Page 17 of The Arrangement

As I looked up in shock, she just smiled at me from the rim of her glass. "This is gross income?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Take home. I have a great accountant. I can get you her info if you decide to dip your toe in."

I sat packed in disbelief, running the numbers in my head. Even just half of what she made in a year would set my grandmother and me up for life. Well, I could afford to get my car fixed, that was for sure.

"It helps that Wolfe has a set-up community; he splits 50%, which is very generous in this line of work. Very transparent about the income that any collaborative videos receive. And live streams? Those are fantastic money makers, definitely, more work though if you're into that."

I nodded, scratching the plastic cup full of free water when she looked at me seriously. "If you messaged me, you're definitely more than just tossing it around. Just know this can be as casual as you like, but it's always about consent and clear communication with your partner. And if you ever need anything or have questions, I'm just a call or text message away. Or Europe in two weeks, but still a text message."

Smiling, we said our goodbyes, and I was back in that expensive cab ride home, thinking for the first time that maybe…just maybe, I would do something a bit unexpected. It is something that perhaps a book character would do right before the plot got really, really good.

It wasn't necessarilythe coffee shop meeting with Natalie that made up my mind, but my next night shift at The Grind. When I ran up the sidewalk, a stitch in my side as I fumbled with the store keys with frozen fingers, I realized quickly that the door was already unlocked.

Walking inside, I immediately saw Hank, complete with his newsboy hat, even in the dead of winter, bringing in boxes from the back.

"Hey, Hank!" I panted, my lungs burning from jogging the last block there after I had realized I was nearly late. Checking my phone, Ifound I was literally just on time. "Thanks for moving those boxes out for me!"

Hank waved me off as I clocked in, taking off his hat to scratch the top of his bald head, where his beard connected to nothing.

"Listen, Georgia, I really appreciate you coming in, especially on the overnights," he began, and my stomach sank.

"Yeah, absolutely, I appreciate the work," I said, trying not to sound as concerned as I felt when he wouldn't look me in the eye.

"With the fall season coming in it’s always great, but with rent the way it is and having hired that kid just a few weeks back, my payroll is tight right now. The overhead for the shop is out of hand, and I'm having to cut corners where I can." I was silent as he replaced his hat on his head. "I will definitely have work for you in December, but right now, after tonight, it'll just be one shift a night. I know we talked about ten-to-twelve hours, but it's looking more like five."

Five hours. At twelve dollars an hour. Fuck.

But I found myself nodding despite the roaring in my ears as I swallowed back tears. "Yeah, totally, I understand. I can make things stretch until then."

Hank looked ridiculously uncomfortable as he clapped his hands. "Free coffee once a day still! Can't beat that!" He turned his back. "When you're finished, don't forget to lock up!"

I stood in silence as the backdoor shut and locked from the outside. "Yeah, free coffee. Can't beat that," I whispered to the now-empty coffee shop.

Working numbly, I restocked the shelves with fresh merchandise, whole coffee beans, and stickers. I didn't feel bad taking the expired food this time or leaving that extra fifteen minutes late as I swept the already-clean floors.

I walked home, chewing on a slightly stale bagel as I contemplated my next move. When I left college, I had expected to enter publishing, write aNew York TimesBestseller, and retire on the coast with a few cats and maybe a partner that I liked more than my own company. But when I got that call from my grandmother at 2 a.m. on a Sunday that she was in the hospital after falling and had been unable to call forhelp…I knew my priorities had changed, and I didn't regret my decision one bit. It was the excuse I had been looking for to leave Dylan and come home. Sort everything out. The deep guilt that had settled in my thirteen-year-old soul when my mother's cancer finally won had never fully gone away. I couldn't do enough to save my mother or give her a better ending. But I could give that to my grandmother.

I arrived at the apartment complex in a daze, barely feeling my chapped cheeks and frozen ears. What happened next was on autopilot, as if my mind was already made up and my body was just along for the ride as I knocked on Unit 2's door.

I stood there with my heart hammering in my chest for what felt like forever until the brass door knob turned and Sebastian's large body suddenly filled the space.

"I talked to Natalie."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he moved to open the door wider. "C'mon in, Clark."

Chapter 11

Georgia

Holy shit. I'm doing this. I tried to remind myself to breathe as I walked into Unit 2, my bag clutched close to me like a security blanket. Now that I had walked into his house, this time not in a towel or thinking he was getting murdered, I allowed myself to look around. It was still modern and upscale, and the wood floors looked like they had been resurfaced, unlike mine, which I hid under rugs to cover up the scratches and peeling sealant.

"You want anything to drink?" He asks, opening the cabinet and grabbing two wine glasses. I had spied the wine cabinet when I had walked in; I didn't usually indulge, but right now? Absolutely.

"Sure, a red if you have it." I tried to sound casual, like I did this every day. Want to have sex on camera for money so I can pay for my elderly grandmother's care? Cool, fuck the glass. Just give me the bottle. Jesus Christ.

"So you met with Nat?" He asked, setting the glass down on the dining room table and gesturing for me to sit. Sitting down I all but grabbed the glass of wine like a lifeline and took a sip. Damn, this tasted expensive.

"We met yesterday.” I offered, trying not to pick at the hem of my sweater. I was keenly aware that I smelled like coffee beans and thechilly night air, my Hemingway's hoodie had a stain from God knows what and the wind had tousled my braid. I instantly felt like I should have waited, maybe even showered before this very vulnerable conversation.

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