1. Summer

CHAPTER 1

Summer

" T hat's not what the coupon says. Stick to the sales script." Wyatt leans over my shoulder to whisper his words in my ear while I speak to the customer sitting at my desk.

I offer Mr. Tanner my biggest smile, telling him, "I'm so sorry for this interruption, Mr. Tanner. Can you excuse me?"

"Oh yes, Summer. Take your time. It'll give me a chance to call my wife."

Perfect.

I roll my eyes, knowing that once he calls his other half, this deal is going to crumble. I'm in a tough spot because if I let this moment to correct Wyatt pass, it's going to happen again. I can't have that. Losing another large commission because he's trying to help me means coming up short on next month's bills.

For the greater good of fewer interruptions in the future, I push myself away from the desk. My 5' 5 height stretches to 5' 9 in my heels, elongating my legs that can easily sprint a mile in five minutes, which gives me all the confidence in the world that I'm stronger and faster than Wyatt Mackle of Macklemore Motors. Another ego boost comes from knowing that no one else sells as many of these cars as I do. I can't let him think, because he's older than me or the owner's brother, that he knows better.

"I need to speak to you, Wyatt. Over here, please," I tell him, not giving him room to decline. I'm the best. I don't ask questions. I lead others into making the choices I want them to make.

"You should really call me Mr. Mackle while on the sales floor, Summer," he says to exert control.

I ignore him. "Wyatt, what did you think you were doing?"

"You offered that guy a trade-in for that heap of junk he drove onto the lot to get him into that Yukon truck, telling him that the coupon would take off 5% when it says 20%. We don't lie to customers or trick them into paying more?—"

I hold my hand up to shut him up. "One, you're talking about the coupon that was sent in last week's batch of emails and promotional vouchers we mailed out. Two, Mr. Tanner is not trading in that heap of junk out there, he's trading in that car AND his wife's 2016 Lexus because she's having twins, and they wanted a large SUV. The 5% you're so incorrectly assuming I'm lying about is ON TOP of the 20% advertised in the coupon because he's trading in two vehicles."

"Oh." Wyatt's face sinks as we both turn to see Mr. Tanner talking on the phone.

I gesture toward my customer. "Do you have any idea why I didn't want Mr. Tanner to get on the phone and call his very pregnant wife, who's pregnant with twins?"

"No?"

I shake my head with a huff of exhaustion. "Because she's making a thousand choices a day, and I was giving Mr. Tanner room to decide for his pregnant wife because that's what he said he wanted. He wanted to surprise her, and the only reason he was supposed to call her was to get her down here so we could go over her car again. I say again because they were in here three weeks ago looking at that truck that still hasn't sold yet."

"Well, Summer, if you'd said something earlier?—"

"I don't report to you, Wyatt. You're not my supervisor or my manager. You're the owner's brother, and simply because I'm 21 doesn't make me any less competent at my job. I'm good at what I do. Stay out of my way, and stay out of my sales. I don't need your help."

If Wyatt Mackle ever offered a morsel of practical advice to help me sell more cars, I wouldn't be so aggressive.

Of course, when I return to my customer, Mr. Tanner has disappointment all over his face. "Shelly says we should wait on the SUV. She's already comfortable in her car, and I don't want to upset her."

"That's fine, Mr. Tanner. When you're ready to get that push gift for her, you come right back to me. I'll honor everything we spoke about today."

The man blushes a shade of red. Embarrassment pours out of him because it's obvious he feels like he's wasted my time. It's not his fault. It's mine. I shouldn't have left to speak to Wyatt. Now, I have to watch the man leave with nearly $2,000 in commissions walking away with him.

My list of leads is my next best thing to do to get a new customer in Mr. Tanner's seat. Out of the fifty on my call sheet, I can probably get five people on the phone and two to agree to make an appointment, and one that will actually show up. I do this every day religiously. It's not that I'm better at car sales, but I'm consistent. However, the sound of the manager's office door opening draws my attention away from hunting for my next commission.

"Everyone, gather around." Trevor Mackle's voice echoes around the sales floor. Awful white and gray faux marble tiles with dark gray grout cover the entire 10,000-square-foot space full of cars, cubicles, and large glass windows that look out onto an even larger lot. Two shiny hatchback SUVs sit in the center, while the rest of Macklemore Motors' inventory sits outside under Atlantic City's blistering hot summer sun. Trevor stands between the two shiny vehicles as everyone stands around him.

There's nervousness in his eyes. I don't know what's coming. Thunder rolls in the distance, even though the sun's still shining. But not for long. Clouds roll in, darkening the afternoon sky as Trevor makes an announcement to his staff of twenty.

"Uh, as you all know, we've had some struggles keeping the dealership afloat. I want to thank all of you for your hard work and dedication. I especially want to thank Summer, Avery, and Edward for working damn hard and excelling where the rest of us fall short."

Wyatt cuts his brother off. "Get to the point, Trevor. What's going on?"

"I've, um, received an offer that would help us all immensely. I want to introduce everyone to the new owner." Trevor glances over his shoulder with worry in his eyes as someone steps out of his office.

The floor drops from under me. Oh God.

When did he get here? When did he get out of prison? How is he the new owner?

The natural arch of Bodey Calisi's eyebrows makes him look like the devil. His dark brown hair flows with a softness to the back of his head. Its healthy flounce is a drastic contrast to the angular structure of his face. A pointed chin, high cheekbones, but he's not skinny anymore. Bodey has the build of an athlete that is easily seen under the expensive clothes he's wearing. Dark navy slacks do little to mask the thickness of his legs, and the light blue button-up shirt frames his muscles perfectly. God, he's gorgeous.

Bodey drops a leather duffle bag at Trevor's feet, arrogantly adjusting his cufflinks while his bulging arms flex under his shirt.

"Macklemore is no more. Welcome to Calisi Cars." Bodey tells the nearly dozen people standing around Trevor.

Wyatt's gaze darts between his brother and, well, my brother. Anxiety ripples through every syllable. "Wait a minute. You can't do this. Trevor told me this was going to be a partnership."

I haven't seen Bodey in over six years since my testimony put him away. My lies sent him to prison, and it's all crashing over me because I don't know how he found me. Fear rips through my body because I don't know what he has planned.

"Hello, everyone. My name is Bodey Calisi. I need you all to assume this is a hostile takeover. Every salesperson except for…" Bodey pauses, eyeing us with disdain. An added curl of his lip with hostility forms when his gaze reaches mine. "Avery Shaw, Edward Novak, and Summer Paxton, you three meet me in my new office. The rest of you are fired. See Trevor and this duffle bag for your severance packages. Get out."

My heart pounds as I look at Avery and Edward for answers. They're much older than me in their 30s. The weight of the world etches expressions of indifference on their faces. They're not enthusiastic about things like I am, but even I can see nothing good will come from this change in ownership.

Right now, I'm just thankful not to be alone with Bodey. We all take seats in the owner's office, where pictures of Trevor and his family still decorate the walls. I'm the last to enter, with Bodey coming inside the room behind me. I catch a whiff of his scent. It's sweet with a touch of something earthy, masculine but delicate.

I don't remember feeling this sensation all those years ago. I didn't like Bodey or his greasy father, Paulie. Paulie married my mother when I was 13 and brought his 18-year-old son around, who wanted nothing to do with our new family. If I'm being honest, I don't think Paulie wanted anything to do with us, either.

Mom's an easy ride. She paid for everything for us to make sure Paulie didn't leave her. I had to do what Paulie told me to do, and Paulie told me to lie. I didn't know it would get Bodey locked up.

For years, Bodey was my older step-brother. He didn't act like my older brother ever. It was more like we were an inconvenience in his life that he had to deal with. There was always an edge to Bodey, and it followed me. People didn't mess with me out of fear he'd come to my defense. Yet, I'm the only person who's ever come to my defense.

So when Paulie asked me to say two sentences in front of some mean-looking lady in a suit, I did what I thought was needed to help myself, to save myself. Because even as a teen, Mom decided I could fend for myself. Even now, not only do I have to be the responsible adult, but I have to take care of her from time to time as well.

The last straw for this attempt at a blended family was sending Bodey to prison. I didn't want to be a part of that family anymore. I threatened to run away, and instead, Mom finally did the right thing. She took me away from Paulie. We fled the gritty streets of Chicago and landed on the Monopoly game board of cities.

Atlantic City, New Jersey is the perfect town to disappear, but it's clear we're not doing the best job of hiding since I'm staring at my ruggedly handsome step-brother fresh out of prison. Well, perhaps not fresh because it's clear he's eating well, dressing well, doing well. How does Bodey get to look like a million bucks after serving six years while I have to scour my list of leads to make sure I get a customer and commission large enough to pay rent next month?

The look in Bodey's eyes is nothing like the usual stares I get from guys his age. There's no ogling of desire behind his hazel eyes. There's only hatred.

"Sit down, Summer," he commands as if we're the only two people in the room. Bodey leans back in the chair, pressing his fingertips together like a steeple in front of his face. "Do you guys know Matteo Scarpella?"

"Of course we do," Edward says. "Everyone in A.C. does."

He's not lying. A good portion of businesses running out of this city belonged or paid money to Mr. Scarpella.

"Good. So you'll understand me when I say I'm not just taking over Macklemore, but I'm running all of Mr. Scarpella's affairs from now on."

"Fuck," Edward hisses before straightening up in his chair. "My apologies, Mr. Calisi. Is it alright if I resign?"

"I'm with Edward." Avery finally speaks up in a quiet voice. "I don't want to get tangled up in yours or Mr. Scarpella's affairs. At least, not knowingly."

"That's a reasonable request," Bodey says with a nod. "You two are free to go."

They get up to leave, and I rise to follow them out when Bodey clears his throat behind me. I stop walking, knowing it's pointless for me to continue. When the others are out of the office, dread creeps down my spine.

"Little girl, sit the fuck down," Bodey snarls, pulling out a knife. It's all black with a steel handle and a blade so sharp it stands on end as he unfolds it from the handle to slam it on the desk.

Heat and fear trickle across the bridge of my nose, behind my eyes, where I feel tears welling, waiting to fall, but I sit quietly.

Bodey leans forward. "Now, tell me why I shouldn't slice you open ear to ear for sending me to prison."