Cowgirls Love French Kisses: A Texan in Paris Sweet Romantic Comedy (Falling in Paris Book 4) by Elsie Woods

Author:Elsie Woods [Woods, Elsie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9782492606366
Publisher: Puppy Love Books
Published: 2023-12-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

Annie

I’m jabbing at the outdoor ATM keys like they've personally offended me, but all I get for my troubles is another blasted message flashing “Transaction Denied.” My card hangs out of the slot, mocking me.

“C’mon, darling, don’t do me like this,” I grumble under my breath, giving the card a hopeful last push.

No luck. I stuff the stubborn piece of plastic into my wallet and wait for the molasses-like sliding double door to finally allow me passage. The air inside smells like paper and impatience, and I can only hope my charm can work some magic here the way it does back home.

“Excusez-moi, ma'am,” I start, pasting on my brightest, most hopeful smile as I approach the teller. “The machine isn’t working with my card, even though my bank back home said everything should work fine.”

The teller looks at me like I just stepped out of a spaceship, her gaze as cold as the bank's marble floors. I can already tell this isn’t about to be any Texas two-step; it's more like a step-by-step back out the door.

The teller peers at me over her glasses, her lips pressed into a line that could slice bread.

“Mademoiselle, you need to call your bank in America, no?” she says, her voice flat as a day-old soda.

My smile falters, but I nod, trying to keep the friendly Texas spirit alive. “I did. That's what I'm trying to tell you. And they said everything is clear on their end, so it must be a problem with the machine.”

She clacks away at her keyboard, eyes never meeting mine, and I feel about as welcome as a rattlesnake at a square dance.

“The system says everything is fine with the machine. Maybe you should just try it again.” She gestures with an open arm, but it's more venom than honey.

“Try again. Okay, sure. I'll do that.”

I know what's going to happen, that same old “transaction denied.” And then I'll have to go in and face that woman again.

I plug in my pin code. Why would a bank have only one teller on a Friday morning? Sheesh!

Except that I'm wrong. It doesn't say “transaction denied” at all.

It eats my card.

Please see teller, flashes in front of me.

“No, no, no,” I start recklessly pressing the cancel button, but the screen is unchanged and my card is gone.

I march right back into the bank, my boots thumping out a rhythm that's either determination or desperation. The teller sees me coming, and her expression sours like she’s chewed on a lemon.

“Ma carte, s'il vous plaît,” I say, my French rough around the edges but clear enough. “The machine took my card.”

She sighs, the sound heavy with exasperation. “Mademoiselle, you must call your bank. There is nothing more I can do from here.”

“But I told you⁠—”

She cuts me off with a flurry of French, her words too quick for me to catch all of them. “Toujours la même chose avec les Américains, toujours un spectacle. Bonne journée, mademoiselle,” she finishes with a smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes.

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