The Heir Who Quit Luxury novel · Chapter 4 of 32

Chapter 4: Pop's Chair

"Thirty days," I said.

Frankie didn't blink.

"That's not a reason. That's a deadline."

"Give me thirty days. If I can't make eighty-four thousand, you call him and take his check."

"And if you can?"

I nodded at the lawn chair by the office door.

"Then Pop's chair stays right there."

Pop banged his cane on the concrete.

"I like the chair," he said thickly.

Carter laughed.

"That's your pitch? A lawn chair?"

"It's a good chair," I said.

Frankie looked from me to Carter and back.

Then she reached past Carter and picked up the check.

"Hey," Carter said. "Careful with that."

She tore it in half.

Then in quarters.

Then she held the pieces out in her palm.

"Here," she said. "I don't want you to say I kept it."

Carter didn't take them.

So Frankie opened her hand and let the wind off Eight Mile carry the pieces across his windshield.

One stuck under his wiper.

"You picked the wrong partner, Miss Doyle," Carter said.

"He's not my partner. He's my salesman. He's been here one day."

"Then you're dumber than you look."

"Off my lot," Frankie said.

Carter got in his Maybach.

He rolled down the window before he backed out.

"Tell her who your grandfather is, Theo," he said, and smiled. "See if she still likes the chair."

He drove away with a quarter of the check flapping on his windshield.

Frankie turned to me.

"Who's your grandfather?"

"A man who never once came to this lot," I said. "That's all he is to me."

She studied me.

Then she shrugged.

"Fine. You've got thirty days. You've already used one."

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