Taming the varsity player
He looked back up, his expression turning cold and elite.
"Well, your rogue tool just cost about six grand in custom bodywork," Mike said carelessly, as if six grand was pocket change. He tilted his head, eyes locked onto mine. "So, what's the play here? You got a platinum card hiding in that giant hoodie, or do I need to call the owner of this place and have them handle your paycheck?"
No. No, no, no. If he called Mrs. Gable, I was ruined. I’d be blacklisted from every side hustle in this small town.