”

  Christina leaned forward on the couch, elbows on her knees, fingers twisting her stringy brown hair. She rocked back and forth as she spoke. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.” She looked up at Amy. “I will. I needed to feel good again. Just this once.”

  “Just this once? God, Chris.” Amy cursed, turning away and grabbing the edge of the counter. It was that or wring her sister's neck. “How could you do this? Again? You know I need that money. We need that money.”

  Christina began bouncing her knee—a sure sign she was on the verge of either bolting or shutting down altogether. “You know I can’t help it. I got problems. We’re not all perfect like you.”

  Amy bit her tongue on the outburst that bubbled up inside her. Christina didn’t know the first thing about problems. She didn’t know about working sixty hours a week to keep the electric on and the rent paid. She didn’t know about spreading herself so thin it felt like disappearing. She didn’t know about car insurance, or medical bills, or leaky pipes, or any damn thing that involved living in the real world. “How did you even get Wayne over here?”

  Wayne, Amy’s ex, hadn’t come around in years. Much to her relief. The mixture of hurt and hate that rose in her just thinking of him was brutal. They’d ended things bad—real bad—and bitterness didn’t begin to describe her state of mind when it came to him. Even now, heat crept up her neck and into her face at the mention of his name. God . . . Wayne. How could Chris do this? Of all the times her sister had stabbed her in the back in the name of addiction, this was by far the sharpest blade.

  “I hit a dog,” Chris murmured.

  Amy looked at her. “What?”

  Chris groaned. “I hit a dog.”

  Amy shook her head. “What, like . . . by accident?”

  Chris’s voice dropped to an almost inaudible whisper. “I got a dog. I hit it. Called Wayne.”

  Amy blinked and then brought her fingers to her mouth as horror struck. “You hit a dog on . . . purpose?” Her voice grew shrill. “To get your goddamned fix? What the hell did you hit it with? Is it alive?”

  When Chris didn’t respond, Amy took a step forward. “What did you hit the dog with?”

  “Your car.”

  Amy dragged her hands down her face. She’d carpooled today, which meant she’d left her own Geo Metro at home. Although, how Chris had started it without keys was beyond her. “Oh my God.”

  “You don’t understand what it’s like. You—”

  “Where is it?” Amy strode over with her hand out. “Give it. Now.”

  Chris looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “What?”

  “The drugs. Medication. Whatever he gave you,” Amy said. “Give it to me.”

  Chris’s face tightened with alarm. “It’s gone. I don’t have it.”

  Amy went through Chris’s jacket pockets, grabbing her sister’s wrists when she tried to fight her. Amy found the bottle in the breast pocket and ignored Chris’s panicked scream as she stepped back to examine it. Tramadol. Amy had no idea what that was, but it had to be a narcotic or Chris wouldn’t be hyperventilating over losing it.

  Rising, Chris stared at the bottle as if it contained gold in pill form. “What are you doing?”

  Bottle in hand, Amy turned and grabbed her purse, heading for the door.

  “Amy!” her sister cried.

  Amy paused in the doorway, heart pounding. “I want you gone by the time I get back.”

  The slam of the door was like the severing of a long-frayed tie.

  2

  Amy knew the drive to Wayne’s clinic by heart, and each familiar house, tree, and curve brought a pang of heartache. Today would be an onslaught of memories she wasn’t looking forward to. The clinic was closed on Sundays, but she knew he’d be there. His practice—a small, country affair—operated out of his converted garage. There would be one or two sick animals weekending in his kennels, and he never strayed too far from them. For all his faults, he was a good veterinarian.

  When she pulled into the driveway, her heart pounded, and she refused to look at the sign proclaiming Stone Creek Animal Hospital, Wayne Colby, DVM. She couldn’t avoid glancing at the rusting white truck she parked next to, though, and she tried not to remember its seat. Or what they’d done on it.

  Or how many times they’d done it.

  Gritting her teeth, Amy grabbed the pills from the passenger’s seat and got out. Her legs trembled as she strode to the door, but she did stride. And she held her chin high. She’d be damned if she let on how much this bothered her. She bypassed the clinic’s door, following the sidewalk to the main house—an old but well-maintained two-story with white clapboard siding and black shutters. It was picturesque. Welcoming. Charming. And she’d once envision
ed living in it with Wayne.

  It was a vision that had never come to pass.

  Jogging up the porch steps, she cleared her throat and knocked on the red door.

  The booming bark of a big dog sounded on the other side, and a few seconds later, Wayne’s voice could be heard. “Quiet, Disco.”

  And then the door opened.

  Wayne stared at her in open shock. God, he looked the same. Same blond hair that was a little too long for a doctor. Same day-old stubble. Same slightly crooked nose. The sight of him muddied her pristine determination, and she suddenly regretted her decision to come here. It had been a bad idea. The worst idea.

  “Well,” he said finally, drawing out the word in his dry, southern way. “Been a long time, Amarillo.”

  She ignored the pet name and held out the bottle. “I want a refund.”

  He took the bottle from her and glanced at the label with a frown. “I gave these to Christina.”

  “And I’m giving them back.”

  He shook his head and tried to return the bottle. “The dog needs them. She was banged up pretty good.”

  Amy refused the bottle. “The dog’s gone, Wayne. You should have known better than to trust Chris.”

  Frowning, he insisted, “She looked good. Clean. Where’s the dog?”

  It was incredible how “clean” Chris could look when she needed to. “Who knows. She probably dumped it somewhere. She’s a junkie. You know that.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s been three years. I figured she’d be off the shit by now. Sober.”

  “Well, she’s not. She was good for a little while . . . but she’s not.” Amy looked back up at him. “Just give me the refund. I need that money. Please.”

  Something inside her corroded. It felt too much like begging. But she did need that money. Her tuition at the local community college was expensive, and no way in hell was she giving up her Criminal Justice degree. She would be a paralegal someday if it killed her.

  He studied her a moment, blue eyes calculating. “Can’t take back medication after it’s opened.”

  “Wayne,” she sighed. “Come on.”

  He shook the bottle, rattling the pills inside as he contemplated her. “Why do you need the money?”

  Her jaw clenched. “None of your business.”

  His smile was humorless. “That’s right. How could I forget.”

  She turned to leave. She needed the money, but it wasn’t worth this. It wasn’t worth him.

  “Wait,” he said.

  Taking a deep breath, she paused and gave him a look that said you’d better make it good.

  He eyed her maid uniform, and she couldn’t resist smoothing the gray knee-length smock. She’d just come from an eight-hour shift, and the smock was wrinkled and smelled like disinfectant. His mouth curved in a way she didn’t appreciate.

  “I think we can work something out,” he said, the insinuation written all over his handsome face.

  She blinked. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  He didn’t.

  She couldn’t help it—she laughed. It was a shocked, hysterical laugh. “Why in the hell would I do that?” She didn’t have to ask what that was. She knew Wayne. Knew the way his eyes sparkled when he wanted her. The way his jaw clenched when he thought about what he’d do to her. What she didn’t know was how, in the name of all that was holy, he could stand there and proposition her after what he’d done six years ago.

  Staring at him as if he’d sprouted flaming antlers, she said, “You’re an unbelievable bastard.”

  Worse yet, was that before he’d broken her heart, he hadn’t been a bastard. He’d been a good, honest, hard-working man that she’d respected and loved—or so she’d thought. As it turned out, she’d never known him at all.

  “True,” he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’m also a businessman.”

  “You hate business,” she said dryly. It was why, out of the few local veterinarians in Barneville, his clinic was the most modest. While others boasted shiny facades, impeccable landscaping, and deluxe waiting rooms, his featured worn counters and secondhand equipment. Why? Because if someone walked in with a sick animal and no money to pay for it, Wayne saw them anyway. Sometimes, the penniless pet owner paid him back, but often, it was entirely pro bono. Something that spoke to Wayne’s character but hurt his bottom line. Not that his character was untarnished by any means. He might be an amazing veterinarian, but he was a lousy fiancé.

  His gaze lingered on her legs and hips before reaching her face. “Not all business.”

  To her undying disgust, her nipples hardened. He was still so damn sexy, and she hated him for it. “You’re revolting.”

  When his grin deepened, she turned and started for the car once more.

  Behind her, he sighed and followed. “Stop.”

  She didn’t.

  His long-legged stride caught up quickly, though, and he took her by the arm. “Amarillo, stop.”

  She whirled on him, tears biting her eyes. “Do not call me that!”

  He clenched his jaw. “Sorry. Amy. Will you just wait?”

  Reining in her emotions, she glared up at him. “What do you want?”

  Still holding her wrist, he rubbed his thumb across it. It was a habitual action. Something he used to do when she was agitated with him. He held her gaze, and her heart stumbled. Why, after all this time, did he have such an effect on her? “I want you, Amy,” he said. “Always have. Never stopped.”

  “You want me?” she demanded, her temper flaring hot and bright. “Or do you want my best friend?”

  He flinched as if she’d slapped him. “Don’t—”

  “Or maybe my sister this time?” she asked, her voice cutting. “I have some female coworkers if you want to keep it out of the family.”

  He looked as though he wanted to say something but didn’t. Instead, he let go of her, shaking his head. “You never change, do you?”

  “Me?” She hated how shrill her voice sounded. “I never change? God, Wayne, I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

  She was suddenly so angry she couldn’t see straight. There hadn’t been any closure between them. No knock-down, drag-out breakup. When she’d learned what he’d done and who he’d done it with, she’d left. End of. She’d cut ties and hadn’t looked back. He’d come after her. Beat on her door. Blew up her phone. Waited outside her work. But she’d refused to see him. Refused to talk to him. Refused to think about him. She couldn’t. Because then it would become real. It was easier to move on. Pretend it hadn’t happened. Pretend he hadn’t happened. Weeks had turned into months, then years, and he’d turned into someone she used to know.

  And her heart had knitted itself back together. Slowly. Painfully. Finally.

  Until today.

  Today, it was torn open and bleeding once again, as if he’d betrayed her only moments before and not six years ago.

  He threw up his hands. “I find that hard to believe considering you never let me get a word in edgewise.”

  Heat crept into her cheeks. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you hear what you want to hear, and any argument to the contrary falls on deaf ears.” He sighed. “You’re so quick to believe the worst of people. It’s what you do.”

  Anger flooded her. She’d never wanted to slap someone so bad in her life. How dare he, of all people, judge her? “I believe the worst of them because they always prove me right. You’re a prime example.”

  He let out a frustrated growl, raking his fingers through his perfectly messy hair. She’d always loved that hair. For the same reason she’d always loved his worn T-shirts and holey jeans. Even his work scrubs were a few washes past their prime. At least, they used to be. She reminded herself that she didn’t know him anymore. She never had.

  “As if you’ve ever given me an opportunity to prove otherwise,” he barked. “You just reac
t. Explanations be damned.”

  She laughed, and it came out sounding skeptical. “What are you saying? That you didn’t sleep with Jen? Come on, Wayne.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Would it matter if I said I didn’t?”

  She glared at him. Remembering hurt. Bad. She’d been best friends with Jen Huntley since junior high. Though they’d always been opposites—Jen wild and daring and Amy grave and serious—they’d gelled. Balanced each other out. Amy had kept Jen from being too reckless, and Jen had kept Amy from being too boring. They’d laughed. God, they’d laughed. They’d shared clothes, whispered secrets, and made plans. So many plans. But when they’d been in their early twenties, Jen had gotten pregnant during a one-night stand. The guy had pulled a disappearing act upon hearing the news, but it hadn’t dampened Jen’s excitement. Like everything else in life, she’d taken pregnancy by the horns. Eat the lemons, Amy, she’d said. Fuck the lemonade.

  Though the circumstances were less than ideal, Amy had been ecstatic for her. Together, they’d converted Jen’s one-bedroom apartment into a baby’s paradise. They’d haunted yard sales and thrift stores for the best hand-me-downs. They’d painted walls. Read What to Expect When You’re Expecting together. Amy had even gone to Lamaze classes with her. But around Jen’s seventh month, there had been complications, and she’d lost the baby. It was tragic. Unexpected. Devastating. And it had changed Jen. She’d started drinking, drugging, and partying. She’d laughed louder and more hollowly, and her eyes became too wide, the gleam gone. She drove too fast and cared too little.

  And she’d slept with any man who’d have her.

  Wayne had been one of those men.

  3

  “I saw you,” Amy hissed, their ugly past oozing out like black tar. Thick, noxious, and unstoppable. Coming here had been a bad idea, she knew that, but part of her felt freed by it, too. Like if she got rid of it, here and now, she could move on with her life, once and for all. “I saw you.”