I square my shoulders. “It’s still too risky—even for a thousand dollars,” I tell him. His eyes narrow. “I see.” “But a thousand dollars per hour,” I counter, stomach fluttering with nerves. “And I’ll take the risk.” This is fucking crazy. I’m fucking crazy. He’s not going to— “Give me your phone,” he orders. I scramble for the cracked device in my pocket, unlock the screen, and relinquish it with zero hesitation. Is this seriously happening? I don’t catch what he types in, but he hands it back a moment later, seemingly unchanged. Maybe he’s just fucking with me. Maybe he’s— A new
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Money talksss
