Page 145 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“That has never stopped the answer from being no.”

I groaned. “Give me your cash.”

His brows lowered. “Why?”

“If I explain, you’ll say no again, but more specifically.”

“Quinn.”

“Rafe.”

We stared at each other.

He reached inside his jacket and removed a money clip.

I looked at the folded bills and then at him. “How much is that?”

“Five thousand.”

“You just casually have five thousand dollars on you?”

“Yes. For emergencies.”

“What kind of emergency requires five thousand dollars in cash?”

“The kind one cannot predict.”

I laughed. “I don’t even have five thousand dollars to my name.”

His mouth curved faintly. He thought I was joking.

I held his gaze until his expression changed.

“Oh,” he said.

“Yes. Oh.” I took the cash before the conversation could become either pitiful or economically educational. “Don’t do that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you pity me.”

His fingers closed briefly around the money clip before he released it fully. “Quinn⁠—”

“I’m fine.” I slipped the cash into my small evening bag, which was suddenly carrying more money than my checking account had seen in months.

“I should come with you.”

“No.” I held up one finger. “You are tall, recognizable, and currently vibrating at a frequency that says litigate or incinerate. Stay here.”

“I have never incinerated people.”

“Great. Let’s keep the record clean.”

His eyes narrowed, but I slipped away before he could stop me.

The back corridors of the auction house were exactly what I expected: less wood paneling, more fluorescent lighting, and staff moving so fast that no one wanted to stop and question another person moving quickly. Wealth liked to believe events happened by magic. In reality, magic had scuffed black shoes, a headset, and no time to pee.

After a moment’s wandering, I found the staff coatroom.