Cupid's Revenge

Chapter One

It was a reach-even with Shannon Cassidy's fully stretched five-feet, ten-inches of height-but added height of the little step stool, she could just make it. The mobile dangled freely in her fingers-red foil, chubby cupids and hearts dancing merrily at the ends of tinsel strings. With one more effort, Shannon reached up to attach it to the hook in the ceiling of the window display of her shop. She licked her lips in anticipation of a dreaded job nearly completed. Just a little closer…a little closer….

Bang! Bang! Bang! The loud pounding on the glass of the front door startled Shannon. Irritably, she glanced toward it and saw Mick Banyon standing there. As her attention jumped from the hook to the door, the world spun a bit, tilted to the side, and the stool shot out from under her toes. Shannon flailed her arms wildly in a desperate attempt to prevent the inevitable. With a loud thud and a disgusting splurt, after twisting in the air, she landed butt first in the display of chocolates.

Like bullets fired from a gun, the cherries from her hand-dipped chocolates splattered the front window from their lodging under her left elbow. Sticky syrup from her special maple cream drops ran in rivulets to pool beneath her right elbow. Caramel and chocolate dripped in strings from the toes of her leather boots from where her feet had landed and slid up against the side window.

Shannon could feel the creams and the chocolates beneath her ooze into the back of her gray, flannel slacks as she ripped the strings of the mobile painfully from her hands. She looked between her knees out the side window at him. He was laughing. That damn, arrogant creep from across the street was actually laughing at her.

Suddenly, the omens she'd encountered all day made sense-the car refusing to start, forgetting her keys, banging her head on the shelf when she was retrieving her valentine's decorations. Her guardian angel had been working overtime to warn her to avoid the store and thus avoid an encounter with Mick. She was now paying for ignoring the warnings in favor of getting her work done.

Shannon pushed her hands down on the floor, oblivious to the thick, sticky remnants of her chocolates as they oozed up between her fingers. She planted her feet on the floor and attempted to rise. Hands and feet shot out from under her as she flipped over face first in the mess.

Sending a quick apology and a plea to her guardian angel, Shannon crawled slowly to the edge of the display and stood up. Her heart sunk as she surveyed the damage. Gone was the display of freshly made chocolates-truffles, caramels, turtles, bonbons and creams each daintily and precisely laid out against the delicate laciness of white paper doilies. Torn from its draping was the red netting covered with tiny sequins that swirled up the sides of the display and snaked around the candy displays.

In its place was a sickeningly sweet congealing mass of gastronomic disgust. It was all ruined. Destroyed. The blame for the mess lay all at the feet of the laughing hyena standing and pounding on her door.

Shannon slid over to the door and shot what she hoped was a look of pure death at the intruder.

"We're not open. In case you haven't noticed, this is New Year's Day. Go away," she called through the glass. Darn. Her aim was off. He still stood there-living, breathing and oozing male charm as the laughter disappeared into a lop-sided grin. Fine way to start the New Year-covered in gooey mess while Mr. Sartorial Splendor, the cause of the catastrophe-stood looking perfectly handsome in his Irish knit sweater and tweed slacks.

"I need to talk to you," he called back at her, cupping his hands around his strong, thin mouth like a megaphone. Another woman might find the deep huskiness of his voice alluring. Shannon found it grating.

"I don't want to talk to you," Shannon replied.

"C'mon, Red. Please? I really need to talk to you," he called to her. "It's…it's about Association business."

Reluctantly, Shannon twisted the door's lock open and stepped back. She pushed a lock of auburn hair behind her ear and took a calming breath. "Okay, come in and be quick about it."

With a gust of chilling air that thickened the chocolate dripping off Shannon, Mick stuck his head around the door. He looked left and right. "Sure it's okay? Not going to pelt me with any of your goodies are you?

"Banyon, you are probably the last person on earth I'd ever share my goodies with," Shannon replied evenly. "I find it odd that after four years on the same street you had to choose this particular moment to pay your first visit to my shop. Or is this merely a drive-by chocolating? You simply saw I was working so you decided to pop by and destroy my day?"

Mick walked to within an arm's length distance from Shannon and leaned against a glass display containing crystals and prisms. He ran a hand through his long, curly black hair while Shannon crossed her arms across her chest waiting.

"You act as if we're never met." Mick grasped his hands in front of his heart. "You wound me."

"Not as much as I'd like to," Shannon replied, tossing her head toward the window display. "And, it isn't like you could say attending the same Association meetings makes us best buddies."

"Point well taken. Actually, I've been so busy lately, I didn't have a chance to go through my mail-until today," Mick said, as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. "So, I sort of found this in with a bunch of flyers and such."

With a flip of his wrist, the paper unfolded. Shannon saw her own bold handwriting on the Association's letterhead. It was a letter she'd written to him shortly after Thanksgiving. As chair of the promotions committee, she asked him to remove a stuffed deer head from the window of his shop. It was a letter she'd assumed he'd chosen to ignore.

"Well, I guess that explains why you failed to answer it," Shannon replied, unconsciously rubbing one hand against her soiled sweater over her stomach. Why did she constantly get these nervous flutters whenever she encountered him? It was a mystery she'd chosen not to unravel.

"I just never thought. I mean I was so busy with the store and doing some work for my family that it didn't even occur to me to change the window display," Mick explained, refolding the letter and stuffing it into his back pocket. The strain of fabric across his lower torso drew Shannon's attention as she rubbed her stomach even faster. "So, I apologize. I certainly hope it didn't upset anyone."

"Do you ever think?" Shannon asked, tearing her eyes from his groin and looking past him into the back of the shop. Consciously, she pulled her hand away from her stomach and stuck it safely in her pocket. "If you'd thought, you would have changed your display. You wouldn't have needed a reminder. And, I wouldn't have had to bribe a child with candy to make her stop crying because she thought Rudolph was dead and hanging in your window."

"Honestly, Red, I had no idea that Bambi would cause any trouble."

"`Bambi?' You call that moth-eaten head 'Bambi?'" Shannon walked away from him to retrieve a garbage can from near the check-out counter. Distance. Distance away from that overwhelming masculine scent of soap and woodsy cologne would calm her nervous tummy.

The image of Mick Banyon's head-nicely stuffed and displayed on a golden oak plaque-drew itself in Shannon's mind. The simple gold marker screwed to the wood beneath his firm, square chin would read, "Mick Banyon, homosapien male, hopefully the last of an endangered species known as self-absorbed, conceited, heartbreakers. Personally bagged by Shannon Cassidy as a service to all womankind." That's one she'd proudly display in her front window.

"It just simply amazes me that you can even think of running for the presidency of the Association when you don't even pay attention to the mail we send you."

"I've have you reasons for running for the presidency." Mick took the garbage can from her and walked over to the window display. "I hear you're running for the presidency, too. I haven't seen you crossing the street to get to know me either. Any of this salvageable?"

"I can clean up this mess myself," Shannon grunted, grabbing the can back from him. Their hands touched briefly releasing a new flock of butterflies in her stomach. Mick grabbed a wad of red netting from the display and dumped it in the garbage. Shannon dropped the can to the floor. The clatter echoed in the shop. She shoved him to the side and scooped up a pile of the wasted chocolate.

"What's the matter, Banyon? Does it disappoint you that there's at least one woman on earth who doesn't come running to you?" Shannon asked, raising an eyebrow in speculation. "No, I imagine you're used to women dropping everything to chase after you. Lord knows I've seen enough of them do it over the years."

"Been watching that closely, have you?" Mick asked, laughing lightly. He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek. He looked at his chocolate-covered finger tip before popping it into his mouth. "Mmmmm. You taste good."

Shannon felt the chocolate on her face melt under the heat flooding her cheeks from his touch. Her knees buckled, and the muscles in her thighs quivered. She sat on the edge of the window display and took a deep breath. Before he could note her reaction, she turned away from him toward the window and grabbed more ruined chocolates.

"I'd have to be blind not to. Or to figure out just what's going on when they go in and the 'closed' sign goes up," she commented. The thought of what he and those women might be doing behind that locked door drove the heat from Shannon's cheeks straight to her loins. No doubt about it. She'd never again ignore those omens sent by her guardian angel. Her guardian angel worked vigilantly to keep Shannon away from men like Mick Banyon-men obviously interested only in carnal pleasures without a thought of deeper relationships.

Hormones. This physical reaction to him was simply a case of hormones. She'd suffered through the fatiguing mood swings of premenstrual syndrome, but this was a new one. It must be post-menstrual horniness. One thing she knew for sure, Mick Banyon was not the cure for it.

"Okay, you've explained your oversight about the letter," Shannon said, sweeping the rest of the mess from the floor display into the garbage can. "So, leave."

"I really am sorry you ruined all your chocolates and your display. I've never seen a woman so jumpy."

"I didn't ruin them. You did, with your vicious pounding on my door. But, just to show you how nice I am, I won't send you a bill for the damaged goods," Shannon said, brushing him aside with the garbage can. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm going to go wash up and see what I can use to decorate my window."

Mick watched the easy sway of her chocolate-covered hips as she walked back and disappeared behind a curtained door. It wasn't the chocolate that made her look sweet to his eyes. If he'd only known she had the intelligence to match her good looks, he would have made the trip across the street years earlier.

At the meetings, she'd seemed like the perpetual, empty-headed cheerleader-animatedly supporting what she considered good ideas while groaning dramatically at the bad ones. This more sinister, sarcastic side of her was new to him. He liked it.

It was just too bad that her antiquated ideas for Historic Main Street were so preposterous, Mick shook his head, walking over to her card display. He looked around the shop-a typical card, candy, small gifts kind of place from the looks of it.

Casting a quick look at his watch, Mick glanced again back at the curtain. He was already late. The best thing he could do would be to just slip out the door and out of her hair-beautiful red hair that cascaded down to the center of her back in those long spirals. All that hair intrigued him, made him wonder what it would feel like cascading down around him as he…. Whoa. He stopped himself. Where were those thoughts coming from?

It was definitely time to get out of there. He took two steps toward the door when he heard the curtain sliding on its rings open. He stopped and turned around. He must have turned too quickly because his heart performed a delayed leap in his chest.

"You've changed," Mick said, watching Shannon walk toward him carrying a bucket and a caddy filled with cleaning supplies. Gone were the chocolate smeared clothing and face. Instead, she wore long, loose sweatpants that seemed to articulate the muscles of her legs as she walked. The sweater was gone, replaced by a short, pink exercise top that ended about six inches short of her waist. She'd pulled her hair back at the neck into a long ponytail.

"Changed? No, I still find you as offensive as ever," she said, walking past him toward the front window. Mick's eyes followed her, forcing his body to turn as well.

"I-I mean your clothes," Mick stammered, gesturing weakly with one hand.

"Yes, well you are observant if nothing more," she said, kneeling on the edge of the elevated floor of the window display. She grabbed a scrub brush from the bucket and shook out the excess water. Bending over, she started scrubbing the remaining chocolate from the tiles.

"Butt…er…but, how did you change so fast?" he said, admiring the rounded view before him.

"Fortunately, I'd forgotten my gym bag when I left the other day. My angel is looking out for me," Shannon tossed over her shoulder before resuming an intense scrubbing of the tile. She put her whole body into the cleaning. Her posterior bounced firmly in concert with the strokes of the rag. Mick enjoyed a woman who put her whole heart, soul and body into cleaning-though he'd never seen one go at it with quite the energy Shannon exhibited.

With each gyration, Mick found himself warming more and more to Shannon. He also found himself warming in the vicinity of his groin. A pleasant feeling, one he hadn't enjoyed for quite some time.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Mick leaned back against a counter and sighed, enjoying the view. The counter bounced under his weight and shook dangerously. Mick jumped aside just as it nearly tipped over. The glass mirrors on top of the counter slid to the floor and shattered.

Mick looked down at his feet in horror. Hundreds of tiny mirror fragments reflected his look of horror back at him. "I'm so terribly sorry," he admitted to Shannon, as she jumped down from the window and ran over to him.

"Are you all right?" she asked anxiously.

"I'm fine, but your little mirrors are wrecked," Mick said. "You don't have that counter secured very well. I just leaned against it, and it almost tipped over."

"The counter was secure enough to have stood there for four years without tipping over until you came into my store," Shannon stated angrily. He watched gold flecks flame in her deep, emerald eyes. Then, she slapped her forehead with the palm of her head. "It's another omen."

"Omen?" Mick asked weakly.

"Never mind. Go back to the curtain. I left the garbage can there-if you think you can manage it without destroying what's left of my shop?" Shannon said, poking through the shards carefully with one finger.

Mick flew to the back of the shop and retrieved the garbage can. When he returned to Shannon, she was holding two fragments of a mirror in her hand. When she looked up at him, there were tears forming in her eyes.

"You broke my heart," she cried. "I was right. It is an omen."

Carefully, Shannon tried to fit the two pieces of the heart-shaped mirror back together. It was hopeless. This was one broken heart she'd never be able to mend. Angrily, she tossed the two pieces in the garbage can Mick held limply in one hand. Wiping one arm across her eyes, she stood and walked to the door.

"Out," she said, opening the door and holding it. "Just get out. I think you've done enough damage here for one day."

"Red-Shannon-if you'd let me explain," Mick offered feebly.

"Wait. I've got it," Shannon asserted, planting one hand on her hip while holding the door open with the other. "This is part of your campaign. Can't win in a fair election, so you'll just get rid of your competition by putting her out of business by destroying her entire stock. Well, I'm on to your plan now."

"Now, just hold on one minute," Mick asserted, stepping up to her. She could see cold glints of steel in his dark blue eyes. "That was an accident. Your counter was not properly secured to the floor. You're lucky it was me who discovered that and not a customer or you'd be facing one heckuva lawsuit. And, as far as your window display is concerned, you were the one so clumsy she fell off a stool on top of it."

"That's what you'd like me to believe, isn't it? Well, I'm not one of those bimbos you're used to dealing with, buddy."

"No, well in that outfit you're wearing-almost wearing-you give a pretty good imitation of one. What's the matter? Are you afraid I'll figure out that your bust size exceeds your IQ by ten? Because, if you believe I did any of this on purpose, you're dumber than you look."

"You self-righteous, self-important boor," Shannon stated, dropping her hand from the door and balling up her fists.

"You dim-witted, half-brained…h-h-harlot," Mick asserted, taking another step toward her.

"Harlot? You called me a harlot? Hey, I'm not the one who closes their shop in the middle of business day for a few slaps and tickles," Shannon tossed back at him. Even through her anger, she could feel the beginnings of the irritating butterflies in her stomach. She pounded her stomach. "Who even uses the word 'harlot' anymore?"

"I do, that's who. And, what I do in my store could not even remotely be considered 'slaps' and 'tickles.' Not that it's any concern to you," Mick growled. "Or am I wrong about that, because you've obviously taken time out of your busy days to wonder about it? Want to see what happens? Shall I show you?"

"I wouldn't lower myself that much, Banyon. Now get out of here," Shannon demanded, opening the door again. She was relieved when Mick opened his mouth, closed it and started walking toward the door.

The relief was short-lived when he stopped next to her. He raised a hand to her cheek, then cupped it around the back of her head. Before she had a chance to react, she felt his lips capture hers. The heat created by the union of their lips could have melted all the snow and ice within a six-block radius, yet Shannon greedily kept it to herself as she found herself returning his kiss-pucker for pucker.

Her hand dropped from the door knob and found its way around his neck. The butterflies in her stomach exploded into glorious showers of red, green and gold fireworks. The fireworks spread throughout her body, but concentrated their most intense heat in her core, igniting the sleeping volcano that dwelt there.

She felt Mick's lips tear themselves from hers as he stepped away from the embrace. She opened her eyes and looked into his, unable to fathom the emotions at play there. Mick turned from her, grabbed the door himself and vaulted out of the building. As she watched him lope across the street, her trembling fingers found her lips.

"Wow," she whispered, before walking over to the window display. She barely heard the splash as her foot sank into the bucket of water she'd left there. Her sweatpants acted like a wick drawing the water up her leg and soaking her, but she barely felt the wetness. She collapsed on the edge of the window. Only the pain of sitting on top of her scrub brush ripped her from her reverie of the kiss back to reality.

Mick slammed the door of "Interesting Things" shut, as he stomped back to his counter. The impact of the door caused Bambi to swing freely from the wires that suspended the mounted head from the ceiling. The antique snowshoes hung on the wall dropped to the ostrich egg display below, smashing the shells into tiny pieces. None of the reverberations of his dramatic return to his shop registered on Mick. He was too busy deeply considering the reverberations of the kiss he'd just planted on the red-headed vixen across the street.

"Bullwinkle, I don't know whether to do an end zone victory dance or go wash my mouth out with bleach!" Mick exclaimed to the stuffed moose head he kept displayed on the counter behind his check-out stand. Bullwinkle stared back at him in his usual annoyingly bored manner-the moose's only facial expression in the fifty years since he'd been stuffed.

"Sure, it means nothing to you. But, other than a few chaste pecks on the cheek, that's the first honest kiss I've had in ages. Why did it have to be with the world's most annoying woman?"

Mick picked up a geode rock from a basket on the counter. He tossed it a few times in his hand, fighting the urge to fast ball it straight through the door of his shop. "You know, Bullwinkle," Mick said, casting an eye over at the moose. "Red is a lot like this geode. Hard and cold on the outside. Looks just like any other rock. Bust it open and you find a treasure of bright, glorious crystals in every color of the rainbow. The problem is living with the rock. And, who, I ask you, wants to deal with a rock?"

Mick tossed the rock back in the basket. He thrust his hands deep in his pockets-a tight fit considering the continued state of his arousal-as he stomped back and forth behind the counter before stalking back to the front door. He looked across the street. She was just sitting there with her back to the window.

"That's a woman for you, Bullwinkle," he called back to the moose. "You lay a kiss on one so powerful it blows all your fuses, and they just sit there like it's time for a coffee break. Totally unaffected. I thought we learned our lesson from Melinda. It's obvious we just had a refresher course."

At the thought of his former fiancee, Mick couldn't control the involuntary shudder that coursed down his back. He looked down at himself. Like a balloon with a slow, steady leak, his arousal quietly ebbed away. Well, there was at least one positive effect of thoughts about Melinda. One distant memory of her was more effective than a hundred cold showers.

Mick spun on the toe of his boot and walked back to the counter. He absently patted the moose on the nose, an old habit done for luck. Sitting on the stool behind the counter, Mick drew his feet up to the rung and sighed.

For a moment there, as he found himself impulsively kissing Shannon, he'd glimpsed the joy of life as he'd known it before Melinda. He ran a hand through his hair, his senior ring from Harvard catching before he could pull it away. One yank freed his hand-painful, but not nearly as painful as discovering Melinda's deception. He looked down at his ring and began picking the hairs out of the ornate gold decorations surrounding the large ruby and tossing them on the floor. Angrily, he pulled the ring off his finger and tossed it on the counter.

"People-women, Bullwinkle, all they do is look at the outside," Mick fumed, staring at his naked hands. "They see a guy who comes from a wealthy family, has a Harvard ring and passably good looks, and they automatically think he's got it made in the shade. What a joke. Unfortunately, the joke's on me."

Settling into a foul mood that fit as comfortably as an old bathrobe, Mick studied the lines and veins on the backs of his hands. He hadn't dated much before meeting Melinda. She might not have been his first date, but it was close. He would never forget the night his parents dragged him from home to the country club dance nor would he forget the swirl of magnolia blossom scent and taffeta as Melinda was introduced to him. It was too bad he'd mistaken the dollar signs in her eyes for sparkles of joy.

The real joke of it all was Shannon's impression of his daytime meetings with the women who came to his shop. She'd never believe the truth, even if he wanted to tell her. A "slap and tickle" was the farthest thing from those women's minds. They made no secret of the dollar signs in their eyes.

Mick slammed his hands on his knees. No. He was not going to start the New Year by thinking of the past-especially when the present was so mystifying. What on earth had possessed him to kiss her? Not that it wasn't an enjoyable diversion, but that wasn't his style. He had no style.

"Temporary insanity, Bullwinkle," Mick stated, jumping off the stool. He grabbed the ring from the counter and shoved it into his pocket. "Just temporary insanity. And, I'm going to prove I'm cured."

Doubling the usual pats on Bullwinkle's nose for luck, Mick jogged to the door and back across the street.

Finally dragging herself from the insanity of her reaction to Mick's kiss, Shannon patiently vacuumed up the rest of the glass shards from the carpeting. She really regretted the loss of the heart mirror. As she looked down at the tiny scars on the tips of her fingers, she remembered the difficulty in learning how to cut the mirrors and bevel the edges. It required a turtle's patience-just as most of the arts that filled her shop required. Pushing the vacuum toward the back room, she glanced with pride at her handmade art-the calligraphy cards that she'd composed the verses for herself as well as the line drawings, the cases of delectable chocolates she'd made herself, the windchimes and mobiles she'd sculpted from metal and glass.

This was the culmination of her dreams since childhood-the perfect wedding of art and business. Of course, the entire stock wasn't Shannon's creations. There was a line of moderately priced gifts, crystal and novelty items. But, she supplied as much of her stock as she had time to make. Now, at the brink of her thirtieth birthday she was ready to take the next step-leadership of the Historic Main Street Association.

Today's losses of the chocolates and mirrors were merely a setback. She'd been through plenty of them-personal and professional-since opening her own store five years earlier. She knew it was best not to look back. It was better to just accept the loss and move on quickly.

Stowing the vacuum, Shannon turned to the shelves and quickly located her stock of mirrors. Carefully, she eased the box from the shelf and backed out of the stock room. Once past the curtain, she turned and saw Mick standing at her window. Her arms went limp, her knees buckled and the box fell heavily to the floor with a sickening crunch.

Shannon squeezed her eyes shut, knowing before she even picked up the box what she'd find. Her guardian angel must have been taking a break from a tiring day not to have somehow warned Shannon of the impending doom. The unmistaken tinkle of broken glass affirmed her suspicions as she picked up the box and gave it a quick shake. She stomped to the door, dumping the box on the check-out counter as she passed.

"Now, what do you want?" she demanded angrily as she nearly tore the door from its hinges pulling it open. "If it's another sample of your brutish, masculine charms, I'll pass. I never did care for sloppy seconds or thirds or fourths or fifths or…."

"I came back to apologize for my ungentlemanly behavior," Mick interrupted her, stepping back into the shop. "But, on second thought, I'm reserving that until you explain the 'sloppy seconds' comment."

"Just that I'm not terribly pleased to have my name added to the legions of women who have suffered from your macho attentions," Shannon sighed in exasperation.

"Hmm, it didn't seem to me you were suffering all that much," Mick commented. "Seems to me you were rather enjoying…."

"Save it," Shannon cut in, feeling the heat raise in her cheeks while those damned butterflies took flight in her tummy. "I accept your apology. Now leave."

"Well, I've also come to do some business with you," Mick said, looking around the shop.

"I think I've had about all the business from you I can afford," Shannon replied, glancing at her box of broken mirrors. "And, I think I probably have racked up enough years of bad luck to last three lifetimes. Just tell me you don't have a black cat hidden somewhere close. That's all I'd need."

"I'm serious. I have an engagement that I'm already extremely late in keeping. I just thought maybe I could pick up some nice little trinket or some chocolates or something to smooth over my tardiness."

"Well, I'm having a sale on mirrors. I'm thinking of packaging them as jigsaw puzzles. They're in enough pieces for one," Shannon said, pushing aside Mick and walking over to the check-out counter. The gall of the man. What kind of man lays the passion of twelve normal men in one kiss on a girl and then runs off to meet another? This guy not only had colossal gall, but he was nuts-especially if he thought she was just going to pave the way to some other girl's affections with her hard work. No amount of profit was worth that.

"It doesn't have to be anything really grand," Mick continued walking over by the candy cabinet. "Just a sort of simple apology gift."

She watched him lift a large red box with a huge red bow from the shelf in front of the candy display. He brought it over to her and set it on the counter.

"How about these?" he asked. "How much do I owe you?"

"Those are Golden Nuggets," Shannon said. It was obvious he hadn't read the writing on the box. "Are you sure you want those?"

"Yes, these will be just fine. See, already wrapped," Mick laughed, picking at the bow.

Shannon's eyes rose to the ceiling, praying her guardian angel was still on a break and not watching what she was about to do. "Okay, if that's what you want, that's what you'll have. Anything to get rid of you. Fifteen bucks. I'll throw in the tax."

Shannon watched as Mick fumbled in his pockets, finally with some difficulty withdrawing a money clip. As she placed the box into one of her shopping bags, Mick fingered through the bills in the clip.

"I don't suppose you have change for a fifty?" he asked.

"On a holiday, when I'm normally closed? Gee, sorry, I don't," Shannon sighed. "Tell you what. These are on the house. Consider them a farewell present."

"But…but I'm not going anywhere," Mick argued. "That's not right. I mean, you've already created enough losses for yourself. This would be too much."

"More than you know, but I'm not going to argue about who caused the damages. And, I insist. I won't take your money," Shannon smiled, as she rounded the counter, grabbed his arm and pushed the bag into his chest. She pulled him toward the door. "And, actually yes, you are going somewhere. Out of my life forever. And believe me, it's a fond farewell for me."

Still protesting, Mick was shoved out the door. Smiling, Shannon flipped the lock in place and brushed imaginary dust from the palms of her hands.

"Gee, angel," she said softly, "it's not my fault he didn't read the box and see that was a novelty box. Not my fault that Golden Nuggets are just rocks painted gold and dipped in chocolate. Sure hope his girlfriend reads the box before she bites into one of those babies-otherwise Banyon is in for a real 'hard' time."

Laughing loudly at her own pun, Shannon stumbled back to counter. As she reached down to retrieve the box of broken mirrors, a glint of gold caught her eye. Searching with her fingers under the lip of the counter, Shannon pulled out a gold college ring. The deep red ruby caught the reflection from the overhead lighting and winked mischievously at her.

"Gee, guess I got paid after all," Shannon said, tossing the ring up and down in the palm of her hand. "I got one rock for a whole box of rocks. Looks like I win."

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