Chapter 1
* ~ Faith ~ *
Stepping inside my front door. I closed the heavy oak door and leaned my weight against it, letting the central air work its magic.
Christ, how was it so hot today?
Having lived in Boston for the past eight years I’d forgotten what Georgia summers were all about.
As my body cooled, I sighed in relief letting my bag drop to the floor and tossing my keys to the side before slipping off my Stuart Weitzman pumps. Relief ran from the souls of my feet up to the tips of my pretty purple-sparkly toenails.
Bliss.
Bliss was also being able to do what I damn well pleased in my own home, courtesy of my recent divorce settlement. He’d take my heart and my pride and stomped on them. So, I returned the favour and took half of his bank account. Pouring it into this... my new home, oh and I may have spent a tiny amount on the treasure trove of pumps in my walk-in shoe closet. A girl could never have too many shoes and I could give Carrie Bradshaw a run for her money.
Pushing off the door, my fingers made quick work of my shirt, peeling it from the damp skin of my back. I let it slip from my fingers and went to work on my skirt, feeding down the zipper to let it fall to my feet. Stepping free, I let my mind wander to the strawberry and chocolate cupcake waiting for me and maybe a much needed dirty martini... or two.
It had been a long and uneventful day.
Stepping inside my kitchen, standing only in my fancy French underwear, I felt freer than moments ago. My back-yard was private so I didn’t need to worry about anyone seeing me.
Plodding over to my stainless steel refrigerator, it might be better if I rehydrate first before I hit up the martini’s. Opening the door, the chill made me shiver. Not that I minded much. Grabbing a bottle of water, and popping the lid, I drank half of it without pausing for breath.
Shutting the fridge door, my ears pricked to the sound of my house phone from down the hall. Not wanting to be bothered, I let it go to the answerphone. A few rings later, a man’s voice spoke as clearly as if he was standing right next to me.
“Mrs Sinclair. It’s Mr Dalton from the Chase bank,” he announced himself.
The bank.
“I’m sorry to inform you, but we’re unable to help recover the money transfer.”
My shoulders dropped, along with my appetite.
“You can reach me here at the bank if you need to talk about it in more detail.” He added a little cheerily. “Have a nice day.”
Silence.
“Have a nice day,” I mimicked his voice, turning to slump against my refrigerator door, grumbling and cursing my stupidity.
Why, you might ask?
Well, I’d found a contractor that promised he’d landscape my entire back-yard, and turn it into the dream outdoor space I’d been picturing for the last month and a half, and that included installing a swimming pool. Not a huge one. But big enough for me to enjoy.
I should have known it was all too good to be true.
Day one, he’d arrived and got started, and I was tickled pink!
On day two, I’d come home to find the pool dug out. I’d celebrated the hole in my yard with a martini. He’d then asked for some cash as another client hadn’t paid him yet and he was low on funds and couldn’t continue with my job without a few necessities.
I’d wired him the money without delay.
On day three, he was a no-show.
Days four, five and six... He wasn’t answering my calls or messages.
On day seven, his mobile phone was disconnected.
It was time for me to face the truth. I’d lost my money.
And for the second time in two years, a man had taken me for a mug, screwed me—and not in a good way.
More fool me, I guessed?
But in my defence, he’d looked the part and the plans he’d drawn up were amazing, and it was in my price range.
Now I knew why.
I still had some cash, but being burned had me thinking twice and doubting myself. And I couldn’t risk losing any more money.
Pushing off the refrigerator, I gulped another mouthful of water whilst walking over to my window to look at the giant hole in my back-yard where my swimming pool should have been.
I froze.
