Five Million Dollar Cat #Suspense #Novella [under $3]

Five Million Dollar Cat

by Laura Lond

Jack, Amy’s ex, has offered her a quarter million dollars.

Without a flinch, she held out her palm. Jack let out a chuckle.
“Well, not right now. I don’t have it yet, but as soon as I do, it will be yours, I promise.”
Amy narrowed her eyes. Of course. She should have known.
“I see. Another one of your shady dealings, and you want me to help. You know what? Get lost.”
She rose to leave, but he caught her hand.
“Amy, wait! Nothing shady. You promised to hear me out, you said five minutes. Would you at least give me that? Please?”
“Well, okay.” She had no idea why she agreed.
The waiter brought their appetizers and asked whether they were ready to order the main course. Amy no longer cared for the dinner, but Jack insisted, so she picked the first thing her eyes fell on—some grilled fish. The waiter left.
“I’m listening. Five minutes.”
“That’s all I need,” Jack nodded, moving the appetizers closer to her, gesturing for her to eat while he explained. Amy picked up the fork.
“Nothing shady,” he repeated. “Everything’s perfectly legal, comes from a buddy of mine who works at a law firm. Here’s the deal. There’s this homeless animal shelter called Friendly Paws. There’s one ugly cat in that shelter that probably no one will want to adopt. And there’s this crazy old hag who secretly arranged to pay five million bucks to whoever adopts this cat, if it ever does happen.”
Amy was studying her overly entrepreneurial ex in silence. His plan was not difficult to guess.
“You want me to adopt the cat and get the five million. I keep two hundred and fifty thousand and give you the rest.”
Jack smiled again. “You’re a smart girl.”

From "The Secret Diary of Alice in Wonderland" by Barbara Silkstone

American Alice believes she’s found her White Rabbit in the charming Brit, Nigel Channing...

At that very moment, a shadowy figure ran up to us and flung a fistful of what smelled like rotten fish at Nigel, I was collateral damage. Another guy ran up, and swearing in French, flung a second wad of goo.

Nigel took it in his stride. “Jump back on the boat, love. I’ll lead them away.” He turned and sprinted down the road with the fish-flingers in hot pursuit.

I leaped from the seawall to the empty dinner boat managing to get my high heeled feet on the deck while grasping the horizontal safety rope with both hands. My feet slipped and the weight of my butt pulled me off balance. I dangled from the ropes with my nose pressed against the germy hull.

Think. Think. I pushed off from the hull with my forehead trying to reach the seawall with my feet. I scraped my brow. This had to be my imagination. If I hung on long enough I would wake up.

Using my velvet pumps, I tried to hook onto the seawall but both shoes loosened and fell into the river. My mind raced. If Nigel didn’t return and I hung there, would anyone find me? I wasn’t about to let go and fall into the Seine in a cocktail dress.