"In our apartment."
"Then it's a good thing you live here."
Every time he said that, it made me feel just a little funny. Yes, I was staying here, but that wasn't the same aslivinghere. This was temporary, like the flu – or a bad hair day.
I gave Flynn a long, exasperated look.Henever had a bad hair day.
By now, I'd seen him with wet hair, dry hair, messy hair, whatever. No matter what, his hair looked like the kind you'd want to run your fingers through while moaning in bliss.
Now, just the mere thought his hair – or anyotherbody part – irritated the snot out of me. "You're missing the point."
"Which is…?"
"The only reason anyone's bothering my mom at all is because of me." My gaze narrowed. "Or more accurately, because of you."
In front of me, he showed zero guilt.As usual."I saw the interview," he said. "She didn't look bothered to me."
Damn it."You saw that?"
"Yeah. Me and a million other people."
I tried not to cringe.Counting me, make that a million and one.
I'd seen it just a few hours ago, onlyaftermy cell phone had started ringing and beeping like crazy. Turns out, Becka's description of the reporter's visit had been woefully inadequate – thanks to my mom, who hadn't relayed the full extent of what had happened.
But after watching the coverage myself, it was pretty darn obvious that they'd been there a while. They'd invaded not only the apartment, but my bedroom, too, where they'd had the gall to open my closet and zoom in on my waitress uniform.
In hindsight, I was just glad they hadn't opened my dresser drawers, because let's face it, nothing in there was terribly pretty, especially when it came to unmentionables.
Period panties. Yes, I had them. But didn't everyone?
Probably not.
Shit.
It didn't help that I'd brought only my nicest stuff to Flynn's place because, well, I didn't know why actually. Regardless, this meant that the very worst stuff was still at the apartment.
I made a mental note to slink over there as soon as possible, if only to empty the drawers and see if I couldn't do something for Becka.
Like, did they make locks for dressers?
I had no idea.
I was still thinking when Flynn said, "The money – did you get any?"
"What money?"
"For the interview."
I stared up at him. "Wait a minute. You're not saying she was paid?"
His only reply was long, cold look.
I waited, determined to make him reply one way or another.
When he didn't, I said, "You know, I hate it when you do that."
"Do what?"