Amara's POV
Theodore and I grabbed some food before swinging by Dominic's print shop, managing to squeeze it in just before class started.
A "Closed" sign mocked me from the door.
I was ready to leave when Dominic yanked the door open from inside.
Same as always—he wore all black, his platinum hair catching the light, that face designed to turn heads.
The guy just stood there, soaking up attention like he lived for it.
I walked over. "Where's my stuff?"
Dominic leaned against the doorframe, flashing me that cocky grin. "Easy there, come inside first."
I didn't think twice and stepped in.
"Right there." He nodded toward printed papers stacked on the counter. "Your copies. Eighty-three and change. I'll cut you a break—make it eighty."
I stayed quiet, pulled out my wallet, and handed over the cash.
Silence filled the shop.
Finally, Dominic cracked. "Seriously? Not even curious why I'm running this place?"
I glanced up. "Your business, your choice."
