I snipped a stem a little harder than necessary. “About what?”
“You,” she said. “He wanted you.”
“That’s not a compliment,” I replied automatically.
Jenna scoffed. “It absolutely is. Also, did you see his handsome face?”
“Focus,” I muttered. And I, of course, saw his face. I would have had to have been blind to not realize how handsome the man was.
They didn’t focus, though.
Jenna followed me toward the prep table, lowering her voice but not her intensity. “Okay, listen. I know Valentine’s week is insane. I know you’re allergic to chaos. But triple pay?”
“I’m not desperate,” I said.
“No one said you were.”
“I’m saying it,” I replied, finally turning to face her. “Because the second I even consider it, that’s the line I have to be clear on.”
Jackie pushed off the counter and joined us. “Juliet, this isn’t desperation. This is money. Lots of money.”
I laughed once, sharp and humorless. “That’s worse.”
The truth sat heavy in my chest, right where it always did when money came up.
Money was never enough, that was something I had learned growing up.
Money had always been my father’s favorite language.
Growing up, he’d show up every few months like clockwork in a leather jacket, crooked smile, and big plans. He’d bring dinner, promise stories, swear this time was different. And then, inevitably, the ask would come. Could he borrow a little cash? Could he crash on the couch for a few nights? Could we spot him until his next thing came through?
Money was how he smoothed things over. How he explained away broken promises. How he tried to buy forgiveness without earning trust.
I’d learned early that cash didn’t mean care.
It meant convenience.
And that was why Asher’s offer stuck under my skin the way it did.
Because he hadn’t begged. He hadn’t sweet-talked. He hadn’t argued when I said no.
He’d just… stated his terms. Clean. Calm. Like he was ordering a piece of equipment, not a person. Except he hadn’t treated me like equipment at all.
“He didn’t negotiate,” Jackie said quietly, like she was reading my thoughts. “He didn’t even push.”
I swallowed.
No. He hadn’t.
He’d respected the no. Then made a different offer.
One that acknowledged my time. My skill. My control.
“I don’t like that he made it personal,” I said.
Jenna raised a brow. “You don’t like that he noticed you.”
“I don’t like that he saw me,” I corrected.