“Ta-da!” I announce, turning it to him, with a big grin.

I’m not disappointed.

Keller puts his book down. “Bloody amazing. You just did that in the time it took me to read a page? Why the hell are you studying accounting?”

“Because accountants get paid.”

“Sure, but your art is going to make you rich. A lot richer than any accountant will end up. Review your schedule, seriously. Do what you love.”

I chew on my lip. I mean, if we’d had this conversation three days ago, it would be another story. Back then, my art had no prospects. Today someone—someone important—might be willing to do something with it. Maybe I could end up being an illustrator. If I worked hard. If I kept making what people like Arlo might want to publish. Maybe he’d want me full-time, in house.

“It’s not that easy for me,” I say after a second. “I don’t have something to fall back on or a security blanket, you know. If I study art, and then the market keeps collapsing and no one is hiring, I’ll be flipping burgers for a paycheck despite years of work on a fancy degree.”

Keller’s staring at me in a way that makes me want to look down, fidget, do something. So I keep talking. “Take my grandmother. She was a housewife most of her life. No job. Then, when her husband died, she suddenly had to work, and it wasn’t enough. She’s always struggled. She’s old, and she had to wait for your generosity to afford the basic care she needed. My actual mother got an education. She has a nice job. She can afford pretty clothes, sends me lovely presents and the occasional cash transfer, because she can. I know which future I want.”

The unblinking staring only gets darker, but he finally breaks his silence. “Your mother shouldn’t send you the occasional cash transfer. She should have supported you, your whole life, so you never struggled.”

I start to disagree, but he speaks before I can find the words. “As for a security blanket, you have one, Claire. Me.”

My mouth opens, and then closes.

“If the market is suddenly disastrous, and you can’t get a job after graduation, you’ll be fine, because you’ll live with me, with my credit card in your wallet. Just like you do now.”

“That’s…we’re talking years in the future.”

“We are,” he agrees easily.

“You don’t know if you’ll like me in a month, let alone four years.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, I don’t,” I snap. “I’m not relying on any man for my entire future. Even you.”