She’s working herself to death at half a dozen dead-end jobs for some secret reason. And I’m going to fix it all. Don’t accuse me of caring. She’s nothing more than a puzzle to be solved. If I can get her to quit, I can finally peel away all those layers. Then I can go back to salvaging the family name and forget all about the dancing, beer-slinging brunette.
Ally:
Ha. Hold my beer, Grumpy Grump Face.
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