Page 85 of Hate You More

“What about you?” she asks, lifting her glass. “What’s the one thing money changed for you?”

Control and a sense of safety. It took the duster from my mother’s hand. “I don’t look at the prices anymore,” I answer instead. “And I tip nice round numbers.”

“With abandon?” Her eyes sparkle. Like Ceylon sapphires.

“Of course.”

“I love that!” She gives a tinkling laugh as she raises her glass. I lift the neck of my beer to meet her toast. “Why don’t you tell me about your company? How it came about.”

“You mean my loan sharking business?”

“I think I already said sorry about that. In my defense, you were looking at me like you wanted to . . .” She puts her hands around her throat and sticks out her tongue as though she’s choking.

“Might’ve thought about it,” I say with a sly grin.

“So Table?”

“Well, me and Benny the Brick—” is as far as I get when a lump of focaccia hits me square between the eyes.

“And I don’t do that lightly,” she says primly. “Especially as someone else has to clean up.” Clara-speak for Stop fucking about.

I reach down for the lump of bread.

“Don’t—”

“Five-second rule,” I say, popping it into my mouth.

“My husband, the fancy billionaire.”

The way she said husband hits me in a way it shouldn’t.

Clara makes a rolling gesture with her hand. Please continue.

“The business. One day, me and Benny—”

“You’re horrible.”

I give a lopsided grin as I try to ignore the way messing with her makes me feel. “I got the idea my last year of college. My old roommate was up to the eyeballs in debt. He had a job to go to but needed to graduate first, but things had reached a breaking point. His credit card debt was snowballing faster than his tuition aid.”