His hand, which had been fussing with his hair, dropped to his side. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost. "No way. You can make that much money selling designer clothes? I work my ass off scamming people, juggling more than ten accounts a month, and I still can't make that much."
He lit a cigarette and sat on a nearby stool. "That's why I'm telling you not to go right now. Besides, she has guests over. She probably won't have time to bother with you."
