“Please put your card in the reader and follow the prompts.” She gestured to the handheld device on the counter.

I slid in my card and inputted my pin number.

“Thank you, Mr. Charming. So you’d like to apply for a loan today, is that correct?”

“Yes. For school. University. I’m a software engineer. Or I will be when I finish my degree, which can’t happen unless you guys give me money. To borrow,” I added when she frowned. I needed to stop talking.

“I’m going to set you up with one of our financial advisors, and they will take you through the process to see if you qualify.”

“Wait. What? Qualify? What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I qualify? I have to qualify?”

“Yes, they’ll look at your tax assessment from last year, your current employment and how much you make, along with checking your credit rating. We don’t just hand out money here, Mr. Charming.” Her nose turned up with obvious disgust as she sneered. She must have thought I was some stupid kid.

“Oh. Of course. I knew that.”

I didn’t know that.

“Have a seat over there. Someone will be with you shortly.”

I retreated, less enthused and optimistic than I’d been when I walked in. I should have just gone with the ski mask and water pistol in my jacket pocket. I’d competed on the track team during my first year of high school. I could outrun every single overweight cop on the force if I wanted to. Maybe. How hard could it be to rob a bank? It happened all the time.

Slumping in the waiting room chair, I pulled out my phone and texted Asher.

Atticus: Tell me you have good news.

Asher: I tried at dinner last night. No go. Besides, Matilda was there, and between the looks she shared with Mom and their matching, twisted sour-lemon faces, I’d say the cat’s out of the bag.

Atticus: Shit. I may have to sell my body on the street at this rate. I have a cute ass, right? It could earn me enough for another year of school.

Asher: Let’s not forget your deep-throating skills. Would Ryan give you a reference?

Atticus: Probably not, but maybe Matilda would. She saw the whole thing.

“Atticus Charming?”

I jerked upright in my seat and pocketed my phone. The man who’d called my name was a middle-aged guy with salt-and-pepper hair, a navy pinstriped suit, and a caterpillar for an eyebrow. He wore a white button-up under his suit jacket and a pencil-thin tie. He looked constipated, and his bushy mustache was straight out of the seventies. All he needed was a white, windowless van and a pocket full of candies for the unsuspecting children, and he’d be set.

“That’s me.” I waved.