AFTER HIS PEONIES

I love a good orderly line—pencils arranged neatly on a desk, shoes organized in a closet, and people waiting in an orderly fashion to be served. The lunch line at Cicely's Sandwich Shop was very orderly. Nylon retractable barriers looped people around in a confined area and kept them from winding out the door. I appreciated it when the lines didn't go out the door. It was too cold to stand outside.

While neat and contained, the line was also slow. I checked the time on my phone and tapped my foot in irritation. Thanks to Karen and her obsession with making my life at the law office as miserable as possible, I didn't have long for lunch. I also hadn't eaten breakfast that morning, so I was starving. But I deserved my favorite sandwich, even if I didn't really have the money for it. It had been a horrible week, and it was only Tuesday.

I checked the time on my phone again and sighed, looking around the restaurant. There was a couple a few places in front of me in line. The guy kissed the girl on the cheek, and my chest clenched in jealousy. They looked like they were very in love. I bet he was buying her lunch.

In the unlikely event I scrounged up a boyfriend, I had a list of criteria he needed to hit. His clothes had to be arranged neatly in drawers and closets, Marie Kondo style. He needed to be tall, good-looking, and fond of romantic gestures, including surprising me with lunch. Not all the time—I'm not a gold digger—but wouldn't it have been nice today if he had shown up at the office with my favorite sandwich? Furthermore, my perfect boyfriend would never make horrible, unforgivable mistakes, only cute, endearing slip-ups.

The biggest requirement was to send me fresh flowers at least once a week. I envisioned displaying them in the swanky apartment I had been sure I would have by now but that somehow hadn't materialized. When I'd entered law school, my professors had sworn up and down that the practice of law was a ticket to riches. However, when I’d finally graduated and passed the bar, it turned out the law field was oversaturated.

I checked my watch again. There was another month to go on my probation period at Harrington-Thurlow, and I could not be late for this meeting. The law firm I worked for was representing Walter Holbrook in his high-profile divorce. I was fortunate enough to be on the team. Unfortunately, that meant Karen was my boss. She was determined to prevent me from proving that I deserved to be a real employee, not an intern, which was my current job title even though I was a bona-fide, licensed attorney.

As the line crept forward, I fantasized about all the things I would buy when I finally made associate. New tights for sure. Mine were held together by prayers and nail polish. I would also splurge on several nice suits. The two I currently owned I switched off wearing every other day. I didn't think the pay raise would be enough for a nicer apartment, but at the very least, I could schedule weekly blowouts to smooth my frizzy hair and finally start dating.

Hearing a rustle behind me in line, I jolted back to reality. Over the smell of baked bread and cold cuts, I smelled the unmistakable scent of peonies. They were my favorite flowers. A nice bouquet of peonies made me feel as if I was dancing through a prewar, high-ceilinged apartment. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the hint of blush of the bouquet.

I slowly turned around, pretending I was digging in my purse for something. I was a sucker for a nice bunch of flowers. From under my eyelashes, I studied the bouquet, feeling pangs of envy for the girlfriend or whichever lucky woman they were for. The peonies were in tones of soft pinks and champagne, accented by just the right amount of greenery. The whole bouquet was even wrapped in white parchment paper like it would have been in the 1950s instead of the now-ubiquitous cellophane.

The arm that held the bouquet was black clad with a cuff-linked sleeve. My eyes darted up, and I saw the perfect guy. He was blond, tall, with broad shoulders. In another time, he might have been a Viking. Now he was domesticated—he clearly had a good job, probably as some sort of corporate mercenary, and I appreciated his impeccable taste in flowers. It was as if he’d jumped out of my criteria list for a perfect boyfriend and into my life.

Mr. Perfect's eyes looked up from his phone, and he met my gaze. Grey eyes widened slightly, and his mouth quirked in humor. I whirled around. Had he seen me staring?

I texted Kate, my roommate.

Meg: I think I found my future husband

Kate: Shut up. Where?

Meg: In line in the sandwich shop. Only problem… he's already taken

Kate: Wedding ring?

Meg: Flowers

Kate: ???

Meg: He's clearly buying them for his girlfriend. It's so romantic! He's so perfect! I bet he's surprising her at work with flowers and a nice lunch.

I heard Mr. Perfect Boyfriend shift his weight behind me, then the sound of someone typing on their phone. Was he texting her? Was he telling her how much he loved her and couldn't wait to see her?

I heard the slight noise of a telephone ringing. I checked the time. The guy at the counter had stopped making the slowest sandwiches ever and went to answer the landline hanging on the wall.

"Hi, yes," I heard Mr. Perfect Boyfriend behind me say. "I'd like to order a prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella sandwich with pesto aioli…Chips are fine…"

That was my favorite sandwich! We had so much in common. I sighed then did a double take. Wait…was he placing an order?

"For pickup…Hunter."

He didn't—

"Thanks. I'll be here very shortly." I heard him disconnect the call and chuckle to himself.

He. Did. Not. Just. Do. That.

I watched the lone worker hang up the phone, ignore the sandwich he had been making, and start on a new one. I couldn't believe it. Mr. Perfect Boyfriend had broken the rules!

I whirled around, furious. "You can't just do that!"

"Do what?" He smirked at me.

"You're in line," I hissed. "You have to wait in line like everyone else."

"I can't help it that I'm smarter than all the sheeple here," he said, staring down at me.

"Are you calling me a sheep?" I demanded, hands on my hips.

"You’re puffy when you're angry, so maybe." The smug look on his face made me want to punch him. "You're welcome to call in an order, too."

"I'm not going to break the rules!" I sputtered. He looked at me, clearly amused and not at all ashamed.

"Pick up for…Hunter?" the worker said.

Hunter ducked under the nylon barrier and strolled up to the counter.

"That's me. Thank you very much."

The lone worker handed him a paper sack. I stared at it, salivating. As Hunter sauntered past me, he pulled out two of the blush-colored flowers from the bouquet and handed them to me.

"You should smile more," he said with a wink.

I glowered at him. "I don't want your stupid flowers."

"You don't want my peonies?" he said with a quirk of his eyebrow. Grinning broadly, he tucked the flowers into my purse.

"Have a nice lunch!" he said and walked out.

"Next!" the server called.

I huffed up to the counter. "Could I please have a prosciutto and buffalo mozzarella sandwich with pesto aioli?"

"We're all out," the server said. "That guy took the last of the prosciutto."

"How do you run out of food? It's not even one p.m.!" I screeched. "Is this the Soviet Union?"

"Miss, if you don't want to order, there are other people in line," the server said in a bored tone.

"Hurry it up! We're starving here!" someone shouted at me.

My face burned. I picked up a vomit-colored shake from the cold display under the counter and handed it to the cashier. I wouldn't have time to eat anything anyway.

As I walked out of Cicely's Sandwich Shop, still fuming at the sandwich-stealing Hunter, my phone rang.

"Where are you?" Karen's nasally voice whined from the speaker.

"I was just getting lunch," I told her, trying to juggle everything I was holding. I knew if Karen was calling me, then my lunch was over before it had even begun.

"We need to prep for the meeting. You can't spend an entire hour at lunch."

"The line…" I tried to explain as I hurried back to the office.

"Mr. Thurlow wants to know where the notated preliminary custody document is," she said in an annoyed tone.

"I don't have it," I replied feeling panic rising in my chest. Karen was the worst supervisor ever. She purposefully tried to set me up to fail, and any mistake she made she blamed on me.

"You were supposed to do it," Karen said. I could almost see her sitting primly at her desk with a sour look on her pinched face.

"I was?" Karen had never sent me those documents to review, I was sure of it. "I'm on my way back now. I will send you everything when I'm back at my desk," I promised.

"You better. You're still on probation," she said and hung up.

I jogged down the street back to the office. My suit was uncomfortably tight from all the stress eating, and I had never been that great at walking in heels, let alone running in them. I was simultaneously trying to sip the gag-inducing smoothie and check the email app on my phone. The flowers given to me by Hunter, formerly Mr. Perfect and now known as Mr. Sandwich-Stealer, bounced in my bag.

My phone rang again, and in my stressed-out state, my hand jerked, sending the nasty kale-and-seaweed smoothie all over my suit.

I grinned to myself as I walked back to the Svensson & Svensson Law office.

The curvy brunette from the sandwich shop had been furious. What had she expected? It wasn't my fault. I took the road less traveled because it led to riches most people were too scared to grab. Rules were meant to be bent and oftentimes broken. Hence the peonies.

I had learned from the best, or perhaps the worst. Walter Holbrook had cheated me and my half brother out of our billion-dollar company. Oh, we had gotten a billion-dollar payout, but the company would have been worth far more than that.

Greg and I had moved on to bigger and better things, but I hadn’t moved past being screwed over. I was going to get Walter, and I had a plan. It required breaking some rules—and some peonies.

Danielle, Walter’s soon-to-be-ex-wife, was sitting in the office. She stood up when I walked in.

"Are those for me?" she purred, taking the flowers. For a mother of three, she had a great body. However, she was still older than my own now-deceased mother, so it was not as if I was looking to score. Still, rules needed to be bent, and Danielle was a key part of my plan.

"Of course. Only the best for our favorite client," I said, kissing her cheek.

"I'm probably your only high-profile client," she said, her hand lingering a bit too long on my waist.

My half brothers Josh and Eric came into the small hallway. "She's our high-profile client," Josh corrected. "The name of the firm is Svensson & Svensson, not Svensson, Svensson, & Svensson."

"I brought this case to you," I told my brothers. "You two need a high-profile win. Then your firm will take off, guaranteed."

"Well, we're not paying you," Eric said.

"Please," I snorted. "I'm here consulting. My only reward is to wipe the floor with Walter. Speaking of which." I gestured Danielle into the small glass-enclosed conference room.

"We have the discovery meeting at Harrington-Thurlow soon," Josh reminded me.

"This will only take a moment," I said, sliding the door closed.

Danielle looked at me coyly over the flowers. "These flowers can't be just because you wanted to surprise me." She liked to pretend to be the airhead trophy wife, but I saw a devious streak underneath.

"I think we both know that Walter is persona non grata right now," I told her. "While watching him lose everything in a divorce does give me great pleasure, it does not bring back my company."

She looked at me.

"I was wondering…" I said, leaning forward. Women seemed to like me, and I could usually convince them to bend a few rules in my favor.

"What do you need?" Her voice was a little husky. I knew my half brother, Greg, didn't want me dealing with Danielle, but I wasn't going to let Walter get away with what he'd done.

"Just a little information," I said carefully, "about some pharmaceutical companies and potential interests Holbrook Enterprises is exploring."

"Because of Svensson PharmaTech," Danielle said.

"Yes. We want to purchase another chemical company. I believe Holbrook Enterprises is going after that market sector. I know Walter has a list. I need the information."

"I love corporate sabotage," Danielle said. "You're James Bond, and I'll be your Pussy Galore." She smiled at me, her teeth sharp as a cat's.

"Corporate sabotage would be illegal," I said. "No, this is just a little karma."

"I could get behind a little karma. It's not a secret I hate my hopefully soon-to-be-ex-husband. I would walk away right now, except that I need the money," Danielle said. "I suppose he'll put it all in some trust and fight me for custody."

"I'm sure the judge will give you more than fifty-fifty."

She snorted. "I don't actually want to take care of the little brats. I just want the monthly check." She must have seen the shock on my face, because she backtracked. "Surely you understand, Hunter? I know you're responsible for all your younger brothers. Children can be so messy and annoying."

I would never say I didn't want to take care of my brothers. Sure, they could be obnoxious, but I never would think of them with such vitriol. I tried to keep the discomfort off of my face.

Danielle smiled. "Of course I can help, Hunter. You're not married to someone for years without picking up a few things. But, Hunter, you need to promise me that you'll make it worth my while." She traced the neckline of her low-cut blouse and licked her lips. "And I don't mean winning my divorce case."

"Anything for you," I promised.

Danielle reached out and lightly ran her nails down the side of my jaw. "You have a face I'd like to sit on."

I forced myself to keep the disgust off of my face. It was just business. "You should see the rest of me," I said with the best bedroom eyes I could muster.

***

We had arrived a little early at Harrington-Thurlow. Charles Thurlow was going to make us wait. I had worked for him for a few months right after I passed the bar. He liked to use old-school mob intimidation tactics. I had no patience for that. I preferred to be more underhanded.

If Charles was going to make us wait, I was going to eat my lunch. I hadn't had a chance to eat my sandwich, and I excused myself to hurry off to a hidden storage room near the fire stairs.

I opened the door, preparing to scarf the sandwich down in a few huge bites.

Except the room was already occupied. Looking up at me was the tear-stained face of the girl from the sandwich shop.

Crap, crap, crap! I ran into the office, the grainy smoothie dripping down my suit jacket.

Karen, ferret faced and beady eyed, swiveled around in her chair.

"Look who's late," she said as I dumped my stuff on my desk. "You have something green on your suit."

I hated open-office floor plans, if only for the fact that Karen sat right next to me and constantly looked over my shoulder, micromanaging me and picking apart everything I did.

"Is that your lunch on your shirt?" she sniffed.

Karen looked like a former C-list fashion model who was not just down on her luck but had spent all her money on alcohol and heroin cut with talcum powder. Her skin was sallow, and I could see the extensions she had through her thin hair.

"At least you tried to eat something healthy instead of the pasta and bread you usually eat," Karen said, turning back to her screen.

My genetics tended toward the bigger side. My people were bred to survive long, cold New York winters with nothing but a tarpaper shack for shelter and potatoes to eat. As such, I held onto the pounds, especially when I was stressed. And Karen stressed me out.

"Do I need to remind you that we have Walter Holbrook coming in for a meeting?" she said, mouth turned down. "A meeting that you were supposed to prepare for and haven’t."

"I can't find the email about the discovery documents," I told her.

"Of course you can't," she said in a snippy tone, her little rat teeth clacking together. "I'm forwarding you the email. We need this in the next thirty minutes. Also, I will be putting this in your file for reference when associate positions are handed out."

Sagging, I sat at my desk and looked through the document. I speed-read through it, making notes. My heart yammered as I typed, the adrenaline surge making my hands tremble. My brain kept shooting images of Mr. Thurlow firing me in front of everyone. Finally, I thought it was good enough and sent it to Karen.

I heard her send it to the printer. I fished a Tide pen out of my purse, cursing the peonies that mocked me.

"This is shoddy, terrible work," Karen said, coming over to my desk and frowning as she watched me trying to clean the green gunk off of my suit. "We can't use it."

"It's all I was able to do in the short time," I said, trying to explain.

Karen shook her head. "I guess we just won't use it for this meeting."

"I thought you said it was important!" I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. She always did this!

"I never said that. I said it would be nice to have," Karen said.

Karen always tried to find a way to make me miserable! She loved to act as if something was life or death when it was really trivial.

"The clients are going to be here any minute," Karen said, looking down her long nose at me. "You need to be in the meeting taking notes. Go clean yourself off. Harrington-Thurlow has a reputation to maintain."

I fled to the bathroom. Wetting a paper towel, I scrubbed at the green gunk on my suit. A gaggle of well-dressed associates came in, glossy hair swinging. They set down their high-end designer bags with the small logos that let you know they were expensive and looked at me in disgust.

Grabbing a handful of paper towels, I ran to a storage closet near the fire stairs. This was the secret room that few people in the office knew about. I think when the building was originally built way back when, it had been a telephone booth. Then, when telephones became small enough to fit on desks, the little room had fallen into disuse. One solitary light fixture that looked like something left over from the thirties flickered as I slumped down on the old bench.

Then the tears came.

Crying at work had become a regular occurrence for me. I clenched my teeth, trying to keep from sounding like a beached whale as I took off my suit jacket then the shirt to dab at the fabric with the paper towels.

The door opened, and I froze. I thought I was going to vomit. A man walked in, blinking in the low light, his teeth clenched around a sandwich.

It was my sandwich. I recognized it from the smell. Hunter the sandwich stealer, who had unfairly perfect teeth, looked at me in shock as the door swung shut behind him.

I started sobbing again. "That was my sandwich, and you took it!"

"Geez," Hunter said, taking the sandwich out of his mouth. "I'm sorry I took your sandwich." He came over to me and awkwardly patted my back. His hand was warm on my skin.

"Holy smokes! Where is your shirt?" He jumped up, his hand covering his eyes, and turned around to face the wall.

I looked down at myself. I was just in my bra and skirt. My stomach was not toned, and my face, already red from crying, ached with embarrassment.

"Sorry," I muttered, hurriedly shrugging on my blouse.

"I hope you weren't expecting anyone else," Hunter said in an amused tone. "Don't want to ruin some sort of workplace romance. Although, considering the grief you gave me today about breaking the rules, I should have known you had a kinky side."

"Don't… that's clearly not what was going on!" I said, jumping up to grab his arm. "You can't go spreading rumors like that."

He grinned at me. "I knew that would knock you out of your crying slump."

I glared at him, annoyed that it had actually worked. The overwhelmingly hopeless sadness was gone, replaced by irritation.

He held out the sandwich to me.

"I don't want your leftovers," I snapped, batting his hand away.

"It's not leftover, I just bought it. It's good! It will cheer you up. Harrington-Thurlow is horrible and attracts the worst type of people. I'm sure you aren't the first one to cry in here. And," he said thoughtfully, "you're probably not the only pretty girl to undress in here."

"I wasn't doing anything," I lowered my voice, "sexual."

He cocked an eyebrow and took a bite of the sandwich.

"I was trying to clean off the smoothie…"

"You bought one of those nasty smoothies?" he said after swallowing. "Why would you do that when you could have had the most amazing sandwich ever created?"

I could smell the amazing sandwich tempting me. I ignored it.

"You took the last one," I hissed at him.

"I'm sorry. I guess I should have given you all of my peonies then. That would make up for it."

My face burned. "It's pronounced pee-OWN-ies, not PEE-nies."

He smirked. "You said penis."

"Oh, I did not—I can't even—"

"You know, if all you wanted was my penis, you could have just asked. You didn't have to go through this elaborate undressing ruse." He waved the hand with the sandwich, trailing the smell of the pesto aioli.

I couldn’t take it anymore, and I snatched the sandwich out of his hand and stuffed a corner of it into my mouth. I would have to rebuild my pride later.

"Feel better?" Hunter said with a grin. I nodded. He reached for the sandwich. I jerked it away and took another huge bite. I'm sure I looked horribly unattractive with my cheeks bulging, but I had been looking forward to this sandwich. I needed this sandwich. Hunter had stolen it from me once today, and that wasn't happening again.

Hunter pulled out a bag of chips from his coat pocket and crunched them as he watched me eat. I tried to ignore him. He made it impossible.

"You know," he said, "I think that's the longest sandwich I've ever seen a girl eat that fast."

I studiously ignored him as I put the last bite in my mouth.

"And she swallowed!" he said. "Bravo!"

"You suck," I said, reaching out to shove him. He grabbed my hand with one of his larger ones, inspected it, then licked it. I shivered from the sensation of his tongue on my skin.

"You had some pesto aioli left," he said. His voice seemed to have lowered an octave. "Can't waste that. It's gold."

Hunter checked his watch. I noticed it was a Patek Philippe, not some gaudy Rolex. Another check in the perfect boyfriend column. It was too bad he was a line-cutting sandwich stealer.

"What are you here for?" I asked him as I put on my suit jacket.

"I'm representing Danielle Holbrook in her divorce from her husband," he said, balling up the chip bag and sandwich wrapper.

And it was too bad we were on opposing sides.

Imagine my surprise when the crying girl walked into the conference room, laptop in hand. So we were on opposing sides. I smirked in her direction. She turned red and looked down at her screen.

Another woman with a pinched face came in with Charles Thurlow. She did an honest-to-goodness batting of her eyelashes at me.

This is one of the associates, Karen, and this is our intern, Meghan," Charles said after shaking my hand. I was going to make a snide comment about Harrington-Thurlow relying on low-paid labor, but then Walter Holbrook walked into the conference room.

"Walter," I said.

"Hunter."

I couldn't believe this had happened. I had thought of Walter as a sort of father figure. That was, until he stole Greg's and my company out from under us. Then I understood: the only rule was that rules were meant to be broken. There was no such thing as loyalty in the corporate world.

The meeting was tense. Meg never looked up from her laptop the entire time, just furiously typed as we went back and forth about money and shell companies and child support.

"I think we're going to be seeing more of each other," I said to Meg after the meeting ended.

"Yes, unfortunately," she replied.

"Hi, I'm Karen," the pinched-face woman said, butting in as Meg scooted around her.

"Hunter Svensson."

"Your reputation precedes you," she said, shaking my hand. She had a weak handshake, and I felt as if I was only shaking three of her fingers.

"I hope it's only good things!" I didn't think the joke was that funny, but Karen shrieked in laughter.

I turned to look for Meg, but she had already fled to her desk.

***

"That went well," Josh said when we walked outside into the cold.

"My husband is a boor," Danielle replied, tapping at her phone.

"I can't wait to wipe the floor with him," I said, looking back up at the building and wondering when I would see Meg again.

Greg was waiting in the office when we returned.

"You can't just come into our office whenever you want!" Eric complained.

"Yes, actually, I can," Greg said in a clipped tone. "This is my building, and I'm allowing you to stay here for free."

"Don't act so high and mighty!" Josh said as he took off his coat. "You only let us have two little offices and a conference room. There isn't even a kitchen."

"What do you need a kitchen for? You don’t even have any clients," Greg scoffed.

"Yes we do!"

"Speaking of which," Greg said, holding up a hand to silence Eric. "How did it go?"

I shrugged. "It's the beginning of a long, drawn-out process."

"Can they handle it?" Greg asked me.

"I'll be here with them," I replied.

"You can't just hang around," Greg said with a scowl. "You'll set a bad precedent."

"I spent the last decade and a half taking care of all of you and building a company and a vast amount of wealth," I told him, unwinding my scarf.

"A company you lost and wealth I now manage," my half brother countered.

"What is this about?" I said coldly. I didn't have much patience for Greg.

"Mace called. The nanny quit."

I swore.

"I convinced Maria to come have dinner with us tonight so we could talk about it. I was hoping you could give her the Hunter Svensson star treatment, as it were, to convince her to stay on as the nanny."

Since dinner and begging weren’t until later, I went over the Holbrook divorce case with Josh and Eric to make sure they understood the timeline for filing the various documents. Then I went up to the Svensson Investment offices for a meeting Greg had scheduled about another project. Our brother Liam and his roommate Jack wanted more money for their engineering company, Platinum Provisions. After Greg and I grilled them on their business plan, we approved them for another round of capital.

Then I went out to buy flowers. Maria seemed like the type to soften up when presented with a nice bouquet.

"Buying for your girlfriend?" the saleswoman asked.

My thoughts went to Meg for some reason. I shook them off.

"No," I said, "it's just business."

"Well, not roses then," the saleswoman said. "What about these peonies?" I thought of Meg again, remembering the look of barely disguised desire on her face when she’d turned around to stare at me in line.

"No," I said. "No, maybe the chrysanthemums."

I didn't need to go back to the office before the dinner and opted to go to my apartment instead. As I walked down a side street, I heard the unmistakable sound of sobbing.

In New York City, it was inevitable that people cried on the street. Usually I ignored it. Either it was a junkie who had sniffed the wrong stuff or it was someone embarrassed that things had become so bad that they were crying on a public street and would prefer that you pretend to not see them.

As I walked in the direction of the sobbing, I inadvertently looked over.

"Meg?"

"Why are you always here?" she said, her voice raw.

"Why are you always crying?" I countered as I approached her.

"My life is a disaster," she choked out.

"It can't be all bad. You still have all your limbs."

She looked up at me, her eyes red. I couldn't help myself, and I reached out and wiped the tears off of her face. She looked distressed, and she flinched when I touched her.

"Did someone hurt you?" I snarled. She shrank away from the anger in my face.

"No, no," she said. "My car was booted. I had to serve someone with papers. I was just going to park and be right back, but then I couldn't find the right apartment and then the doorman was having trouble convincing the guy to come downstairs. Now my car is booted. They left a note. I have to pay five hundred dollars. I can't afford that!"

She covered her face with her hands and started sobbing again. I gently pulled her against my chest and stroked her hair as I read the little slip of yellow paper.

"Look, I'm going to fix this," I told Meg, tilting up her face. "This company," I pointed to the Hurbo Wheeelies logo, "is a scab on mankind and the great city of New York. They are scum, and if I wasn’t so busy I'd sue them out of existence. But for now, we're going to free your car."

"How?" she said, following me as I walked around the vehicle.

"They booted both wheels. Smart. That means we can't just swap out the tires," I said.

"Maybe I should just pay the fine," Meg said, digging in her purse. "Maybe they'll split it across three credit cards."

"I won't allow you to give them a cent."

"I don't need your help," she said, blowing her nose. I was sure she meant it to be intimidating, but I just found it adorable.

"Of course you do," I said.

"I don't want your money," she said, glaring at me.

"I wasn't going to pay these crooks," I said, shocked. "They just run around randomly booting people and ruining their lives. No, I have a better plan."

"What is it?" she asked dubiously.

"I'm calling in reinforcements."