Page 25 of Her Werewolf Lover

If she couldn’t model, maybe there was something else in Maccon City for her.

But what?

There had to be something she could do to earn a living.

“Ugh. I can’t believe that this is all that’s out there,” she grumbled and banged her head against her hands.

“This is getting me nowhere,” she moaned aloud in the solitary room.

Needing to stretch, she got up and took a stroll through the house. Picking up her checkbook from the kitchen counter, Samantha looked at the recent entries in her balance book.

After what she intended to pay Michael when he arrived today, she would have little funds left.

Crap.

She walked to the back door and slid her feet into her sneakers. A brisk walk in the cool autumn morning was a perfect way to start the day.

Many people wondered if plus-sized models needed to stay in shape. Of course, they did. During the height of her career, Sam had been a size ten and shy two inches of six feet. Hardly plus sized, in her opinion.

Now, she was a size fourteen, okay, more like a sixteen, especially when she ate too much ice cream. So yeah, she gained weight. But her health was good, and she worked hard to maintain balance in her life.

Maccon City really was a pretty town, she mused as she took in the residential streets and smoothly paved roads. The leaves on the trees glittered with dew in the rising sunlight, a million shades of red and gold and green.

Nature held all the real beauty. She felt peaceful here. Happy for the first time in a long time. Money was a problem, but maybe she could do something else.

Maybe getting back into modeling was not what she wanted or needed. It wasn’t even realistic.

She pushed her legs to move faster up the hill of the cul de sac where her house sat. Thirty-five minutes was as good a walk as any.

She felt out of breath and exhausted by the time she reached her driveway, grateful for the privacy onher street and the almost non-existent flow of traffic that morning.

Sam perked up when she saw a familiar pickup truck blocking her Jeep.

“Hello,” she called out and walked around to the back to see what used to be herliving room.

Stunned, her mouth hung open. The entire back wall had been knocked out, and the interior was almost already emptied.

A large, red dumpster was parked in the yard. Sam couldn’t believe how quickly this was all happening.

Just then, another truck arrived, and Samantha gasped aloud. Hopefully, it was there to take away the hideous dining room and living room furniture.

She’d emailed the second-hand furniture contact Michael had sent her and after taking pictures and bartering back and forth, he’d made her an offer she could not refuse. Sam just couldn’t wait to get all that old junk out of there.

Whoopee!

“Morning,” Michael’s voice boomed out.

She looked up and almost swallowed her tongue. The man himself stood in the middle of what was left of her living room in tight blue jeans, a white dusty t-shirt, and a sledgehammer in his fist.

His chest was heaving with exertion as he handed the hammer to one of his men and gave instructions in rapid fire Spanish that was beyond her basic high school comprehension.

Holy fuck. He was so hot.

Samantha loved the way he sounded, his voice rough and sexy and in total command. She turned away, lest he should catch her blushing. There was dust liberally scattered about as men in hardhats removed pieces of wood and sheetrock from inside.

“Morning,” she said. “Where is the furniture? I, uh, made plans with that contact you sent me?—”

“Yeah, I know. It’s already being loaded. I had my team bring it all outside before we started.”