Sure, I had all the trappings of wealth, and was often called an heiress. But before my dad hit it big, he'd come from a long line of factory workers, not that anyone liked to remember that, now.
I was still looking at Derek.What a jerk.
At something in my gaze, he shifted in his seat. "Hey, you're always griping about the color." He glanced away. "And it wasn't just the boardroom. It was the guest house, too."
The guest house was the least of my concerns. The whole estate needed work, but ifthiswas Derek's way of helping out, I wanted no part of it.
I imagined myself in the stranger's shoes. He'd been called out here to do a job, only to be treated like trash and ridiculed for the misunderstanding – a misunderstanding that wasn't even his fault.
What a disaster.
And in front of me, there sat Derek, looking like he'd just had the time of his life. He flashed me a grin. "So, anyway." His tone grew sarcastic. "Surprise."
Oh, I was surprised alright. I gave Derek a hard look. "What did you do? Put his name on the list?"
"What list?"
As if he didn't know. "The list of candidates. Number twenty-two." My jaw clenched. "Remember?"
Derek only shrugged. "Hey, you had to meet him sometime, right? I figured, why not add him to the list, have some fun with it."
"Fun?" I sputtered. "For who?"
Derek laughed. "Well,Ienjoyed it."
Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, I looked down, only to feel myself pause. There it was, that folded slip of paper, the one the stranger had tossed down earlier.
Still clutching Derek's phone, I bent down and snagged the paper with my free hand. It looked like a business check, folded into a neat little square.
Derek held out his hand. "I'll take that."
"Why? What are you planning to do with it?"
"Rip it up, obviously."
I frowned. Well, that was convenient. So the stranger wouldn't even be compensated for his trouble?
Distracted, I said, "You want something? Take this." I dropped Derek's phone into his outstretched hand, and then unfolded the paper for a better look. Sure enough, it was an official business check, made out from the law firm of Derek's dad.
I zoomed in on the amount. "Only fifty dollars?"
Granted, this wasn't pocket change. But even in my own limited experience, fifty dollars didn't buy a whole lot of anything when it came to home-maintenance.
Derek said, "It's called a down payment."
"Oh." I didn't bother asking what the full amount would be, or who, exactly, was supposed to pay for it. Given my finances, I didn't want to know.
The check was made out to someone named Joel Bishop. I let that name drift around in my brain. I liked it. Or maybe, I just liked the thought of somehow, making things right.
Feeling suddenly inspired, I told Derek, "You can't rip it up."
"Why not?"
I squared my shoulders. "Because I'm going to give it back to him."
"You're not serious?"
But I was, which is why, a few hours later, I'd changed into casual clothes, and was standing in a campground of all places, staring down at a narrow, Earth-colored tent.
