Rushing Amy: A Love and Football Novel (28 page)

Matt and Amy lingered at the kitchen table over one last cup of coffee.

“Listen, Fifi, about the investor: Do you know how much money you’re looking for?”

She gulped. She couldn’t help it. “Twenty-five thousand dollars.” She pulled in a lungful of breath. “It’ll give me a chance to pay down the most immediate debt I have. I’m pretty capped out with the Small Business Administration, so hopefully I can find some good terms with an investor. It’ll mean less money for me to live on till the loan’s repaid, but that’s the way it is.”

She realized it was a huge mistake to confide in a man who couldn’t wait to whip out his checkbook for anyone he loved that needed cash. She needed to talk about her struggles with someone who cared for her, but she knew she’d made a serious tactical error by even bringing it up. There was a gleam in Matt’s eyes she wasn’t sure she liked. She also wasn’t overly fond of the slight smile playing about the edge of his lips at that moment. He reached across the table and grabbed her hand.

“You know, I just happen to have a few bucks in the bank, and I’m happy to write you a check right now. I offer easy repayment terms, too.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

T
HE THOUGHTS CRASHED
into each other in Amy’s mind:
Oh, no
. Her conversation with Pauline flashed through her head in milliseconds. Her determination to make Crazy Daisy a success without depending on family and friends to do so wasn’t for sale, either. Amy knew paying off such a debt would cost much more than twenty-five thousand dollars, and it had nothing to do with possible interest charges. It was all about her independence. It meant a lot to her that she was slowly emerging from Emily’s shadow, too. Even if she loved her sister, she wanted something that was hers alone. She took another sip of coffee, and put the cup down on the table.

Her hand was shaking. Matt was going to be pissed, but there was no other way around it.

She’d already seen that he wanted nothing more than to be needed. He thought that meant his checkbook. She chose her words carefully and spoke slowly.

“Matt, thank you. I really appreciate your offer, but I’m going to have to say no.”

He leaned forward in his chair. His voice enticed her. “Why? If you’re going to get crazy about it, we can sign a contract. It’s a good investment for me. I always wanted a florist on speed-dial for those flower-sending emergencies.” He played with her fingers. “Come on, Fifi,” he coaxed. “I don’t want to think of your freaking out every day and pacing the floor at night when I can fix it.”

She leaned forward and reached out for his other hand. “I really appreciate your offer. It means a lot to me that you want to get involved, and it means even more that you’d try to help.” He opened his mouth to speak, and she held up one hand. “But you’re not fixing it. Even with a contract, it’s not going to work.”

“Why do you say that? Amy, that’s ridiculous.” She saw a flush climbing up his neck. He gripped her hand. “You needed a new van. You needed a new flower cooler. You put the cooler on a charge account. You’re paying a ton of interest every month, which is crazy. I care about you, and I don’t want to watch your business fail because you are too stubborn to accept help. Do you get that?”

The delicious breakfast she’d just cooked and eaten was churning in her stomach.

“I’m not doing this just to wreck your day. I need to be independent. When I take money from a guy I’m dating, even with a contract, I’m no longer independent. There are nasty names for women like that,” she said.

He dropped her hands.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars is one week’s interest on my investment portfolio. It’s one of several income streams I have. I offered because I want to help, not because I’m attempting to wreck
your
day.”

“Matt. I appreciate it, and you, a lot.” She reached out to grip his hand. At least he didn’t pull away from her touch. “Thank you, but I can’t accept. It’s not going to work.”

He let out another long breath. “Fine. I think you’re making a mistake.” He shoved his plate away. She saw hurt in his expression, and her heart sank. “May I make another suggestion, or will you reject that, too?”

“Matt, come on. I’m not doing this just to hurt you.”

He must have rethought his approach in the past five seconds. He laced his fingers through Amy’s again.

“Do you want me to ask around a little? I know guys who would write a check for twenty-five thousand bucks before they have their first cup of coffee in the morning.”

“I know you do. Can I look around a little first?”

“Of course you can.” He took another sip of his coffee. “Another thing: You need to start eating and sleeping, so maybe you should stay here for a few days.”

“I’m fine at home. I—”

“No, you’re not. You get out of bed and pace.” She opened her mouth to argue with him, but knew there wasn’t a lot she could say. He was right. She thought he didn’t know. “You actually sleep and eat while you’re here.”

T
HE SHOP PHONE
rang late that afternoon.

“Hi, Amy. My name is Clint Andrews. I’m a friend of Matt Stephens’s, and he told me at lunch this afternoon that you might be looking for an investor for your business.” Clint cleared his throat a bit. “He sent my wife flowers from your shop a few months back. You do nice work.”

“Thanks, Clint. I’m glad you liked the arrangement. Would you like to get together for a cup of coffee, and talk about the opportunity? What does your schedule look like later this week?”

“Well, I was hoping you might have some availability tomorrow. My wife and I are leaving for Hawaii at the end of the week. We’ll be there till July, so time’s of the essence.”

In other words he could afford Amy’s piddling twenty-five thousand dollar investment opportunity. They set a time, agreed to meet at the neighborhood Starbucks, and hung up. Matt hadn’t wasted any time. Then again, Amy knew he wouldn’t. She wouldn’t borrow money from him, so he was going to fix it, as usual.

The shop bells jingled again a few minutes later, and Brandon walked in. He held out his arms.

“Hey, squirt. Get yourself over here, and give me a hug.” He squeezed the breath out of her, patted her on the back, and said, “I needed that.”

She grinned up at him. “So, you thought you’d stop by? Where’s my sister?”

“Emily is having something called a ‘spa day’ with my mama. I’ll see her later.”

“How’s she feeling?”

“You know I can’t comment on that,” but he was laughing while he said it. “Listen. I understand you need some cash. I just happen to have some.” He pulled a checkbook out of his pants pocket. “How much do you need?”

“Did Matt call you?”

“Is it good or bad if I say yes?” Brandon tried to look innocent. “I want to make sure I don’t stick my foot in my mouth.”

Amy sank down into one of the chairs at the little table in the lobby. Brandon parked himself across from her and leaned over the table. “He’s just trying to help.” He grabbed a pen out of the container of them she always kept on the table. “How much?”

“I can’t take money from you. I can’t take money from Matt. I need to be independent, and you can’t talk me into it.”

“Amy, we’ll never miss the money. Why do you do this stuff? Em and I can afford it. You don’t have to do this alone. Let us help you.”

“You didn’t ask for help with your career, did you?”

The teasing grin faded from his lips. His voice was firm.

“Yes, I did, squirt. I had mentors. I still have them.”

“Did you borrow money from them?”

His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t need their money, and this is not a loan!” It seemed that Amy had finally succeeded in pissing off the typically easygoing Brandon. “I’ll be back in a few.” He hauled himself off the little chair and stormed out of the shop.

Ten minutes later, he was back. He must have gone for a walk around the block to calm down. He followed Amy into the workroom. Estelle’s eyes were bugging out of her head, but she made herself scarce. Hopefully Estelle would get used to seeing Sharks players showing up at her shop someday.

“Listen,” Brandon coaxed, in his most beguiling tone of voice. “Em wants this, and so do I. We never would have met if you hadn’t sent her over with that delivery, and you bet we know that. We owe you, not the other way around.” He reached out to pat her hand. “We’re investing in your shop, but truthfully, we’re investing in you. You’ve done real well with your business, and we don’t want to see problems later because you won’t let us help you.”

“Thank you, but no, thank you. I told Matt no, and I’m telling you no, too.”

Brandon shook his head. “Aw, honey. He doesn’t give up. He chased you till you agreed to go out with him. Why do you think this will be any different?”

“What do you mean?”

“He will find a way around you,” he warned. “He fights dirty, too.” Brandon crossed the room and looped his arms around her. She found herself squished against his shirt front again. “I gotta go, but this is not over.” He tried to look menacing, but the effect was completely spoiled by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Why don’t you think about it for a few hours? My offer still stands.”

“The answer is still no.”

“Have I told you lately you’re more stubborn than your sister?”

“It’s part of my charm.”

He let out a laugh. “See you later,” he said and loped out of the shop.

One hour later a courier arrived at Crazy Daisy with a cashier’s check made out to her for fifty thousand dollars and a note from her brother-in-law: “Don’t hurt my feelings, squirt.”

She was going to kill him. Or Matt.

C
LINT
A
NDREWS’S LAWYER
wrote a one-page investment contract for Amy to sign. She paid another lawyer three hundred dollars to review it. She offered monthly payments, a small percentage of Crazy Daisy, which would sunset when the loan was repaid, and a free two dozen red roses every year for Clint’s wife on their anniversary in perpetuity. He took it. Twenty-five thousand dollars was deposited in her business account two hours after everything was signed.

She paid off her business credit card ten minutes later, heaved a huge sigh of relief, and asked Estelle to watch the store for a few minutes while she took herself out for a caramel macchiato to celebrate.

Matt was still mad at her for not taking his money. Her brother-in-law did not find it amusing that she returned his cashier’s check the next day inside a box of homemade chocolate chip cookies. They were both going to have to get over it. She had a business to run.

Chapter Twenty-Two

A
FEW DAYS
later, Amy unlocked the front door of her shop a little after ten
AM
. She heard the bells jingle seconds afterward. Matt strolled into her lobby with a carry-out tray and an enigmatic grin.

“So, Fifi, I was wondering if I could interest you in a Top Pot doughnut and a latte.” He put the tray with coffee and a bag of doughnuts down on the little table in Amy’s lobby. “Brunch for two.”

She resisted the impulse to run across the lobby and throw herself into his arms.

“When’s the last time you ate a doughnut, Matt Stephens?”

“I heard their maple bar frosting is so addictive people have broken into the shop after hours to get one. Let’s find out if it’s true.” He nodded toward the empty chair across from him. “Join me.”

“Are you asking me out on a date? I have work to do, you know,” but she sat down at the table. “Plying me with sugar and caffeine? Who are you, anyway?”

His eyes sparkled. He lifted his left eyebrow, which made every hormone in her body sit up and scream for relief. “I’m the guy who misses you.” He opened the bag and held it out to her. “What would you like?”

She extracted a maple bar. “Are you still mad at me?”

He shook his head no. “It’s your life.”

“Yes, Matt, it is, and I love this right now.” She took a bite of the maple bar and almost moaned aloud as the frosting dissolved on her tongue.

“Why don’t you drop by my place after work tonight, and we’ll go to the concert at Marymoor Park? I just happen to have a ticket with your name on it. Then again, I know you’re popular. Can you fit me in at the last minute?”

“Will you
quit
? I’ll ask Estelle if she minds closing, and I’ll get over there in plenty of time.” She thought for a moment. “I have one question for you, Matt.”

“What’s that?”

“Will we actually make it to the concert this time?”

He took the maple bar out of her hand, and bit off a chunk.

“I promise I won’t tear your clothes off till it’s over.”

A
MY ARRIVED AT
Matt’s a little after six, only to realize she’d forgotten to place one last wholesaler order for tomorrow morning, and her phone was dead. The charger was back at the shop. Dammit.

“Hey, Matt, may I use your laptop for a minute? I need to do something over e-mail.”

“Knock yourself out,” he shouted from the kitchen. “It’s in my office.”

Amy rounded Matt’s desk. He’d framed a photo of them they asked a guy to take with Matt’s cell phone a week or so ago. She smiled to think Matt had a picture of her where he could see it every day. Something else caught her eye beside Matt’s laptop. She stared at the check lying on Matt’s desk blotter, and sank down into the leather chair behind the desk.

Her legs didn’t seem to be working right now. Hot and cold raced over her skin, twisted her stomach in an invisible fist, and she told herself to breathe. One hand rose to her mouth.

Maybe she was seeing things. Then again, she wasn’t seeing much of anything right now, besides a check printed on pale green safety paper, payable to Clint Andrews, for twenty-five thousand smackers. The guy who’d just—coincidentally, of course
—
“invested” in Crazy Daisy.

Why the hell did Matt have a twenty-five thousand dollar check for Clint, anyway? Obviously, twenty-five big ones was a lot of money to lose for eighteen holes of golf. Matt didn’t spend much time and money gambling. They’d had that discussion, among others. Something was wrong.

Maybe there was some other reason Matt wrote Clint a huge check. Maybe Clint sold him something, or maybe Matt was lying to her and had been all along. Oh, God. The icy, invisible fist clutching her stomach twisted once more.