The bright smile faded, and I hated myself a little bit for saying the words that made it happen. “I didn’t work for this. I bought it with money I got from my grandmother. Your job is an actual accomplishment.” He waved his hand around the bathroom. “This is just old money begetting more money with very little effort from any of the parties involved.”

The tone of his voice was so self-deprecating. I usually wasn’t full of sympathy for trust fund babies but I also knew that Easton had a hard job. One that he opted into when he could’ve been coasting on his family’s money. Even though I had a lot of opinions on the criminal justice system and prosecutors, I knew he was out there trying to put away the bad guys.

“Don’t be so down on yourself, man. Some people do a lot worse with the money they inherit than putting it into something that is a legit source of income. Also it’s not like you’re sitting at home waiting for rent checks. You’re not exactly doing light work at the DA’s office.”

He just shrugged and moved toward the bedroom. I wanted to stop him, say more until that smile he’d been giving me since I walked into the elevator came back out. I had no idea why I was so invested in seeing Easton looking happy again, but I was ready to take the apartment just to do something that might bring some light back to his eyes. Before I knew it I was talking again.

“It’s not like I didn’t want to have my own place. I just couldn’t afford it.” I lifted a hand in the direction of the bay windows. “I’m not going to be mad to have a place like this.”

His lips twitched at that and my dumbass heart pounded in my chest, because that fucker never learned.

“I actually didn’t have an apartment like this in undergrad. I went to school in Buffalo, and my place was not nearly as nice, much to parents’ chagrin.”

I worked extremely hard to keep my eyebrows in place.

“Oh?”

I’d always assumed he’d gone to an Ivy League school. I never asked, because I was a callous asshole, but the way he was holding himself right now, shoulders back, chin up, told me there was a story there. “Buffalo, then.” I pointed at myself, ready to launch into another overshare. “I started at City College and then transferred to Columbia sophomore year, I was working full time and living at home to help my mom out, in the first years at least. It took me about six years to get my bachelor’s.”