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... its money. If ever there was a competition between me and a tortoise. Heck, I was winning the race.

Mia's sharp glares bored into my back, like daggers trying to pierce through my soul. She kept it up for a while, waiting for me to pick up the pace. When it became obvious I wouldn't, she let out an exasperated sigh, puffed out her chest in resignation, and reluctantly matched my slow stride, irritation written all over her face.

I leaned in closer and whispered, "Did you get any ...

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