An Heir for the Billionaire Werebears
By Alyse Zaftig
Eviction
I looked at the paper in my hand and tried not to cry.
EVICTION it told me in bright red letters across the top.
I was homeless, now. My stuff was out on the curb. My pretty lace prom dress. My shoe collection that I was too poor to afford but had anyway. All of it was on the street.
Tears dripped silently down my face as I loaded up my trunk, back seat, and passenger seat with everything that I owned in the world. Sadly, my car wasn't even full. There was plenty of room for more stuff. Stuff I didn't have. I had sold my beloved guitar, the one that my dad gave me for my 16th birthday, last month in order to buy groceries.
Being poor sucked. I had a half gallon of gas, which I hoped would last me a while. Thank goodness my dad had had the foresight to buy me a fuel efficient Toyota.
He was also the reason that I was where I was.
I had grown up as a completely spoiled princess, with a dad whose credit card could fix anything. When I was 16, instead of making me use the gas credit card that I kept in my glove compartment, he would fill up my gas tank every week. He loved me.
College was more of the same. I'd skipped class a lot and never done my homework, but some slick words to the dean and a discreet donation of millions later, I was admitted to UCLA, his alma mater.
When he died during my second semester of college, we learned that he hadn't been able to afford to donate that much. He'd borrowed against his business, a calculated gamble that he thought he would win. He could earn back that much in the matter of months.
He was wrong. He died before he could.
That left my mom and me in some dire straits. We sold our house. Sold everything that we could. And in the end, we ended up at zero.
Mom had not been raised to deal with this, either. She had always been a pretty heavy drinker, and the death of my father and our subsequent debt problem drove her to drink even more. She lived in a tiny apartment in Thousand Oaks and was at the liquor store every day.
I couldn't live with her. She was in bad shape, and being around her only made me worse. We were estranged at this point. She loved the bottle more than she loved her daughter.
I had appealed to the financial aid office, showing them that we could not afford to send me to school. The lady had been sympathetic, but rules were rules. I took a gap year, because I could not afford to pay for school.
It was a nasty shock to come home from UCLA and see an eviction notice on my door. Yeah, I knew that my landlord had been trying to contact me to get back rent, but I had dodged him neatly time and again. Or so I thought.
My eyes filled with tears, but I wiped them away. I could fall to pieces later, but I needed to figure out a plan now.
I got into my car, and I turned on the ignition. The warm air of my air conditioner blew on my face. For some reason, it was the straw that broke the camel's back. I buried my face in my hands and cried loudly, noisily. My sobs wracked my entire body, and I gasped for air as tears and snot ran from my face.
I heard a tap on the door.
"Are you ok, miss?"
A concerned citizen was out there. Oh gosh, he was so handsome, with dark blond hair, kind deep blue eyes, and lightly gold skin. I wasn't hideous, but I was an absolute mess right now. I had never been a pretty crier, and I knew that I had to look my worst at the moment.
I rolled down my window. "I'm fine," I lied. "It's ok."
"What's going on?" he asked me. "Let me help."
I shook my head no. "I have to go."
I tried to roll up the window, but he stuck his hand in.
"I'm not a rapist or murderer," he said. "Seriously. Tell me what's going on."
"You asked for it." I glared at him. "I had to drop out of UCLA...well, stop out of UCLA...because my dad died and left us with millions in debt. I just got evicted from my apartment, and now I'm homeless in LA. I am going to try to find a 24-hour parking garage so that I am not on the street tonight. My car has everything that I own in the world." I was so humiliated, telling my private sorrows, my dirty laundry, to this complete stranger.
"So if you'll excuse me..."
"Wait a minute," the stranger said, his hand still in my window. "I think I can help you."
My tears, which had been slowly leaking down my face the entire time, stopped.
"You can?"
"Yeah," he said.
"What's in it for you?" I asked suspiciously. My dad did not raise any fools.
"Something that I think that you'd be ok with," he returned. "How about you follow me in your car? I'll cancel my meeting, and you can come home with me."
Sounded sketchy. "No, thanks."
"Hey," he said. "I know that you have to take a leap of faith. Look, here's my driver's license." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his ID. "Text my license number to someone you trust and tell them to sic the police on me if you disappear."
I needed this chance, however slim it might be. I took a picture of his driver's license, and I sent it to my best friend, Kara. "Ok." I heard the little sound my phone made when the picture was sent. "I'm game."
"Great." He smiled, and I almost fell backward in my seat. His teeth were strong, white, and straight. They flashed brilliantly. In a city with people who bleached their teeth, I could tell the difference between bleached teeth and naturally white teeth. His were natural. He looked like a wet dream with his high cheekbones and his dimples.