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Chapters (57)
  1. Welcome to the Game
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraphs
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. Six months later . . .
  56. Acknowledgments
  57. Back Cover

Last night her husband had said her newfound salesmanship skills should at least have translated into a bonus. She’d laughed. Bonus? What a joke. Her paycheck was nearly two weeks overdue. When she let that slip, her husband had gone ballistic. As she watched him stomping around the room on her behalf, she found herself agreeing with his sentiment. She was being taken for a goddamn sucker.

As she heard the carafe bash back into the coffee machine in Spencer’s office, she realized she’d become scared of giving him bad news, and bad news had been coming in more and more of late. She’d been fending calls off. Not just from the bank, but from people whose cars Spencer was supposed to be selling and even a few debt collectors. Sometimes, when she was on her own at the showroom, because Spencer was God knows where, it felt like being the lone pioneer left behind to guard the campfire. And the lone pioneer left behind to guard the campfire always bought it in the movies. When she tried to tell him, it was as if the bad news were her fault. Angela hadn’t made a stand over anything in her life, but if she didn’t make a stand today, her husband was going to come down here. Her mouth was dry. She rose from her seat.

3

3

In the Circle of Wagons

Angela stood in the doorway of Spencer’s office, watching him as he watched the showroom through the office’s internal window. Trophies and pictures from his rallying days filled the wall behind him. Well, they didn’t fill as such—judiciously spaced around the Kentia palm they gave pretty good coverage. But they were dusty and unimpressive to her now. Most of them were from amateur events. No big cash payouts there—just promise. And the sponsors had long moved on in their quest for younger potential.

Angela had never run a business before so she didn’t know what people needed to do when the shit hit the fan. But as she looked at Spencer with his feet up on the desk it occurred to her that surely he should be doing something. Phoning? Tweeting? The needle on her sympathy tank bounced on empty, and more selfish reasoning colored her thoughts. She wasn’t ever going to get a bonus. In fact, something about the calls she’d been fielding that morning told her she should consider herself lucky if she got paid that month.

“As I was saying, Mister TVR Buyer hasn’t called yet. I’ve put one call in. You said not to put more than one reminder call in so we didn’t seem desperate. Ever.”

She saw Spencer give an almost imperceptible eye roll.