What Can't Be Bought
Part 1
Mel LeBrun
Copyright © 2020 Mel LeBrun
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9798642934197
ISBN-10: 8642934197
This project is dedicated to my mother who passed away from breast cancer in 1997. She was the inspiration behind Brenda’s character. She was my best friend and is still dearly missed.
I hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’d like to thank all my friends and family for their support. A special thanks goes to Cadee, Kim and Amanda for being my sounding board. Thanks for all your help!
Chapter 1
Amanda Pierce sat at her desk in a cubicle at the IT firm where she worked in downtown Boston. Her face was buried in her hands and her long brown hair hung down, not looking as good as it did that morning.
She had completed 9 support tickets with 15 more left over for the next day, not counting new calls that would inevitably come in. The feeling of accomplishment was drowned out by the never-ending torrent of support tickets. She was frazzled, tired and hungry.
The last customer had been waiting 2 days for his issue to be resolved and had taken it out on her. Though it wasn’t her fault, she had a hard time not taking it personally. Everyone was overworked but the company refused to hire more help. Each day was wrought with frustration, hostility and stress.
“You did great today, Amanda,” a male voice behind her said.
She lifted her head and turned to acknowledge her coworker. He was a short Salvadoran with black hair and naturally tan skin that made her jealous since tan was something she had to work hard for. With somewhat fair skin and hazel eyes, striking the right balance between tanning and burning was challenging.
“Thanks, Sam,” she replied as she gave him a weak smile.
In his mid-thirties, Sam was 10 years her senior. He wasn’t her supervisor but he should have been. Out of the entire team, he had the most experience and everyone often relied on him for help. He was not only their safety net, though. He made working for the company tolerable. He commended others for their hard work and patiently taught them as they went. He was the glue that held the whole division together.
“Only 2 more days until Europe,” he grinned. “Are you excited?”
“I might be if I had time to think about it,” she laughed.
“How many tickets you got left?”
“Just one marked urgent,” she answered.
“Go home. I’ll take care of it.”
“I can't let you do that,” she protested. "You have a family to get home to."
“I’ll let you cover for me some other time,” he insisted. “Go home and relax.”
“I should probably start packing,” she replied.
“So it’s settled then.” He gave her a warm smile and left to attend to her last ticket.
“Thank you, Sam!” she called out to him as he walked away. He just waved his hand and kept going.
She quickly packed her things and left. Traffic was brutal but she had gotten used to it over the last 4 years living in the city. She moved from a small town in New Hampshire, so it was quite an adjustment to make. She still didn’t like it but the job paid well and it allowed her to help her mom, who was recovering from colon cancer and couldn’t work. Money was tight but Amanda’s contributions helped her to stay in her home.
She lived only 15 minutes from work if traffic was light. During rush hour it took twice as long, but still it wasn’t a bad commute. Some of her coworkers who owned homes outside the city had over an hour commute each way. Amanda had thought about doing the same but decided she hated sitting in traffic more than she hated the city. It was not without its charms after all.
She lived in a large brick apartment building. It was not the best of accommodations but the rent was cheaper than others and every penny she could save meant more money she had to help her mother. It was rather plain looking, both inside and out. The hallways were long and narrow. The beige walls looked like they could have used a fresh coat of paint years ago and the tan carpet looked visibly worn and threadbare in some places with dark brown traffic lanes where everyone walked. She took the elevator to the third floor, praying it wouldn’t get stuck. She had never gotten stuck herself but a year ago it had broken down with people inside. Being mildly claustrophobic, just the possibility of that happening was enough to stress her out.
The elevator door opened and she breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped out. She walked down the hall to the third door on the right while fumbling with her keys. The door opened into a large living room. It was decorated with simple, Swedish style furniture. The color scheme was a blend of greys and teal with cranberry accents. It had a crisp, clean and cheery look. Immediately to the left was a frustratingly small kitchen. What little counter space she had was used by the coffee maker and microwave. There was only a small section of counter she could use for food prep.
Past the kitchen was a short hallway that led to the bathroom and bedroom. Both were decorated in similar fashion to the living area. The bedroom was a mix of a gentle purple, white and light green. The bathroom was mostly white with blue and
