Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“I’m already donating a hundred thousand a year.”
“Well, the million will just be a bonus,” I say.
“If I made it two, would you take it?”
“That’s doubly as bad.”
“What about five hundred thousand?” he asks.
“Anything more than a dollar would be just as bad.”
He digs in his back pocket for his wallet and pulls out the crispest one-dollar bill I’ve ever seen. Then, he sets it on the bus step, right on top of the envelope.
I roll my eyes, but god. I’ve kind of missed this. The sparring, the arguing, the weird tenderness and connection that underrides all of it.
“Just because you have money doesn’t mean you should spend it. Lavish gifts are never going to mean more than you yourself do. You can spend all the time in the world building an empire, but it’s not going to make you or anyone else happy.”
“I think I’ve made many people happy. At least those who work for me. They’re well paid and top of the industry, but they’re never going to be rich, so quite possibly, that doesn’t apply. You were quite happy when your debt was paid. Or at least relieved. And you were pleased with the hundred thousand going to charity.”
“That’s not the same.” I’m getting all twisted up here. “It did make me relieved that the debt was paid because it opened up so many opportunities for me. I never would have asked for it, and certainly, between choosing the money over friendship, I never would have picked the former.”
He stares at me without blinking, his dark eyes scalding my face as they search. “Friendship with me?”
I’m damp all over while standing in the AC. “Friendship can be complicated.”
“Many people out there would rather have the money. It can’t make you happy, but it allows you to do fun things.”
“I suppose that’s true, and fun things can amount to great memories. It can ease the stress and burdens of living and allow for more time with loved ones, but I don’t know if many people would choose that path. If they’re building an empire, it’s for another reason entirely. Although, you’re the least rich-acting person I know. You didn’t have anyone cleaning and cooking at your house.”
“I called them off when you were there. I didn’t want to upset Peach Lips or make you nervous.”
“Liar,” I accuse. “You did not.”
“I do have a cleaner come once a week, and I make heavy use of the dry cleaners, but as for the rest, I personally don’t like anyone in my space, and the day I need someone to cook my meals…I just hope that day never comes unless I’m eating at a restaurant somewhere.”
Thorn says all these things, and I know he means them, but he told me about how he tried to buy his family’s forgiveness. True, that was in the past, and when he paid my loan off, he wasn’t expecting anything in return. I can see the pattern in his mind as to why he’s here. He’s not trying to buy me, and he doesn’t expect anything in return, but he does think throwing money at a problem is the way to fix something. He feels obligated. I’m not sure that’s a good thing, and I’m not sure it’s just business.
Just trying to unravel all of that makes my head hurt.
Something weird catches my eye when Thorn bends to put the dollar bill further up on the stairs where it won’t blow away. He straightens strangely like someone just stuck him right in the side with a cactus aimed from a giant slingshot. A dark spot on his shirt grows larger. “What the hell? What is that?” It doesn’t appear to be motor oil. I’m in the small camp of unpopular opinion that knows he’s not a robot.
His fingers shoot down, and he can’t quite control the wince when they come away scarlet.
Holy. Fucking. Shittttt.
“Thorn!”
“Oh. This. Uh, on the way here, I might have got shanked a little.”
“What the actual hairy cat drumsticks! How do you get shanked just a little, let alone at all?”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal that he’s bleeding from a knife wound in his side. “Do you happen to have a first aid kit?”
“Gah! Do I happen to have a what? You need a hospital, not a few bandages and some iodine.”
“And yet, if you have them, I’d rather make good use of them instead of going to the hospital. There’s nothing they can do to me that I can’t take care of myself,” he grunts.
“Uhh, they could give you a Tetanus shot.”
“I already have one.”
“They could file a police report.”
He waves his hand in the air, then gasps and drops it down to the injury like he’s holding himself together as it pulls at his side. “Already taken care of.”