Dollars.
I can’t even get the number out, as if saying it aloud will make it disappear. This is a sign. We can’t turn this down. “You—I . . . we—”
“What’s wrong?” He rubs my upper arms. “Christ, Halston. Are you shaking? Maybe we should get you home—”
“Five grand,” I say. “That’s what the lingerie company wants give us.”
“What lingerie co—” He glances from my face to the phone in my hands. “You’re still talking to them?”
“No. I never responded to their last message. But they just wrote and upped their offer because of a Valentine’s Day campaign.”
He squints behind me. “We already decided against this.”
Wedidn’t, but I’m trying to convince him, not anger him, so I keep that to myself. “We decided against a grand. This isfive timesthat. I think that merits re-opening the discussion.”
“I admit, it’s tempting,” he says, “but it isn’t worth it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not what we do. You’re my girlfriend.” He drops his gaze to mine again. “I’m supposed to protect you, not put you on display for a little extra cash.”
“Alittleextra cash? This would cover your rent for two months.”
He tilts his head and stops trying to warm me. “Why are you worried about my rent?”
“Because you’renot.” As soon as I say the words, I wish I could take them back. This is an area of our relationship we haven’t yet broached. We didn’t talk about money in my household. My dad still pays my rent. Rich came from wealth. I’m finding that I don’t like feeling so uncertain about the future, but since it’s Finn’s problem, shouldn’t he have been the one to bring it up?
He stares at me, his breath fogging in front of his face. “You’re worried?” he asks. “About my finances?”
“Well, no. But . . .” I shift on my feet. Two joggers weave through the crowd. A blue jay hops along a bare tree branch, and I’m beyond grateful for a real, living bird. Absentmindedly, I touch my feather. “I mean, you only work two or three jobs a month, but you live in a two-bed apartment in a very expensive neighborhood.” I look back at him. “How long can you keep that up?”
“You and I haven’t discussed money,” he says slowly. “You don’t know the first thing about my bank account.”
“I heard you talking to your daughter that morning after I spent the night.” A chill runs down my spine, and I blow hot air into my mittens. “It wasn’t on purpose, I just overheard. She said you were broke.”
“Well, if an eight-year-old says it, it must be true.”
“Is it?”
“I made serious Wall Street money up until last year. I managed to save a good chunk of it. And I trade stock on the side. You didn’t know that, did you?”
“How would I?” I ask. “You never tell me anything about that part of your life. I know nothing about your finances or your ex-wife or even Marissa.”
“Andyouwon’t tell your dad you’ve broken things off with Rich. You promised you would after the holidays, and it’s January twenty-second.”
My face warms. He’s right. I don’t talk about work or my dad with him anymore. I don’t want Finn asking about Rich. Every time I work up the courage to tell my dad the truth, I lose my nerve. He’ll accuse me of making bad decisions without the drugs. I just want to be stable, happy, and sorted with Finn so I can show my dad that I’m able to do it on my own.
“One fight at a time, okay?” Finn crosses his arms. “No, I’m not broke. I’m good with money, but I am moving through my savings faster than I’d like. I’ve stashed some in my retirement accounts, but I don’t really want to touch those.”
“Then let’s do this.” I pull on his forearm, trying to get him to uncross his arms. He doesn't budge. “It’s a lot of money. And it fits our brand—”
“No.”
Whywouldn’twe say yes? We get to do what we’re already doing, but better, and for money. Not only can I earn us more of an audience, which in turn commands us a higher price tag, but I can also take some of the financial pressure off Finn’s shoulders. All with a few risqué shots. “The pieces are tasteful, Finn. They’re sexy lace and sheer—”
“Sheer?”
“But in a tasteful way—”
