Realizing Tessa was waiting for an explanation for his behavior, Micah crossed his arms over his chest, conveniently hiding the timepiece from view. “Not the watch.”

He probably should have been embarrassed over how possessive he sounded – especially when Tessa’s brow furrowed in concern – but Micah couldn’t muster up the energy.

Besides, it wasn’t like he needed the money.

He had finally worked up the nerve to check his Venmo account – the one Damon had been sending his “pay checks” to the past month, and he’d had a miniature panic attack at the six figures that glared back at him.

Way more than what the contract Micah had signed stipulated.

After calming himself down, Micah had debated whether he ought to give the money to charity, or maybe to one of the homeless or domestic abuse shelters scattered throughout the city. But it felt even more wrong to touch the money now than while he’d technically been “working” for Damon, so there it sat – yet another reminder of how colossally he’d screwed up.

Realizing Tessa was waiting for an explanation for his behavior, Micah thought over the premise of her idea. Maybe it wasn’t the worst idea in the world to get rid of some of the stuff Damon had given him. Maybe, if he got rid of it, he’d be able to move on, too. (He wasn’t parting with the watch, though.)

So, taking in Tessa’s worried expression, Micah took a deep breath in through his nose. “Maybe… maybe we can start with the clothes first?”

The way Tessa’s worried expression melted with relief let him know he’d made the right call.

She stood from the couch. “I’ll get the garbage bags.”

* * *

The Uber driver who picked Micah up the following afternoon watched with wide eyes as he loaded the three huge, lumpy garbage bags into the back of his van.

“Um, it’s not like a dismembered body or anything, I swear. Just old clothes. Well, one is mostly shoes, but… you know. I’m not committing a crime.” Although folding the custom suits Bianchi had made him into plastic bags had felt particularly illicit.) “I’m actually a detective.”

The driver held up his hands. “Hey, man, I didn’t ask.”

Micah loved New York City.

A half-hour later, the man helped him unload the bags at the nearest men’s shelter. Micah had considered donating the clothes to Goodwill or a thrift shop, but seeing how many of the clothes still had price tags – showcasing how ridiculously expensive they were – he was afraid an unscrupulous shop owner or worker would turn around and try to sell them online for a profit, which defeated the purpose of donating the clothes in the first place.