Emma

“Thank you,” I smile.

Tag sits across his large wooden desk from me, a small smile upon his face. I appreciate the time and patience he shared with me. I now know in great detail my finances.

I am numb; no eighteen-one-year-old should possess such wealth. Money is not important to me. Of course, only those with money say this.

“Now, what should we do about dinner?” Tag asks, steepling his hands in front of his chin, drawing my attention to his full ...