“You will give me money to rent a studio apartment for at least a month,” I said. “That’s my deal.”
“Done,” he replied immediately.
Good. In a month, I should be able to find a job and pay the next rent myself.
When we arrived, I stepped out of the car, and so did he, and I practically shook—not from fear, but from pure irritation.
He strode toward the mansion, and I followed closely behind. They let him pass, and when they saw me accompanying him, they allowed me in as well.
I had been here before, but it was just a faint memory I barely remembered.
Mr. Sinclair walked briskly, and I kept pace with him. He turned sharply, and I followed suit. Suddenly, he stopped in front of a massive door, where guards were stationed. One of them spoke, “state your business.”
He straightened. “I h
