Nathaniel gives a curt nod, but I can see him struggling to allow this.

“And you pay the taxes,” I add.

“What?” Nathaniel’s voice sounds surprised.

“My net is fifty thousand a month. You’re responsible for the taxes in however you want to cover them. This is California. That fifty would soon be twenty-five, and that’s nowhere near enough if you want me to sell this lie like the best of them.”

Nathaniel blows out a long, low whistle. “Miss Wright, you came to play.”

“No. I know my worth.” The comment is matter-of-fact and complete false bravado, but I don’t see them noticing.

“Noted, understood, and agreed to.”

I fight the gasp that wants to come out. Why was that so easy?

“Anything else?” Jase asks.

“There are a million more things that I’m sure I’m not thinking of but . . . I’m a little overwhelmed,” I say.

“So that means you need to go home and think about it?” Nathaniel asks, clearly unhappy that I didn’t just jump at the chance.

“Something like that,” I say.

“Can I ask you a question?” Jase asks.

“Of course.”

“Why would you say yes?”

I chuckle nervously. “Other than the money and you’re going to help me save my dream?”

“Yes, other than that.” Jase’s voice is quiet. Curious.

“Because . . . fuck Paul Flanders.”

“Who?” Jase snorts.

“My ex.”

“Okay.” He draws the two syllables out. “Explain.”

“You’re everything he isn’t.” Of all of the things I’ve said in this room over the past hour, that’s the most honest of all of them.

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or a slight,” he says.

“Neither do I,” I say quietly.

“Well shit, we’re starting this off with a bang,” he jokes.

“Don’t you believe all relationships should be based on the truth?” I fire back.

“I do. I think.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms with a shrug. “I don’t know, I don’t exactly do relationships.”

“Then how is this one supposed to be believable?” I ask.

“You’re the girl next door—baker next door. Grounded. Settled.”

“Boring,” I state.

“Normal,” he corrects.

Normal. That word is like a knife to the heart, reminding me of Paul’s bullshit and “hard truths” that he thought I should know about why he had to cheat on me.

There’s no spontaneity. Everything is even-keel all the time. Normal as normal can be and normal is the death of any person wanting to live life. You were killing me, Hendrix. Little by little. Day by day. This blah we lived in was killing me. God forbid she made me feel alive again.

I shake the words from my head, but hell, they still taste acrid on my tongue.

Fuck you, Paul.

“This was your idea? To ask me?” I ask Nathaniel, my voice wavering.

“No.” He lifts his chin toward his brother. “It was his.”