Page 7 of The Fix Up

“But I don’t understand,” she said. “My divorce papers clearly state that I retain ownership of First Impressions. The business, the building—all of it belongs to me and my business partner.”

The loan officer gave her a sympathetic look and shuffled her own pile of paperwork. “That may be what your divorce decree says, but a divorcing couple can’t make an agreement that’s legally binding on a third party like a bank.”

Which her ex-husband, Chase, would have known, since he was a goddamn lawyer.

Holly bit her lip. “My ex signed a Quit Claim relinquishing any rights to the property. He’s never paid a dime toward any of it—not the down payment or the monthly payments or any taxes or interest—it’s all come straight from my account.”

“Yes, but his name is still on the mortgage. That’s a separate thing from being on the title.”

“I know that,” she said, trying her best to remember all the details they’d hashed out during the divorce. Her throat was growing tight, and it was getting tough to breathe. “But since the economy did a nosedive just a couple months after I started First Impressions, and then we divorced right after that, there was no way to refinance the loan to remove his name. The loan was underwater, even though I always made the payments on time and in full.”

“Yes, that’s how it happened for a lot of people.”

Which didn’t help Holly at all. She looked down at the paperwork again and ordered herself to keep breathing. “My ex-husband and I agreed I’d refinance and get his name off the loan as soon as the real estate market bounced back enough that it wasn’t underwater anymore.”

“A sound idea, but it appears your ex has changed his mind.”

Not the first time.

Panic inched its way up her spine.

“I don’t understand why he’s doing this,” she whispered. “We had an agreement.”

She should have known better than to believe he’d hold up his end of the deal. Hell, she should have known better than to have Chase co-sign the loan in the first place when she decided to start First Impressions. But they’d beenmarried, for crying out loud, and the bank hadn’t been willing to loan that much in her name only.

“Maybe someone else could co-sign on a new loan with you,” the loan officer suggested. “A parent, maybe, or?—”

“No, my parents don’t have that kind of money, and my business partner had some previous credit challenges that make it impossible for her to co-sign.” She took a sip of her tea, then choked a little as she tried to force it past the lump in her throat. The paper cup felt soggy in her hand, which was also how her brain felt at the moment.

“This makes no sense,” she said. “From day one, I was the only one making the payments. Chase realized right after First Impressions opened that it was going to meanmorehours of work for me, not fewer, and he started badgering me to give it up and?—”

She broke off there, her voice choked with unshed tears. This wasn’t the loan officer’s business. Holly had to be strong. She had to show she was a competent, professional business owner who could handle the curveballs her career threw at her.

But the curveballs from her ex-husband—well, those were something different.

“I’m sorry, Holly, but refinancing or selling might be your only options.”

She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I’ve tried everything to refinance. You know that. With the real estate market down, the value of the building is less than what I owe, so the bank won’t let me refinance even though I’ve never missed a payment.”

And selling isn’t an option.At current market prices, I’d lose everything I’ve sunk into this business, plus First Impressions would be homeless and all my employees would be out of work and?—

“I’m sorry,” the loan officer said again. “If you could come up with a bigger down payment, they might let you refinance.”

“How big are we talking?”

The loan officer flipped through her paperwork and frowned. “Remember the retainer you deposited three weeks ago for that new client?”

“Yes.”

“At least triple that.”

She dropped the empty paper cup. It bounced off the edge of the desk and landed in her lap, dribbling lukewarm droplets of tea on her leg.

At least triple.

Was that even possible?

In response, she heard the echo of Ben’s voice.

---