Nash looked up at her for a second, then quickly looked back down at his notebook. He pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging his sinuses with two fingers, feeling a headache coming on.
"Taxes," he muttered. "I'm doing taxes."
Saya blinked, looking confused.
"Taxes?"
She looked down at the notebook, which was just a mess of crossed-out numbers and scribbles. She saw the calculator and the lamp he'd dragged over to the table. Then she looked at his face. Nash looked exactly like a guy in a bad post-nut clarity.
"Right," she said. "Taxes." A short laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
She knew he was bullshitting her, and he knew that she knew. But for her, it was still the most interesting answer she'd gotten in months because it wasn't a straight-up lie, but it wasn't the truth either. It was like a closed door with a polite "Do Not Disturb" sign. For the first time in her life, Saya didn't mind being shut out.
