Page 55 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“This isn’t part of the agreement.”

“You need to attend the gala because of my case.”

“I wanted to help with your case. There is a difference.”

“And I selected you to represent my interests at an event with specific expectations.” His tone was even, which made arguing with him feel like throwing tennis balls at a courthouse. “I won’t have you incur expenses because I require something of you.”

“That is very noble and also not happening.”

Rafe took out his wallet. Black leather, understated, probably handcrafted by someone whose family had been making wallets since before America had reliable plumbing. He removed several bills and handed them to Octavia before I could see the amount.

“Mr. Virelli,” I said, reverting to formal.

His eyes met mine. “Ms. Bradley.”

The way he said my name was a problem.

I lowered my voice. “I don’t like people buying things for me.”

“I gathered.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

The store was suddenly too small. I’d loved every minute of trying on dresses with Octavia. I’d even liked, to my extreme inconvenience, Rafe’s precise commentary. But having him pay was different. Paying turned the dress from a find into an obligation. Paying made me feel like a girl someone had decided to fix for an evening.

Rafe’s expression shifted, barely. “This isn’t charity.”

My throat tightened because he’d found the bruise without pressing hard. “What is it, then?”

“A business expense. You’re representing me, so I’m covering the cost of what that requires. If the firm sent Mr. Payton in my place, they would expense his meal, his car, and whatever tie he wore to appear less unpleasant than he is.”

A startled laugh escaped me.

Rafe’s face stayed serious, but something like satisfaction moved through his eyes. “You aren’t less entitled to practical support because you’re more accustomed to going without it.”

I looked down. Max was watching me solemnly, because he had seen me pick pennies up off the sidewalk and call it a budgeting strategy.

“I don’t want to owe you,” I said.

“You don’t.”

“That’s not how people usually work.”

“No,” he said, and there was a coolness in him then, but it wasn’t aimed at me. “But it’s how I work.”

I believed him. That was the truly annoying part. I believed him, and belief was a lot less convenient than pride.

Octavia picked up the cash. “Well, that settles that.”

“Nothing is settled,” I said.

“My cash register is satisfied, so it’s settled.”

Rafe took the garment bags from the counter before I could grab them. “Keep the change, Ms. Andreas.”

“Octavia,” she corrected.