Page 1 of Miss Fortune

Chapter One

Daisy

Chivalry was officially dead. My last four dates were proof.

What happened to romance? How had we gone from the special spark captured in movies in a meet-cute to, “hey, baby, how about a quick blow job in my car parked outside?”

Ugh. Last Friday’s disastrous date played out in my mind as I sat in gridlock on a Monday morning. I’d been so shocked at the crude come-on I’d started laughing at him. Did women actually go for such a request?

Another date from two weeks ago had suggested a woman with my curves should consider “hiring him to work on my trouble spots.” He’d then suggested my expectations were too old-fashioned. Perhaps they were, but I had no intention of lowering them.

If this was what Los Angeles had to offer in the way of twenty-something-year-old men, I was better off spending my nights with friends or babysitting children. At least they could make me smile.

Yep, I was officially giving up on the idea of meeting someone via the Internet. I wasn’t judging those who did. Heck, if anything, I was impressed they’d been able to navigate the minefield of douche bags and assholes and come out the other side with their soul mate.

I glanced at the clock, worried about making it into downtown LA in time for my interview. Sure, it was only a temporary position, and I didn’t need the money, but I’d promised Doris. And when I made a promise, I kept it. I’d inherited a sizable fortune a few months ago when I’d turned twenty-five—thank you, Grandmother—and now had the luxury of spending my time volunteering, helping, and, trying to find out why I’d been given a second chance at life.

One thing was for sure, I would never take anything for granted, and would always look on the bright side. Even stuck in traffic on a busy freeway on a rainy Monday morning, I could still smile. Growing up in Iowa, there were no palm trees lining the highways. Nor had I enjoyed the ability to drive from the ocean to the mountains in only a few hours. Yes, Southern California was the perfect place to start over. At least for now.

“I want out,” came Toby’s voice from the back seat of my Prius.

“I know, honey. We’re almost there.” It was a lie, but I didn’t try to reason with a six-year-old who’d rather be home with his mom. This wasn’t my typical babysitting scenario, and since Toby was all about routine, I couldn’t blame him for becoming agitated over the change in his normal schedule. His mom had picked up an extra overnight shift as a nurse at Cedars Sinai Hospital, and I had a job interview downtown. Taking care of the handoff in the city wasn’t ideal, but at least we were three-quarters of the way there.

We’d started to move forward when my backseat passenger let out a bloodcurdling scream. I took my eyes off the road for an instant to ensure he was okay only to realize traffic had stopped in front of me. Slamming on the brakes came a moment too late, and I thumped smack into the BMW in front of me.

Dammit. The universe couldn’t have given me a Camry or a Corolla to rear-end. Nope, it had to be a big, black, shiny, 5 Series BMW. The luxury car pulled off to the right shoulder, leaving me no choice but to follow.

“Are you okay, Toby?” We’d barely been rolling forward at the time of the collision, and he was fully restrained in a booster seat, but I still needed to check.

“I want out.”

Once I came to a full stop, I turned to examine him. He was adorable, with his baby face, long, sooty eyelashes, and dressed in his favorite Paw Patrol shirt and Spiderman shoes. “Hang tight, buddy.”

“I want out.”

Please let there be minimal damage. “Soon. Stay here, Toby. I’ll be a minute.”

“No. I want out.”

He started to scream again, lending force to my growing headache. Of all mornings, when I couldn’t be late, I had to get into a fender bender. Bad luck.

“I know you want out, honey, but I have to talk to the other driver because I hit his car.” I dug in my wallet for my driver’s license. At least my registration and insurance card were in the glove compartment. Unfortunately, an umbrella wasn’t.

So much for taming my big hair into a conservative updo, I thought, opening the car door and stepping out into the rain.

A woman in a navy skirt suit and killer heels stepped out of the passenger side of the BMW. She wielded a slick black umbrella and a murderous expression.

“Are you kidding me? Were you not watching where you were going? Do you realize how much this car is worth?”

“I’m sorry.” Geesh, lady, it was called an accident for a reason.

“Sorry doesn’t fix the bumper.”

My gaze wandered down to the small dent in the BMW. “I realize an apology won’t fix the damage, but I’m happy to give over my insurance information or pay out of pocket for the repair.” I cringed when the piercing scream came from my car.

“What the hell is that noise?” asked the angry blonde.

“Sorry, give me a moment.” I hurried over to the passenger side and opened the door. “Toby. Honey, calm down. I have to talk to this person.”