sound of it that rose up in her throat. Three hundred was twenty more than she had left in cash.
The interlude, she realized as she gnawed over it, was going to leave her flat broke. She couldn’t call the car rental company as she wasn’t on their records and that left her no option but to call home for funds. The idea of it made her feel like a failure.
Her silence, and the worried look in her eyes had Carl shifting his feet. “Ah … I can do with a hundred down. You can pay the balance when the work’s done.”
“I’ll just go get the money.”
She’d work something out, Camilla promised herself as she went back inside, and upstairs for her wallet. There had to be a way she could sell the watch—or something—within the next day or two. She had enough for a motel, for food until the car was repaired. As long as she was careful.
She’d figure something out in the meantime. She was good at solving problems.
But her stomach was busy sinking as she counted out the hundred dollars. It was, she discovered, lowering to need money. An experience she’d never had before—and, she acknowledged, likely one that was good for her.
A hundred-eighty and some change left, she mused, tucked into a wallet that had cost more than twice that. Let that be a lesson to you, she ordered herself, and went back downstairs.
Del was in the kitchen again, going through more notes.
“I thought I’d ask the tow-truck operator to give me a lift into town.”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone?” She rushed to the window, stared out. “Where?”
“To deal with your car.”
“But I haven’t paid him yet.”
“He put it on my account. Are you going to get that coffee?”
“On your account.” Embarrassed pride stiffened her spine. “No. I have the money.”
“Good, you can pay me when your car’s up and running. I want some damn coffee.”
He grabbed a mug and strode off. She marched right after him. “Here, take this.”
He ignored her and the money she held out, instead going through the process of taking the pot off the fire, carrying it to the table so he could pour it into the mug, carrying it back again, then picking up the mug.
The woman was quivering with temper, he noted. Which was pretty interesting. He gave her points for being pissed. She wasn’t used to being obligated, he decided. Or being in financial straights. There was money somewhere—she was wearing a few grand in that slim, Swiss efficiency on her wrist. But, at the moment, it wasn’t in her wallet.
That was a puzzle, but he wasn’t going to make it his business to solve it.
He’d felt sorry for her—not a usual reaction in him—when he’d seen all that worry cross her face. And he’d admired her quick control of it. She hadn’t fluttered or whined, or used her looks to soften Carl up and cut a better deal.
She’d sucked it up. That he respected.
And it had occurred to him he could give her a hand, and solve one of his own problems without making either of them feel uptight about it.
“I figure you earned about twenty this morning,” he told her. “Figuring ten bucks an hour for the work. I’ll give you that for the keyboarding, and you can earn off the bed and meals by cleaning this place up, doing the cooking. If Carl says a couple days, you figure four. In four days, you’ll have a place to stay and pay off the repair bill.”
She stared at him, let it sink in. “You want me to work for you. To … do your housekeeping?”
“Been doing it anyway, haven’t you? You get a bunk for four days, I don’t lose time with my work, and we part square at the end of it.”
She turned away, in what he assumed was embarrassment. He’d have been surprised, and confused, to see she had a huge grin and was fighting off laughter.
Oh, what the media would do with it, Camilla thought as she bit back chuckles. Camilla of Cordina paying for a roof over her head by scrubbing floors, heating up cans of soup and typing up notes on bones and
The interlude, she realized as she gnawed over it, was going to leave her flat broke. She couldn’t call the car rental company as she wasn’t on their records and that left her no option but to call home for funds. The idea of it made her feel like a failure.
Her silence, and the worried look in her eyes had Carl shifting his feet. “Ah … I can do with a hundred down. You can pay the balance when the work’s done.”
“I’ll just go get the money.”
She’d work something out, Camilla promised herself as she went back inside, and upstairs for her wallet. There had to be a way she could sell the watch—or something—within the next day or two. She had enough for a motel, for food until the car was repaired. As long as she was careful.
She’d figure something out in the meantime. She was good at solving problems.
But her stomach was busy sinking as she counted out the hundred dollars. It was, she discovered, lowering to need money. An experience she’d never had before—and, she acknowledged, likely one that was good for her.
A hundred-eighty and some change left, she mused, tucked into a wallet that had cost more than twice that. Let that be a lesson to you, she ordered herself, and went back downstairs.
Del was in the kitchen again, going through more notes.
“I thought I’d ask the tow-truck operator to give me a lift into town.”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone?” She rushed to the window, stared out. “Where?”
“To deal with your car.”
“But I haven’t paid him yet.”
“He put it on my account. Are you going to get that coffee?”
“On your account.” Embarrassed pride stiffened her spine. “No. I have the money.”
“Good, you can pay me when your car’s up and running. I want some damn coffee.”
He grabbed a mug and strode off. She marched right after him. “Here, take this.”
He ignored her and the money she held out, instead going through the process of taking the pot off the fire, carrying it to the table so he could pour it into the mug, carrying it back again, then picking up the mug.
The woman was quivering with temper, he noted. Which was pretty interesting. He gave her points for being pissed. She wasn’t used to being obligated, he decided. Or being in financial straights. There was money somewhere—she was wearing a few grand in that slim, Swiss efficiency on her wrist. But, at the moment, it wasn’t in her wallet.
That was a puzzle, but he wasn’t going to make it his business to solve it.
He’d felt sorry for her—not a usual reaction in him—when he’d seen all that worry cross her face. And he’d admired her quick control of it. She hadn’t fluttered or whined, or used her looks to soften Carl up and cut a better deal.
She’d sucked it up. That he respected.
And it had occurred to him he could give her a hand, and solve one of his own problems without making either of them feel uptight about it.
“I figure you earned about twenty this morning,” he told her. “Figuring ten bucks an hour for the work. I’ll give you that for the keyboarding, and you can earn off the bed and meals by cleaning this place up, doing the cooking. If Carl says a couple days, you figure four. In four days, you’ll have a place to stay and pay off the repair bill.”
She stared at him, let it sink in. “You want me to work for you. To … do your housekeeping?”
“Been doing it anyway, haven’t you? You get a bunk for four days, I don’t lose time with my work, and we part square at the end of it.”
She turned away, in what he assumed was embarrassment. He’d have been surprised, and confused, to see she had a huge grin and was fighting off laughter.
Oh, what the media would do with it, Camilla thought as she bit back chuckles. Camilla of Cordina paying for a roof over her head by scrubbing floors, heating up cans of soup and typing up notes on bones and
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