She scowled a bit when we entered my office/apartment. It was a little dingy, I admit, and in need of some decorating, but I didn't think it was that bad considering what I pulled down following around unfaithful husbands and scouring the city for folks who forgot to pay their debts.
"Don't like it," I asked, trying not to sound too hurt?
"Needs work. It's old."
She wasn't wrong, of course, but I wasn't entirely sure it wasn't a commentary on myself.
"You don't get rich in my line of work. Well, most of us don't, especially when you hate the work as much as I do. It'll have to do. Besides, if I made a million dollars, I wouldn't know what to do with all of it."
"You could spend it on me," she remarked, so casually I had to stop myself from laughing out loud.
