âHe looks so much like Bobby. Dulce, give him an extra thousand!â
Standing at the clubâs entrance, Bobbyâs expression was unreadable. Heâd thought Fannie was a goody-two-shoes. It turned out she was just good at putting on an act.
Then again, who was he to judge? His own life was a parade of flaws.
Dulce shook Fannie, whispering urgently, âFannie! Oh my god, thatâs actually Bobby! Wake up!â
Fannie sat up quickly, her cheeks flushing a deep pink. Just moments before, Dulce had been criticizing Bobby, but now she seemed determined to create a moment for her best friend.
âCome on, everyone, letâs head to the next room.â
As soon as they left, the room fell into silence. Only the strains of background music lingered.
âWise men say only fools rush in. But I canât help falling in love with youâ¦â
Bobby raised an eyebrow, glancing over at her with a hint of amusement.
Fannieâs face grew even hotter. Trying to shake off the tension, she grabbed the remote to stop the song, but in her flustered haste, she accidentally fast-forwarded it, making the lyrics skip ahead.
âOh shall I stay, would it be a sin? If I canât help falling in love with youâ¦â
She let out a small, embarrassed cough as she fumbled again with the remote, finally managing to pause the music.
The sudden quiet felt even heavier.
Bobby settled beside her on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other casually, his arm draped along the backrest. From the reflection on the opposite wall, it almost seemed as if he were leaning closer to her, about to share a secret.
âYou did say youâd cover the car damages, didnât you?â
Fannie nodded slowly and nervously, making sure she hadnât misheard before daring to respond, âYes, I alreadyââ
âThirty million dollars,â Bobby interrupted.
âYou can pay up.â
âWhat?â Fannie widened her eyes, leaning in closer to make sure she wasnât seeing things.
Was this really Bobby? Could someone be pretending to be him just to pull a fast one on her? âThat much?â
Bobby appeared far calmer than heâd been during the day, his face unreadable.
âIâm not asking for a penny more than whatâs fair. I confirmed it with the repair shop. The paint I need has to be imported from abroad. Do you have any idea how much time and money your little pebble has cost me?â
Fannie blinked, momentarily taken in by Bobbyâs words.
Bobby watched her, waiting for her to negotiate. The thirty million was an exaggeration, of course, but he figured starting high might push her to cover more of the actual cost.
Instead, Fannie asked cautiously, âSo if I manage to find the original factory paint, would that be enough?â
Bobby let out a scoff, amused.
.
.
.