The sound of my fist slamming against his jaw served as my response.
Chapter 18
Poppy
“Poppy! Why haven’t you been picking up your phone?” Luna’s shrill shout had me lowering the volume as I slowed behind an older driver on NC-133.
“I turned it off last night. Then I overslept.”
“Well, where are you? I’m at your house with coffee.”
“Aren’t you the sweetest? I’m in transit to my second loan officer meeting. And if I can’t pass this slow car soon, I’m going to be late.”
“Oh, well, I stopped by to tell you all about Saturday night. You didn’t call me back yesterday.”
“What happened?” A break in oncoming traffic gave me an opportunity to gun my car and pass the elderly driver going ten miles below the speed limit.
“Gabe and Reed got into a massive fight.”
“Over what?”
“You!”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Gabe hauled off and punched Reed. Gave him a black eye and a bloody nose. Tate had to break it up. He said he’d never seen Gabe so worked up, and that’s saying a lot because they played lacrosse together in high school.”
A sinking feeling in my stomach told me I must be responsible for the two friends fighting.
“Are you sure it was over me? Why?” When I left Gabe, he’d been calm. I didn’t say anything to put him on the attack, did I?
“Apparently, Reed said something Gabe didn’t like. Tate said he was standing up for you and that Reed seemed to think you were, well…”
“Just say it.”
The sweet girl whispered, “A prostitute.”
“Oh, my lord. Because of my account, he called me a whore, or some similar degrading word, and Gabe punched him?”
“Well, he should have. He likes you, and he stood up for you. You’re not a prostitute. He can’t assume he can buy you simply because you have an account selling photos. I doubt lingerie models have to deal with this. Just because you have subscribers who pay you doesn’t mean you need to deal with scumbags.”
“You’re right. Obviously. But, for the record, I wasn’t going to put up with Reed anyway. That’s why I left when I did. But I’m touched Gabe…wow.” Never in my life had anyone stood up for me. Even on the playground when Joel, this snotty-nosed mean kid teased me by calling out “Floppy Poppy” because I had chubby cheeks and what he coined a floppy belly, Mrs. Ingersoll would tell him to stop calling names, but he never got in trouble. And because there were no repercussions, it became a game, and Floppy Poppy haunted me all the way through middle school.
“Yeah. We set them in different rooms, and I put an ice pack on Gabe’s knuckles and then a bigger ice pack on Reed’s face.”
“Must’ve been awkward after that.”
“No kidding. Tate offered for Reed to stay with us, but Gabe told him it would be fine.”
I nodded in the car, though she couldn’t see me. Made sense. Once he calmed down, the friends would work things out. As they should.
My navigation indicated my turnoff was coming up, and then I’d have to pay close attention. I couldn’t afford to get lost. “I’m almost at Sunshine Bank. I’ve got to run. I’ll call you later?”
“Yep. Good luck!”
My nerves rumbled, but I breathed in confidence. This time around, thanks to Thad, I was far more prepared. My business pitch had been combed over by an MBA master, and he’d helped position me in the best light.
“I don’t want to lie,” I’d told him. I didn’t like the idea of a few years from now someone finding out I’d lied and then pulling the loan right out from under my feet. He’d told me I didn’t need to worry, that I was simply telling the truth in the best light.
My heart sank, and trepidation stifled my earlier confidence the moment the loan officer called my name. I rose from the waiting room chair and formulated an instant opinion. No doubt he’d already formed an opinion of me before I ever entered his bank.
“Ms. Smith?” He held out a hand. No wedding band. He was young, maybe in his thirties. The probability he knew about OnlyFans grew exponentially the younger the men were.
I followed Mr. Wheeler down the back hall to his office. A few other office doors remained open, and I smiled as the occupants glanced up from their desks. A woman in her mid-thirties occupied the office next to Mr. Wheeler’s.
He closed the door after I entered his office. I focused on the framed photo of a sailboat hanging on his back wall to ground myself. If he asks for a sexual favor, leave. As simple as that. No need to let anxiety get the best of me. Nope.
“Well, Ms. Smith, I like your idea for a restaurant.”
I searched for any sign of mockery.
“I’ve read through your business plan, and it’s top notch. Impressive. You know, I grew up in Wilmington, and I’m familiar with the area and Haven Island. I am curious as to why you’re aiming to start over there. I know your plan mentions targeting the resort crowd, and potential expansion to similar resorts, but Haven Island is small. Are other businesses on the island doing well enough that you think the current numbers, without any additional growth, could support yet another restaurant?”
“Well, yes, I do.” And then I let him have it. All my inside knowledge on how each of the existing restaurants were doing. And how my idea of a restaurant for adults, with a wide selection of wine and charcuterie options, would fulfill a need not currently being met, not only on Haven Island, but in many coastal resort areas. So often wine selections were limited to subpar options, and for wine connoisseurs and those who could afford to spend so much on a vacation, it remained an untapped opportunity.
An hour passed, and I found myself discussing with him how I could easily create charcuterie options for kids. I’d actually had this in
