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“We shouldn’t get involved in any way, except for the Gloria thing.”
“Agreed.”
Kris frowned, a little irritated by Nate’s quick, casual reply. “Okay.” She cleared her throat again. “Okay.”
Damn. She’d already said that, hadn’t she?
More walking. More silence.
She supposed she could leave now that Skylar was gone, but she was strangely reluctant to do so.
I could use more fresh air,Kris told herself. And the pier was nice at night if you overlooked the hordes of badly dressed tourists.
“I never figured you for the punk rock type,” Nate said.
Her brow knitted in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“Elijah.” Still with that casual tone of his. “Didn’t think you’d be into the blue hair and facial piercings.”
Dear God, not this again.She was too tired to get into another argument.
“I’m not.” Kris had nothing against unnatural hair colors or piercings per se, but she wasn’t attracted to Blue Hair—er, Elijah—in the least.
“You gave him your number.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I wanted his help with an event I’m planning,” she said coolly. “He said his band might be up for a free gig.”
If she weren’t so annoyed, she would’ve laughed at the stunned look on Nate’s face.
“Oh.” He coughed. “That’s…he didn’t tell me that.”
“That’s on him.” Kris wasn’t an idiot—she could tell Elijah was attracted to her, but it wasn’t like the guy was in love or anything. He probably hit on every decent-looking female who walked into Alchemy. “But like I said, it’s none of your business. We’re not actually dating.”
She was tired of saying that, but she hoped repeating it would drill the sentiment into Nate’s—and her own—head.
“Right.” This time, Nate was the one who frowned. “My bank account isn’t big enough for that.”
Kris wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”
“I imagine you only go for the Richie Riches.” His jaw flexed. “Which I get. Parity in net worths and all that.”
For the umpteenth time that day, her temper flared. “Is that what you think of me? That I would date someone based on how much money they had?”
He cut a glance in her direction. “I don’t know, you tell me. How many of your exes came from a non-upper-class background?”
Kris opened her mouth, but no rebuttal came forth.
Shit. He was right. She didn’t date much, but all her ex-boyfriends—hell, all her ex-hookups—belonged in the trust fund category.
It was funny. She had no problem being a snob about clothes and cars, but distilling a person down to their net worth felt gross.
“My exes and I ran in the same social circles,” she said, sounding defensive to her own ears. “I didn’t date thembecausethey’re rich. It just…happened that way.”
“Sure.”
Kris’s lips thinned. “Look, I don’t know what hang-ups you have about money—”
“I don’t have hang-ups about money—.”
