It Started with a Crack by Piper James

Chapter One

Dakota

“Fuck my life.”

I mumbled the words under my breath for the sixteenth time this morning as I checked my phone. Again. No calls. No texts. No emails. No interest in the three houses I’d listed this month, including the large ranch property I’d added two weeks ago.

It was no secret that, historically speaking, January was the slowest month for real estate sales, but shit. I hadn’t made a penny in commissions this month, and my savings from the tail end of last year were dwindling fast.

I was seriously beginning to regret quitting my bartending gig when I got my real estate license last fall. But things had started so well, with me selling several houses in that first month. I felt…successful. For the first time in my life.

And now? Now I was eating ramen noodles for dinner every night, had to cancel my streaming subscriptions, and I’d been late on my rent twice. And with this month’s payment coming due this week, I was going to be late again. The super had already given me a warning, and I had no idea how he was going to react when my payment didn’t show up this time.

I hadn’t told anyone about my money troubles—not my parents, who were comfortably retired in Florida, not my sister, who was living the life of her dreams in San Diego, and not my friends. Especially not them.

Annabelle, Sage, and Ember were amazing, but I knew if they ever found out how low I’d slipped, they’d insist on helping me out, financially. The rational side of me knew they’d never think less of me. They’d insist on rescuing me because that’s what friends did for each other. But I’d only joined their friend group—one decades in the making—a few months ago, and I had no desire to become that friend. The pitiful one that needed handouts because she couldn’t get her shit together.

It wasn’t pride. It was self-esteem-preservation. And I didn’t have a lot of that to spare, considering my pantry was bare—save for the afore-mentioned noodles and a half a bag of coffee grounds—and my bank account had eighty-two dollars and forty-seven cents in it.

Fuck. Make that seventy-six dollars and eighty-nine cents. I stopped for a latte this morning after my coffee maker took a shit and refused to even turn on.

I didn’t even have a credit card. I’d always been so proud of myself, paying for everything with cash and not getting myself into debt. And now? I couldn’t get one if I wanted to. With my late rent payments and my pitiful bank account, no credit card company would take a chance on someone like me.

Someone like me. When did that become a negative statement?

When I quit my job as a bartender to become a real estate agent at twenty-seven years old, I thought I’d been moving in the right direction. But I took two steps forward and three hundred steps back. Now, I was screwed and praying to God in heaven that The Watering Hole had an opening and would give me my old job back.

It would only be temporary. I could tend bar at night until the market picked back up. A month. Two, tops. Then everything would be fine, and I could go back to normal. No more overdue bills. No more missing my favorite movies and T.V. shows. No more dumpster fire of a life.

And no more fucking ramen noodles.

I hit refresh on my browser and crossed my fingers, trying to use a manifestation technique I’d read about to make an email appear in my inbox. An inquiry. A request for a showing. Anything. When it didn’t work, I uncrossed my fingers and slumped down into my chair.

I needed to sell the Golden Eagle Ranch. The Perry brothers had moved to town last summer to restore the old place, turning it into a gorgeous showpiece on a beautiful piece of property on the edge of town. The four of them owned Perry Brothers Construction and did the work themselves, a labor of love that ended with them moving here permanently after Ryder Perry married my friend Annabelle, and his brother Chase got together with Sage. Those two were living together, now, raising Chase’s eight-year-old son, Daniel. Ethan bought his own place to renovate, and Noah was still living in the house he’d rented with Chase and Ethan six months ago.

None of them wanted to keep the ranch and live there. They trusted me—a brand new realtor—to sell it for them, and the commission on that place would set me up for the next year, at least. I just needed a nibble. The asking price was spot-on for a property that size, but there just weren’t a lot of people in the Red River area looking for something so big…or so expensive. Especially not in January.

“Alright, Dakota, I’m heading out.”

I looked up to see my boss, Geraldine, heading toward the front door of the small office space we shared with one other realtor. I lifted a hand to wave goodbye, plastering on a smile so fake, it nearly cracked my face.

Geraldine stopped walking and studied me. Fluffing her gray curls with her fingers, she gave me a motherly smile.

“Don’t worry, dear. Things will pick up next month.”

With a wag of her fingers, she spun and headed through the exit. I couldn’t get anything past that woman on a good day, so it was no surprise she didn’t buy my fake perkiness for a second.

And I couldn’t wait until next month. With negotiations and the required escrow period, I wouldn’t see a penny for at least a month, even if I sold a house right this second. And I didn’t have a month to spare.

I was going to have to beg my super for an extension. Again. Otherwise, I was going to end up living in my car. And that hunk of junk was on its last leg, too.

My forehead banged against the wood of my desk as I slumped forward. I lifted it and banged it again for good measure. I didn’t know how I was going to get myself out of this mess.

Fuck. My. Life.