How Not to Marry a Billionaire - Ashlee Mallory Page 0,1

was a small city and an even smaller legal community. It would be mutual destruction if I actually said what had happened.

So I said the only thing I could and still maintain some dignity. “I quit.”

I turned to go but hesitated as I saw my beautiful pen sitting on the top of the conference table among the bloody paper towels and six boxes of discovery documents. I grabbed a towel, carefully wrapped the pen inside it, and turned around. Just as I reached the doorway, I caught sight of a slight smile on Aggie Bloomenthal’s usually stoic face. Meeting my gaze, she nodded slightly.

It was just the push I needed to continue out the door and not run back to try to salvage the burning fire of my career. Head held high, I left the room.

Troy could suck it.

Two months later

“Would you like to make a donation to the Tucson Homeless shelter?” asked the girl behind the checkout counter.

Okay, so things were dire but I knew that things were far more dire for other people out there, which was why, regardless of how many times I shopped here, I offered what I could. “Sure. Five dollars.”

She pushed a couple buttons on the register. “That’ll be eighty-six dollars and seventy-nine cents.”

Crap. How did a shopping trip for a few necessary items like underwear, coffee, and tampons add up so quickly?

I thought about returning the Fruit of the Loom hipsters. But since I’d had an entire load of laundry thrown into the dumpster because I’d forgotten them in the dryer at the apartment complex, things were getting desperate. Returning the coffee wasn’t a possibility either. Same with the box of tampons and the bottle of ibuprofen I’d added into my cart since I knew a visit from that red fairy was coming in the next week or so. And the bottle of spaghetti sauce and pasta? Well, I had to eat.

Needless to say, my life had not improved after I quit. Turned out that looking for a job when you don’t have one nor any recommendations from the last job can really bite you in the butt. And in a small city where every attorney knew everyone else, the rumor buzzing around that I might have stabbed my former boss hadn’t helped.

As the cashier waited, I did a mental check on my bank balance. Save for the amount I needed for rent, I had one hundred and forty-seven dollars left to my name. I looked over my grocery selections again. In the end, it was the cherry Pop-Tarts, a bag of marshmallows, and three—never mind, two—giant-sized chocolate bars that I slid back to the cashier.

“Sixty-eight dollars and ninety-two cents.”

Better. Red-faced, I swiped my card and beat it out of there. I headed to the parking lot before remembering that, in an effort to save money, I’d cancelled my auto insurance and walked here instead. I was trying to get used to the distinct possibility I might not have a car to drive at all soon, seeing as how I hadn’t made the last payment and didn’t see how I could make the next one under my current circumstances.

I adjusted a bag on each arm so they didn’t cut into my skin and started walking the four blocks back to my apartment when my phone rang from my back pocket. I set my bags down none too gently and scrambled for my phone. I’d sent out umpteen resumes over the past weeks, and maybe, finally, I was about to get a call back for an interview.

My heart sank when I saw the caller ID, followed by instant dread. My mother. Probably wanting to leave me my weekly reminder that I’d spent four long years with a deadbeat who I’d failed to hook into marriage by giving away the milk for free and warning me not to repeat the mistake. Either that or complain, once again, about something my dad had done.

I considered letting it go to voicemail but knew I would only be postponing the inevitable.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, answering on the third ring.

“Hi, sweetie. I just wanted to check in on you and see how the job hunt is going. I mean, I haven’t heard anything from you in four days, so I’m guessing that means you haven’t had any luck. You know, your bedroom here is waiting for you if you need it. Although the closet light still doesn’t work because your father hasn’t gotten around to fixing that circuit, and