“Damn, princess,” he said when he walked back down the corridor. “You’ve got over a hundred grand worth of equipment in there.”

“Probably closer to a quarter mil,” she said. “I told Jacqueline I didn’t need all that, but you know how she is.” She shrugged, well used to her mother’s way of throwing money at her children in lieu of affection.

In fairness, she was better these days, and a good grandmother to Ísa and Sailor’s two demons—said demons having learned all their tricks from Catie—but Catie couldn’t simply forget her own childhood.

Danny grimaced. “Money talks and emotion is for sissies, right?”

Oh yeah, Danny knew Jacqueline.

“Don’t get me wrong.” Catie put a little bit too much power into mixing up the eggs. “I’m grateful for her money and all it’s meant for me.” It had given her a quality of life she’d never otherwise have had, especially after the accident.

That was indisputable fact.

“But I still resent how it’s always been her first priority.” She threw the egg mixture into the pan, began to move it around using the cooking spatula. “Then I hate myself for being an unappreciative brat.” It messed her up at times, that confusion inside her. “I know exactly how much others in my position would give for that kind of financial support.”

Walking around the counter, Danny leaned against it with his back, his hands braced behind him. “I dunno,” he said. “I think you can be mad. I mean, your mum already had two gazillion dollars by the time you were born. Even if she had to duck out on Ísa to build her empire, she didn’t need to do the same with you.”

Catie made a face and waved the spatula at him. “See, that’s when I hit the wall. Because why should it have been on her to raise me and do all the kid-friendly stuff? I have a father who had plenty of time on his hands.”

Danny, who’d been a part of her life for so long that he was like furniture—annoying, irritating furniture with sharp edges that snagged her favorite sweaters—made a face back at her. “Yeah, but you didn’t choose Clive. She did. And she knew who he was—er—how honest can I be without you throwing my eggs in the garbage disposal?”

“It’s fine. I know who my dad is.” A good-looking gambler and cheerful companion allergic to responsibility. “He hit me up for money yesterday.”

Danny straightened, his expression tight. “Jesus, Catie. That is not on. The man needs a swift kick in the ass.”

Catie dumped Danny’s eggs onto a plate. “Shut up. Only I get to dis my dad.”