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Unable to stomach another second of her struggles, I grab her by the arm, halting her a foot from the front door. "Then don't."
She inhales a sharp breath, before a silence encroaches between us, until she dares to break it. "Huh?" she breathes.
"I mean..." As the weight of my words finally hit me, I swallow thickly. "Until you're on your feet. After the deal's over with, I wouldn't kick you out right away, not if I knew you'd end up in a place like this."
Meeting my gaze, an incredulous look blooms across her features. "You would..." She jerks her head away. "No, you're talking crazy. I don't need your help. I can make it on my own."
She turns back to the door, grunting as she tries for the door handle with her elbow. When I reach for the bin to offer help, she mumbles, "I got it," and balances it on her knee with one hand and swings open the door with the other.
There's that pride.
I follow her down the hallway. "Jules?" Quickening her steps, she shakes her head in disapproval. "Fine. After the deal, keep your room, and I'll charge you rent. Whatever it is you're paying here." She shakes her head again, and continues to do so, until we reach the elevator. "That sounds fair, right?"
"No. It doesn't. It sounds like charity."
"Not to me."
"Really?" She purses her lips, avoiding my gaze. "I pay six hundred a month here."
I nearly choke on my own saliva, but somehow manage a straight face. Six hundred dollars? For an apartment in New York City? I've never heard of such a thing.
When I remain silent, she presses, "Compare that to whatever astronomical rent you're paying each month."
Fifty thousand. Easy.
If I were renting it out.
I don't have the heart to tell her the building's one of Kingston Entertainment's many investment properties. My father personally owns every upper-floor unit in the luxurious complex, among others, in his staggering real estate portfolio. He moved me into the penthouse several years ago, which may seem outrageous to someone unaccustomed to such wealth, but it's not in my family.
Besides, my apartment's not much to gawk at. Not when compared to my brother's estate, which he inherited from our late-paternal grandfather, after our father passed it straight down to him.
Just to him.
"Is it really so hard for you to accept help?"
"I did today. When I asked you to help pack."
More like told me, I keep to myself, rather than throwing off my side of the argument.
She steps into the elevator, which hardly fits herself and the bin. I fold my arms, remaining in the hallway. "That wasn't such a big ask," I lie, as the dull ache in my shoulders intensifies, right on cue.
"No? Like you said, it's Friday. Mid-day, even." Her tone is stubborn, yet she eyes me curiously as the doors begin closing. "Didn't you have work today?" she asks, right before they seal shut. Leaving me in silence, staring back at my metallic reflection, her question hits like a haymaker straight to the ribs.
And a reminder of all the stories I'm juggling.
TWELVE
JULIANA
"Is that what I think it is?"
Hayden scratches his head, lost for words.
"Hayden..." I growl.
"Uhhhhh, no?" He smiles sweetly, as two movers pass us through the doorway, carrying my new mattress Hayden paid for without asking, along with a beautiful white bed frame. He also hired movers the moment I parked our U-Haul in front of his glitzy apartment building, amidst mutters about my horrendous driving and poor decision-making skills, having had his fill of near-death and do-it-yourself experiences for one day.
What a baby. My driving wasn't that sketchy. Nobody got hurt. We made it here in one piece. That's what matters. Or it did, until I became the butt-end of a juvenile joke on my first night here.
