The Millionaire Next Door. Kara Lennox
“A month.”
Holy cow, that was cheap. He’d never lived in a place that cost so little. “That’s fine.”
They returned to the Tri-County rental office, where Hudson was required to fill out an application, though Amanda assured him it was only a formality. His pen hovered over the space marked “Occupation.” He’d misled Amanda, but he couldn’t make himself lie on paper. He wrote in “doctor” very quickly and hoped no one would read it.
He wrote out a check for one month’s rent plus a security deposit. It had been so long since he’d actually written a check, he had to stop and think about it. He had a business manager who handled all of his bills. When he did have to deal with financial things, he used credit cards.
When he’d hastily packed for this trip, he’d grabbed his old checkbook from a desk drawer, realizing not everyone accepted credit cards, especially out in the sticks. He congratulated himself for thinking ahead.
Amanda took the check and the application, paper-clipped them together, and stuck them in a folder on her fanatically neat desk.
“Thanks for helping me out,” he said as he stood.
She stood also and handed him the key to the cabin. “Thanks for the business. Please let me know if I can help you with anything else. And welcome to the neighborhood.”
He shook her hand again, holding it for a little longer than was necessary.
THE FIRST THING Hudson did upon arriving at his new, temporary home was to locate the yellow pages and hire a cleaning service to give the place a good going-over. Rustic he could handle; filthy he couldn’t. With a little prodding, he arranged for a housekeeper from Sharon’s Personal Service to come out that afternoon. “If I’m not here, the door will be open.” It wasn’t as if a thief would want to steal anything here.
Next on the list was groceries. He’d never had to prepare his own food before. At Grubbs Food Mart, which appeared to be the only grocery store in town, he filled his basket with frozen foods, snacks and lunch meats for sandwiches. Bethany made her choices clear. She wanted macaroni and cheese, peanut butter and jelly and something called Lunchables that appeared to be cheese and crackers in a box.
George had told him to eat healthily, but since Hudson couldn’t cook, he was severely limited. He bought a few apples, some peaches and, at Bethany’s urging, a bag of celery.
“I like it with peanut butter,” she announced.
In the cleaning products aisle, he picked up some dishwasher detergent. Wait, did the cabin have a dishwasher? Hell, he didn’t think so, now that he thought about it. And laundry, how was he supposed to clean his clothes? How was he supposed to relax if he had to worry about all this stuff?
He was putting his groceries in the trunk when he saw a woman barreling toward him through the small parking lot. Not just any woman, he realized. Amanda Dewhurst.
His momentary pleasure was soon blunted by the fact that she was scowling.
As soon as she reached him, she waved a piece of paper in his face. “Would you mind explaining this?”
He grabbed the paper from her hand, which he now saw was his check. “What’s wrong?”
“You know damn well what’s wrong.”
“You’re not going to tell me it bounced, are you?” That was ludicrous. He had thousands of dollars in his ready assets account.
“I put it through Checktronic,” she fumed. “The account was closed two years ago!”
“What?” With a sinking feeling, Hudson examined the check more closely. Then he realized the names printed on the check were Hudson and Elaine Stack. He’d grabbed the wrong checkbook. This was the account mainly used by Elaine, and his manager had closed it.
He tried to explain the mix-up to Amanda. She listened stoically. “It was an honest mistake,” he concluded. “I’ll make the check good.”
“You can’t make a check good on a closed account.”
She had a point. Hudson felt his collar growing tighter—then realized his collar was open. “I don’t suppose you take credit cards.”
Amanda tapped her foot.
With a sigh, Hudson reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He pulled out all of the cash and counted it into Amanda’s hand. It amounted to four hundred thirty dollars and change. “I’ll get you the rest tomorrow, okay?”
Amanda studied him, considering.
“I’m good for it. Have a heart. I’ve got a car full of frozen food that’s rapidly melting in this heat.”
“All right.” She stuck the cash in her briefcase. “But I really need it by tomorrow. I’m ahead of Mary Jo Dickens by twenty dollars, and tomorrow is the last day of the month. If I have to deduct the commission from this rental, I’ll lose.”
“Lose what?” he asked, bewildered.
“I won’t be top seller for May. And if I have to see that trophy sitting on Mary Jo’s desk for all of next month, I’ll puke.”
He recalled all those plaques in her office. Million Dollar Club. Top selling Realtor for the past four years running. Those framed letters of appreciation.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say, “So? What’s the big deal about having a trophy on your desk?” But then Hudson realized it was a big deal for Amanda. She was as serious and committed about her job as he was about his.
Tomorrow some other doctor would be doing his surgery, and he didn’t like that, either.
He smiled. “I’ll make it good. Don’t worry. You’ll beat the pants off this Mary Jo, whoever she is.”
Amanda managed a watery smile. Then she turned on her shiny black pumps and walked away.
Chapter Two
Amanda’s face burned as she walked back to her office, and it wasn’t just the summer heat. What in God’s name had possessed her to tell Hudson Stack about her rivalry with Mary Jo Dickens?
“Hey, what’s with you?” Margie asked the minute Amanda walked through the door. “You look like a herd of demons is chasing you. Is Mary Jo hassling you again?”
Amanda set her things on one of the plush client chairs and sank into the other one. For once, she didn’t feel like rushing back to her office to generate new leads or update her contact list.
“It’s not Mary Jo, not this time,” Amanda said. “It’s me. I just chased down Hudson Stack in the street and gave him hell for writing me a bad check.”
“Good for you. He could go to jail for that.”
“Except that…I harangued him in front of his little girl. And maybe he did intentionally try to defraud me, but maybe it was an honest mistake. And if it was, I’ve alienated him permanently. And he’s friends with Ed Hardison. You know what’ll happen to my business if Ed tells people I’m a harpy?”
“You’ll never sell another house,” Margie added, deadpan, “and you’ll have to move out of town and go into another line of work. Maybe change your name. Go into the witness protection program.”
“I think you’re making fun of me,” Amanda said suspiciously.
“Oh, honey, you’re just too damn hard on yourself. No one can be sweet 24/7. So, you lost your temper. You got a little flustered. Who wouldn’t, dealing with that guy?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know if you noticed, but he’s quite the studmuffin.” Margie fanned herself with the Cottonwood Conversation, the town’s weekly newspaper.
Amanda