Claire's eyes flicked down to the envelope in his hand.
It was thin. Plain. Unremarkable. The kind of generic manila envelope you could buy in a pack of fifty from any campus stationery shop. Whatever was inside clearly wasn't heavy, wasn't bulky, and, based on the packaging, almost certainly wasn't expensive.
'Great. Another one who can't even spring for decent wrapping.'
"Look," she said, not unkindly, "Sophie gets gifts every single day that are worth more than most people's monthly rent. Designer bags. Imported jewelry. Custom pieces. She turns down all of them. Every last one." She tilted her head slightly. "Whatever's in that envelope, and I'm guessing it's not much, she's not going to accept it. I'm saving you the embarrassment."
"Give it to Sophie," Stan said again, his voice patient but unmovable. "She'll accept this one. I guarantee it."
There was something in his tone, not arrogance, exactly, but a quiet, absolute certainty, that made Claire hesitate.
