Page 45 of Forbidden Heart

“Yes!” Tate says.

“Brilliant,” Charles adds.

“Good thinking.” JJ nods.

“No!” I cry. “I can’t let you pay for it.”

“Roonie,” Anderson interrupts. “I was going to let you work here as a favor to you, because I knew you didn’t have the money. But your friends clearly do, and the store really can’t afford to take that kind of hit.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks.

“Maybe you can find another job on campus to pay them back?” Anderson suggests.

“You don’t need to pay us back,” Tate says.

“It can’t be that expensive.” Charles shrugs. “I’d be surprised if it’s more than a thousand nine hundred.”

“$2,437,” Anderson says, flipping the box over to show him the ticketed price.

“That’s a rip off,” Charles says.

“I’m usually willing to negotiate,” Anderson shrugs, “but considering it’s already broken...”

“That’s no reason to try to hike up the price,” Charles snaps. “If the item were a 16th century sugar bowl, I would understand this ticketed price. But after Napoleon’s reign, the trade underwent massive changes, and then by the time of the Industrial Revolution—”

“Okay, okay.” Anderson raises his hands in obvious surrender. “Two thousand, one hundred. Final offer.”

“Split between the three of us,” Charles says.

“Yes, of course.” Anderson nods, and my heart sinks.

“I’ll start looking for another job,” I tell the guys as they hand Anderson their credit cards.

“It’s okay, Roonie,” Charles growls. “You don’t need a job. We’ll take care of it.”

I melt inside, but I know deep down I can’t accept this. I can’t just let them pay for everything when I didn’t earn a single penny.

“I want to get a job,” I say softly.

“Okay,” Charles replies gruffly.

“But there’s no rush,” Tate adds.

“None at all,” JJ agrees.

When the box is paid for, I start to stand, but Anderson stops me. “Just one more thing.”

My heart nearly stops. Do we have to pay for something else? The broken shelf? The time I wasted?

“Your necklace is ready,” he says, slipping into the back and returning with a small jewelry box. He pops off the lid and for a split second, I feel whole again.

The four pieces of my fractured heart necklace have been sanded down, smooth and even. They sit on their cotton pillows like magical fairy tale treasures resting in the clouds.

Sure enough, each piece has been drilled with a hole and slipped onto a thin, gold chain.

“Whatcha got there, Roo-Roo?” Tate asks.

“My necklace.” I grin.