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... thousand dollars?" I repeated, staring at the blinking billboard above the tiny commercial ring. The neon lights buzzed like dying flies. "Marcus, that’s all they can pay?"
"Xena, I pushed, okay?" His sigh came sharp through the phone. "They said three’s the ceiling, take it or leave it. You want exposure, right?"
"I need the money for surgery, not exposure," I bit out, pacing the cracked pavement.
He interrupted before I could go on. "Yes, for your nanny. I know."
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