"I can't," I said. "Because he doesn't exist."
"Alright. Then who was that guy?"
"Which one?"
He shrugged.
I stared at him in disbelief. "You mean the guy on the porch?"
"That'd be a good start," he said.
"You'vegotto be kidding me. That guy? You seriously think he's my boyfriend or something?"
He shook his head. "That's not what I said."
"Then whatareyou saying?"
"I'm saying that I don't get it."
"Get what?"
"Alright," he said. "I'll spell it out. I don'tgetwhy some guy in a fancy car would be showing up on your doorstep and handing you a pile of cash. I don'tgetwho you live with, or why you've never asked me inside."
His voice rose. "I don'tgetwhy you're getting 'business' calls at midnight on a Sunday night or why I'd happen to go by early this morning and see some guy in a sports car leaving your house."
I wanted to shrink back, surprised by the simmering rage brought to the surface. Instead, I took a step forward and glared up at him. "You're twisting everything around, making it sound worse than it is."
"Is that so?" He crossed his arms and waited. "Then go ahead. Tell me howyou'dsay it."
"I already told you." I gestured vaguely toward the Parkers' house. "I get paid to stay there. What don't you get?"
I threw up my hands. "Yeah. I do it for money. Big fucking deal. And the reason I didn't tell you right from the start is because that's part of the deal. I'm supposed to look like I actually belong here."
In front of me, Lawton was a mass of coiled muscles and stony features. He said nothing, and I kept on going.
"Yeah." I made a scoffing sound. "I've got the dog, I've got the plants. Hell, I've even got some stupid lawn guy coming once a week to trim shit that doesn't need trimming." My voice cracked. "But it's all about the money, because I don't have any of my own."
I looked down at my pocket, bulging with cash mostly already spent. Here, I'd been so happy to get it, and for what? For a new car battery and a whole lot of grief from someone richer than God?
I swallowed a sob. "I'm broke. There, you happy?"
His eyebrows furrowed. "What?"
"Yeah. You want the whole story? Well, here it is. I've got a Grandma who gets all her rent money from this fake job I had to make up. I've got a kid brother who thinks our mom gives some sort of a crap, even though she doesn't. I've got student loans from a degree that as far as I can tell, probably cost me a lot more than the damn thing's worth."
My voice rose. "And now, I've got you ragging on me like I’m some kind of horrible person."
His eyes softened. "Chloe–"
"Don't 'Chloe' me," I said. "What the hell? Have you been rich so long that you've forgotten what it's like to live in the real world?"
He took as step toward me. "Chloe, you need money? I mean, shit, why didn't you say something?"
He reached a hand toward his back pocket. An image flashed in my brain, the memory of Brittney plucking cash from his outstretched hand.
I wasn't a Brittney. I lifted my chin. "I don't want your charity. As you so aptly observed, I just got paid. So I'm practically rich, right?"
"But you just said–"
