THIS CAT DOES not love me. In fact, I'm pretty sure this cat hates me.

     I sit on the countertop, swinging my legs as I hold my stare with the green eyes that have been relentlessly scrutinizing me for the past couple of days. Cold vanilla melts on my tongue as I narrow my gaze, hoping to evoke some sort of reaction from the cat, but nothing. Its expression never changes. Just pure, unadulterated contempt, as if I'm some vermin that's scrambled in from the outside. As if I should dare soil its gracious presence.

     Quite frankly, this cat can fuck off.

     "You're a cat. You don't get to judge me. You're basically a freeloader."

     Nothing.

     "And I worked on my resume today anyways. I'm going to get all of the jobs- watch me. I'm actually doing things. I'm not a freeloader."

     Still nothing.

     "Okay, so, I only changed one sentence, but the first step is the most important step. I opened it up on my computer. It's still there. It's only three. I've got the entire day."

     Absolutely nothing.

     "Oh, so you think 'cause you're one of those fancy cat breeds that has leopard spots that you're better than me? You're a cat. I'm a person. I'm above you."

     Nothing.

     "Fuck you."

     Huffing, I jump off the counter, carefully cradling the tub of ice cream in my arms. For someone who barely sweeps through his own condo, Mark keeps the fridge surprisingly well-stocked. I'd barely left these walls in days.

     Maybe a little too much indulgence, if the cat's judgement is anything to go by.

     When my feet hit the tiled floor, the cat pads away to the opposite side of the room, maintaining the careful five-meter distance it's had since I got here. Which is all right with me, considering when I'd first arrived and tried to scoop dear Cleo up into my arms, the cat had done its best job to claw my eyes out.

     Lessons have been learned.

     I almost flip the cat off, and then realize that along with my little vacation, I'd barely made any human-to-human contact in a while, and that maybe I should do that, so at least I stopped looking to the cat for conversation.

     I had gotten some headway on my book, not that anyone cared.

     Stretching, I admit that I should probably do at least some of the job hunting I'd been constantly reassuring both Mark and Nat I'd been totally doing, and how dare they, I have definitely not been watching reality TV show re-runs all day.

     Just as the thought crosses my mind, the doorbell resonates through the air, and I freeze.

     Mark and Nat are both at some wedding cake tasting across town. For a moment I think it might be Alexei, Mark's old roommate, but he'd moved everything out weeks ago. I'm definitely not expecting any visitors.

     The ending notes of the chime hang in the air for a moment as I look to the cat, who has made herself comfortable on the back of the couch. Our eyes meet. I blink.

     "Are you gonna get that?"

     Again, all the cat answers with is a glare.

     I nod, sighing. "Right, yeah, I probably should do that. Expecting any deliveries? Doing a little late night shopping on Evil Cats 'R' Us?"

     The cat does not appreciate my joke.

     As I tread my way to the door, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My dark hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and there are remnants of mascara from when I tried to convince myself I'd actually be productive this morning. Wearing only some flimsy pajama shorts and an off-white t-shirt, that may or may not have some Cheeto dust near the bottom, I pause, wondering if this could be a problem.

     Then I convince myself it's probably just some poor delivery boy that got lost and it'll be fine. Delivery boys have probably seen way worse.

     When another knock sounds, I take another step, but just as I reach out for the doorknob, it jiggles. My eyes widen and dart around, looking for something to defend myself with.

     I find only a spoon and the cat.

     I'll probably just throw the cat.

     As I gingerly take another step back, breath hitched in my throat, the door swings open.

      It is not a delivery boy.

     Instead, it's a man. His coffee dark eyes look down to meet mine, but I'm more focused on his sharp, tanned jawline, shaded with stubble, and those thick-rimmed glasses that seem to ignite every stupid tutor-student fantasy I've ever had. I swallow. The dress shirt he's wearing looks like it's never seen the threat of a wrinkle a day in its life.

     Suddenly I'm very aware that the Cheeto dust is posing a much bigger problem.

     He doesn't look like he wants to murder me, but as his narrowed gaze lands on me, I kind of feel like dying.

     "Who're you?" he asks, thick brows knitted.

     It takes everything inside of me not to run and slam the door shut in his face.

     "Um, who are you?" I throw back, but it sounds too small, and I clear my throat after. "Can I help you?"

      "Where's Mark?"

     His intense gaze burns into mine, and I almost take a step back.

     "Uh, Mark's not here," I offer lamely. "Sorry, would you like me to relay a message?"

      The mystery man takes a moment to size me up, dark eyes rolling over my skin in a way that causes a fierce burning to crawl up my neck. I don't delude myself into thinking his curiosity is anything other than purely out of confusion, marked by the frown curved on his face. Still, I duck my head.

     "What're you doing here?"

     I take a deep breath, desperately trying to fight off a blush. "Right, yeah, sorry, actually um, so Mark and I are-"

     "Mark and you?" he interrupts, brow arched.

     I nod. "Yeah, Mark and I-"

     Suddenly he's brushing by me, ignoring my half-human noises of protest. For a moment I'm trying to make sense of what the actual hell is happening, but figure at least if I'm murdered I'll never have to pay back Nat that fifty bucks I owe her.

     "Sorry, excuse me, how rude of me not to invite you in," I murmur, mostly to myself.

     He doesn't seem to care as he paces in the living room with a thoughtful grip on his chin. I wonder if I should offer him a drink or something, but then figure I don't really need to cater to a crazy person.

     A good looking crazy person, but incapable of having a normal conversation nonetheless.

     I look to the cat for help, but she's also totally ignoring me.

     Worst guard cat ever.

     Sighing in defeat, I slowly shut the door, turning to the new guest who's still pacing. "Sorry, can I help you? Like I said, Mark's not here, I'm not sure what you want me to do?"

     He pauses at my voice, arms folded over his chest, still frowning. I sheepishly scratch the back of my head, unsure what to do with my hands.

     "You need to leave."

     I blink. "I'm sorry, what?"

     He sighs, exasperated, running a hand through his dark hair. "I can't believe Mark would do this to Natalya. But- it doesn't matter now, you need to leave. Immediately. Get out."

     I blink again, still confused, and a little off-put now. "Um... no?"

     His eyes narrow as if he's surprised by my opposition. "You need to go," he says, matter-of-factly. "I can't believe he just let's you walk around here- God, he's so stupid. What if- either way, you need to leave. I'm serious. Go."

     I bristle instinctively at being referred to like some untrained dog. "Listen, bud, I don't know who you are, but I have express permission from Mark to stay here, so let's calm down with your tone there. Maybe you should be the one to go, since you're the one that barged in here."

     I poise a hand on my hip to try and look the smallest bit more intimidating in booty shorts. I almost want to throw some z-snaps his way, but then realize that middle school tactics might not work effectively against angry men in suits.

     "You need to go," he repeats, again.

     I shrug, mocking. "Well, I think you should go, so looks like we're at a stalemate, aren't we?"

     I may be a freeloader, but I'm housebroken.

     There's a beat of silence when his frown deepens, as if he could somehow look even more unimpressed with my existence. "I don't care about what he said, you need to be out. Now."

     "I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm not-"

     "How much?"

     I pause, taken aback. "Wait- what? How much what?"

     He sighs, as if I'm the one that's trying his patience, and reaches for a wallet in his back pocket. I watch with wide, curious eyes as he flips it open, thumbing through it. "Five grand? Is that enough?"

     I tilt my head to the side. "Sorry- are you offering me five grand to leave?" I can't remember the last time my bank account even hit four digits.

     He hesitates, cocking a pretentious brow in my direction. "Is that how to talk to you people?"

     "You people?"

     "Ten grand, then? Will that get you to leave?"

     He pins me down with a dry look, pulling out a blank cheque and waving it in front of me.

     There's a quick moment where I want to gape, indignant and tell him to less than politely fuck off, but then the numbers are still adding up in my mind and suddenly little dollar signs with wings are chirping before my eyes

     I can't remember the last time I had more than a couple grand to my name, let alone ten. My mind wanders to the student debt still hanging over me, and my next-to-homeless living situation, and my recent unemployment, and any real dignity I had probably escaped the moment I made out with a taxi cab driver anyway.

     Nat would understand. I'll buy her a nice purse and she'll be fine.

     I clear my throat, squaring my shoulders and nodding, hoping to look as professional as possible in pajamas. "That's right- and I'm not taking anything less than ten grand. I am a woman of principle."

     I am once again reminded of the Cheeto dust.

     Something like Natalya's voice or a conscious is scolding me for scamming money from probably one of the wealthy guys that Mark plays golf with or poker with or whatever it is that rich guys do. Maybe I could, well, not.

     But judging by the freshly polished Italian shoes, sleek leather wallet, and his tendency to just throw money at problems he's created in his own mind, it doesn't seem like he's hurting for cash. And for ten thousand dollars, I would happily end my freeloader life.

     Everyone wins.

     I can already picture myself throwing bills in the air, dancing around with my wads of cash like some low-budget off-label music video. I'm personally going to take pictures and send them to Nikki. That's what she gets for kicking me out.

     "And how do you spell your name?"

     My fantasy is broken by the mystery man, who's name I still have no idea. He's leaning over the kitchen counter, pen in hand, blank cheque ready, looking up at me with impatience. I beam.

     "That would be Victoria, yeah, just like that, and then Phan, P-H-A-N, great, awesome." I'm leaning over his shoulder, a little too close it seems from the quick look of annoyance he throws me, but my greedy eyes are too busy watching him write more and more zeros on the line.

     I can't wait to shove this cheque in that stupid cat's face.

     "So you're going to leave, right? And never come back- I'm serious. This is a onetime fee, and I won't let it cash if I see you again," he says, holding the cheque towards me with skepticism drowning in his eyes. "I never want to see you again."

     I beam back, quickly nodding my head and snatching the cheque from his hands. "Gone, forever, poof! You'll never see me again! Pleasure doing business with you!"

    I reach out a hand, and he looks at it with narrowed eyes, mouth pressed into a thin line. I don't even care. I'm rich.

     "Noel?"

     As a new voice tears through the room, I jump, a little noise of shock escaping me. Mark stands in the doorway, confusion on his face. His eyes bounce from me to the man to me again, narrowing slightly.

     "Mark!" I chirp, grinning sheepishly and quickly hiding the cheque behind my back. "What are you- uh, what's going on? Why're you here?"

     "Nat forgot her wedding planner here, so I came back to get it," he explains slowly, eyeing me with suspicion. "What are you guys doing?"

     The man, who I'm assuming is Noel, sighs next to me. "Don't worry, Mark. I took care of it for you."

     "Yeah!" I agree a little too quick, eyes darting behind Mark to where I'd left my shoes. "Noel took care of it, so I'll just be on my way! Don't mind me."

     With my hands still behind my back, I stealthily meander my way towards the door, the grin still frozen on my face. I realize that early spring weather isn't exactly booty short appropriate, but I'll freeze for ten thousand dollars. I can buy myself new pants. All I know is that I need to leave, judging by how Mark keeps looking at me, arms crossed over his chest.

     Just as I brush by him and can taste freedom on my tongue, he plucks the cheque from behind me, and I jump.

     "Mark!"

     My eyes widen and zero in on the money, my future, held in his hands. The raining dollar bills dream. My breath catches at the back of my throat, and as I go to snatch it back, desperate, he holds it closer to him.

    "What's this?" he asks, amusement reflected in his light eyes as he holds it above his head. "Is this a cheque?"

    "Don't worry, Mark. Like I said, I took care of it for you. Let her go," Noel says, arms crossed over his chest, face still characteristically unimpressed.

    "Yeah, Mark!" I huff as I jump and reach in vain for the cheque that's just inches from my grasp. I silently curse my height, or lack thereof. "He took care of it! Just! Give! It! To! Me!"

     Mark smirks down at me.

     Damn these tall men.

     Still holding it above his head, Mark looks up, lips parting in shock. "Ten thousand dollars? Are you serious?"

     Noel sighs, laced with exasperation, now seemingly annoyed with both of us.

     I reckon he must be fun at parties.

     "Mark- just let it go. I don't know what's going on between you and Nat, but you shouldn't succumb to this. I took care of it, so just let her go." Noel's still wearing this troubled look, as if he's some saint surrounded by idiots. I almost take offense to the way he refers to me as this, but I'm too busy trying to quickly grab my rightfully earned future from Mark.

    "You think we're sleeping together?" Mark asks, way too amused for his own good.

     My mouth twists into a scowl, and I point a threatening finger at him. "I swear to God, Mark, shut up and give me that cheque or so help me I will not stop sleeping with you," I murmur through clenched teeth, narrowing my eyes in a way that I hope reads as intimidating.

     "Noel, I'm not sleeping with her."

     Noel blinks, a wash of confusion over his face. "What?"

     "He's lying!" I quickly burst out, flailing my arms in front of Mark. "He's lying to you! He's covering it up! We bang all the time!" I can't help the panic that bleeds into my voice, growing thicker as Noel's brows crinkle in thought.

     Mark snorts, gently pushing my arms away. "You haven't met her yet, but this is Nat's best friend. She's just staying here while she gets back on her feet. Vika, this is Noel. Cleo is his, and he's gonna be my best man. Noel, this is Nat's maid of honour."

     As Mark makes the introductions with a grin and sweeping arm gestures, I can see Noel's bewilderment quickly morph into a look of stone. I swallow, my eyes quickly flickering to the cheque still in Mark's hand. A myriad of decisions flash before my eyes.

     Swiftly, I reach to grab the cheque from Mark's grasp, but he's quicker. With a disapproving look in my direction, he rips the paper in half, and then again, and again, until it falls in confetti to the tiled floor.

     "No!" I wail, dropping to my knees and scrambling to pick up all the little pieces. "Mark! Why? Why would you do this!?"

     Mark raises his brows at me, and even still, there's a sympathy reflected in his blue-green eyes. "C'mon, I can't let you steal ten grand from one of my best friends."

     "Why not?" I moan up at him. "It's not stealing if he's just throwing it at me! Is it my fault? Really?"

     Mark nods, a small smile on his face. "Yeah, I think it is."

     With a pout, I lift to my feet again, sparing a longing glance at my murdered future. I never understood Mark's inane need to always do the right thing. Especially when it conflicted with my need of getting ten thousand dollars.

      My eyes meet with Noel's, who's frowning again, a frequent occurrence if this experience is anything to go by. It's a shame with how well defined his jawline is that all he does is look like the world is constantly ending.

     His gaze narrows. "I don't like to be made a fool of."

     I shrug. "I don't like not getting ten thousand dollars. Looks like today isn't going well for anyone, buddy."

     With one last sigh, I look to the shredded cheque. My best friend's face flickers through my mind.

     "Hey Mark, you're not gonna tell Nat about this, right?"