Chapter 8

Harper's POV

Behind me, I hear the floor creak.

“It’s been two months,” Mark says, his voice light but already lined with judgment. He perches on the edge of the desk, arms crossed. “How much are you going to sell this one for?”

I don’t want to answer, not really, but I make myself speak. “I don’t know. Five or six hundred, maybe.”

He raises his eyebrows like I’ve just suggested selling lint wrapped in ribbon. “For two months of work?”

I chew my lip and try not to flinch. “It’s not like I worked on it full-time. Maybe an hour or two a day. That’s around sixty hours, give or take.”

“Sixty hours wasted,” he says, his tone sharper now, “when you could’ve been doing something that actually earns money.”

My eyes drift back to