Okay, I'm not going to lie: I'm very upset that in two weeks I only got three reviews. I mean, come on, I asked for 5. That's it! I don't think it's that hard. Do you guys not like my story?

To those of you who did review: thank you! Especially to the anonymous review I received: I have no idea who you are, but your review was really meaningful and helpful!

Please keep the reviews coming! I really do need motivation, especially now: I have finals soon :o

Anyways, here is the next chapter. As always, I do not own TMI.

Edit 8/6: small changes

The apartment I walk into is unsettlingly calm. I enter to find my father, mother, and Luke, the neighbor who introduced himself a few days ago, seated around the kitchen table. "Is everything all right?" I ask cautiously as I enter the room. Nobody answers right away; instead, they sit in tense silence. My father stares at my mother in bewilderment and longing; she looks at Luke with a silent plea, and Luke stares at my father as if his eyes will bore holes through him. I turn to Luke. "No offense or anything, but why are you in our house at quarter to midnight?"

"Well if you had been here, as I asked you to be," my father spits, his words cold and hard but carefully masking the full wrath of his anger, "you would know exactly what Luke is doing here."

I roll my eyes. "Well I was out looking for Mom. So seeing as I wasn't here, would somebody care to explain what is going on and why you all look like you're hiding something?"

Once again, silence envelops the kitchen. I am about to retreat to my room – I have enough to think about after the encounter I just had – but Luke's voice stops me. In contrast to my father's cruel, angry words, his are calmer, more comfortable. "It's my fault for all of this; I'm sorry. Your mother's been in my apartment the whole time. I came home for a late lunch today around 2:30 and heard your mother here, so I stopped by to ask if she'd like to have lunch with me, since I never got to meet her. We went back to my apartment, and we just got to talking. She said you wouldn't mind if she was gone for a little while, and she wanted some company while she was alone. I should have come by, though, to let you know what was going on. I'm sorry."

I sigh, relieved my mother was never in any danger. "Well, that's good, then," I say, directing the majority of my words to my father. "It was all just a misunderstanding. Right?"

My father nods, his eyes still locked on Luke. "Yes. Of course," he says, voice as cold as ever. "Just a misunderstanding."

Something is off here. My father is not a kind man, but he knows how to put on a show. Furrowing my brow, I nod and slink off to my room, too tired and confused to do anything but collapse into my suddenly very welcoming bed.

"Clary? Clary! Are you even listening?" My teacher's words shock me from my reminiscence. "What is wrong with this drawing?"

"What?" I sputter, racking my brain to figure out what Hodge has been talking about. "Oh, um…" I study the simple drawing at the front of the room. "It seems to be shaded weirdly. Like, I get what's supposed to be going on, but everything just seems off. And the light should be coming from the other side."

"Exactly," Hodge compliments, turning his attention to another student, I breathe a sigh of relief, glad the question was a relatively easy one, before I return to my thoughts. I still have no idea why my father was acting so weird last night. Speaking of things that confuse me, my mind drifts to Jace. How should I act around him? Does he want to pretend he didn't tell me anything yesterday? How do I prove to him that there's nothing going on with my father? I need to apologize for snapping at him yesterday, but I know that if I do that, he will ask about my eye. And I can't deal with that, not yet. Not until I have decided what I'm going to tell him. I've avoided him so far today, and if I can get through the last three hours of school without seeing him, I'll be free until Monday. I hope.

Isabelle's tap on my shoulder draws me from my thoughts once again. I turn to face her. "Maia's sleeping over at my house tonight. And so are you," she whispers. "We need to talk about stuff: plan for Jordan's Halloween party and Sebastian's end of the soccer season party. So this isn't optional."

I just stare at her. After avoiding Jace all day, it's going to come down to this? I'll have to face him tonight in his own house? "Iz, come on," I protest, "I have to work, you know that."

"Yeah, you had to work last Friday, too, I know. But you won't be working all night. We'll pick you up afterwards again."

"Izzy, I-"

"Jace won't be there, if that's what you're worried about." I relax a little at her words, but I remain impassive. I don't want Izzy to think that I care about him. "I know you've got a pretty weird relationship. Seriously, it's ridiculous. You guys should just hook up already and get it out of your systems. The sexual tension in the air around you two is sickening."

My jaw drops open. "Izzy! That's-"

"Exactly what you were worried about. I know, I know," she waves off my protests, smirking as she does so. "But do you really think we'd talk about such important issues with the likes of Jace around? He can't take anything seriously. And besides, it's girl talk. He has a soccer tournament: the whole team is going to Connecticut for the weekend. He won't be back until Sunday night. I'll be waiting for you after work at 7:45. And no complaining. You can borrow some of my stuff if you don't have anything with you."

I open my mouth to protest, but the bell rings before I can do so and Izzy shoots out of her seat, disappearing before I can complain again. Great, another thing to worry about.

Jonathan is on the phone when I get to work that afternoon, so I retreat to my desk without acknowledging him. He notices me, though, and his eyes follow me as I pass by him and sit down. A chill runs up my spine when he doesn't take his eyes off me. The moment he finishes his phone call, I have no doubt he will come over to talk to me, but I try to keep my mind focused on other things by diving into the papers on my desk.

The papers hold information on several cases Jonathan is working on, and I begin to sort them by case and date. I manage to sort about a third of the pile before I hear Jonathan's chair scrape against the floor as he stands. His footsteps become louder as he approaches, and I tense when his long, slender fingers wrap around the back of my chair. His breath tickles the back of my neck as he peers over my shoulder at my work.

"You didn't greet me when you came in earlier," he states, his voice flat and void of emotion. I try not to shrink away from him. "I don't like to be ignored."

"You were on the phone, I didn't want to interrupt," I reply without looking up from my work. I uncover a new client's case and begin a new pile for it.

Jonathan snatches up the paper I have just put down. "Ah, Jonathan Christopher Wayland. Anything strike you as odd about that name?"

I scowl as he replaces the paper. "No, not really," I respond, praying for him to leave me alone. As usual, my prayers are ignored.

"Does it not occur to you, dear cousin, that we share a first and middle name?" I cringe at the word cousin. It is true – we are cousins – so he has every right to refer to me as such, but the mention of our relation makes the thought of kissing him a thousand times worse.

"I didn't think about it until you brought it up, actually," I respond curtly, covering the first page with another from Jonathan Christopher Wayland's case, a list of valuables and their worth. "What did he do, steal all these things?" I ask, unable to mask my awe at the expense of the items.

"He's actually named after me," Jonathan boasts proudly, completely disregarding my question. "Right before he was born, my mother and I were in a pretty bad car crash, and they didn't expect me to live. Michael Wayland, his father, was good friends with Valentine. When Michael heard that Valentine's only nephew was dying, he named his son after me in my honor. I survived, obviously, and now it's rather flattering to know somebody named after me. And to answer your question, no, he did not steal all of those things. His parents died several years ago, and now that he's turning 18, he is about to inherit many valuables and an enormous amount of wealth. I'm merely helping Jonathan determine the best way to deal with so much new wealth. That is the list of items he will inherit."

I nod, and he watches me work in silence for a few moments before I face the dreaded question: "So how far has that money gotten you this week?" he asks, moving his hands to my shoulders to massage my back. I tense and shift away from his touch, but his hands follow me. "I hear you've befriended a pretty high-maintenance girl who's been convincing you to spend quite a lot of money."

"And who'd you hear that from? Sebastian?" I snap, trying to keep my voice calm, but failing. "What did you two do? Sit around sharing stories about me?"

I hear the smile in his voice as he replies, "We may have swapped some information, yes. But I'm just trying to look out for you. New York is a pretty expensive place. I doubt forty dollars could have gotten you very far."

"It sounds like you've thought this all out from how confident you are I've run out of money. What were you trying to do? Give me enough that I wouldn't complain, but little enough that it wouldn't take me very far?"

"Oh no, Clarissa, dear, that's not it at all. I'm giving you exactly what you deserve. No, the money was not enough to get you very far. But then again, you didn't let me get very far last week. It's only fair to pay you proportionally to your work." I shudder at his crude words, and he chuckles as he feels the shudder run down my spine. "Oh, don't be so worried, sweetheart. You can get as much or as little money as you want. It's one hundred percent your decision." His voice drops to a husky whisper as he says, "Would I be correct in assuming that you want a little more today?"

He's right: I do need money, and he knows it. His words have disgusted me so much, though, that the last thing I want to do right now is abide by his rules. So even though I know I'll be hard-pressed to avoid Izzy's hawk eyes and skip lunch for the next few school days, I refuse to give in. "Actually, Jonathan, I don't need any money today. So if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to get my work done. You know: the thing that you are actually supposed to be paying me for?"

His grip tightens momentarily on my shoulders at my rejection, but then he releases me. As disgusting a pig as he is, Jonathan did tell me the truth. I choose how far we go: he has never forced me to do anything. "Fine," he says, disappointment creeping into his words. "Get your work done. I have better things to do than mess around with you, anyways." He returns to his desk without a word, and I return to my work, mindlessly sorting through the rest of the cases on my desk.

Without Jonathan distracting me, I get through most of my work by 6:30. I text Izzy to let her know I'll be done by 7, and her response comes quickly. When I check her message, my stomach drops. It's not what I hoped it would be.

Okay, I'll be there. Also, we're ordering food, so make sure you get paid. ~Izzy

I almost scream in frustration. After I totally snapped at Jonathan about not needing money, all of a sudden Izzy just has to ask me to pay her, doesn't she? Couldn't she have told me this earlier so that I could have just taken Jonathan up on his offer? Now he's pissed at me for rejecting his advancements, and I'm going to be hard-pressed to convince him to give me anything.

Angrily, I clean up my desk before standing and approaching Jonathan. He is so engrossed in the Wayland case that he doesn't notice me. Either that or he's still mad at me, so he's ignoring me. Knowing him, it's probably the latter. I stand awkwardly in front of him for a moment, not quite sure how to approach the situation. When he still does not look up, I clear my throat. He glares up at me. "What?"

I stand in silence for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Finally, he gives me a look that says 'get talking or get lost,' so I force the words to come.

"I… um… I think I may have overreacted when I snapped at you earlier," I begin, wringing my hands together. I glance up at him to gauge his reaction.

He doesn't even try to hide the suggestive smirk that takes over his features. "Oh did you?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that. I was hoping I could maybe get some money, after all."

He leans back in his chair. "I'm listening. And how do you plan on earning this money?"

I look down at my feet. I don't want to give into him. I can't. Not today. "I, um… I was hoping I could actually get a loan today. I'll pay you back some other time."

He raises his eyebrows. "A loan? You think I'm going to trust you to pay me back a loan?"

I roll my eyes. "I don't see why not. I work for you: it's not like I can just disappear with your money and never pay you back."

"You know that's not how I work. I have my terms. Take it or leave it."

Does nobody in my family have a single compassionate bone in their bodies? Why is it so impossible for somebody to do something kind for me? I throw my hands up in the air in anger, and before I know what I'm doing, I'm yelling. "Can you not see that I'm desperate here? I just need a little money. If I don't get it, my friends will start asking questions. They know I'm at work, so it's not unreasonable for them to expect me to get paid. Would it kill you to just be kind for once and help me out here? I'm your sixteen-year-old cousin, for God's sake. I shouldn't be earning my money from you like this!" My phone buzzes with a text from Izzy, cutting off my rant. Fear and embarrassment boil up inside me as what I have just said hits me. I look at the text to postpone Jonathan's wrath. I'm outside. Don't keep me waiting so long this time :p. I look back to Jonathan with much less energy than I had a moment ago. When I speak again, my voice is empty. "Look, I told my friend I'd be done by 7. I have to go. Will you give me the loan or not?"

Surprisingly, he's not enraged. If anything, he seems amused. He presses his lips together for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. "Sure, why not. How's seventy?"

My eyes bug out of my head. Seventy dollars! That's a lot! I don't even think about it: "Seventy sounds great."

He digs into his wallet and produces seventy dollars as if it's the simplest thing in the world. He holds it out to me, and I latch onto it, but before he lets go he leans forwards so that his face is inches from mine. "Just so you know, I charge a high interest rate. And I expect you to pay me back soon." I'm not really in the mood to argue right now, and the seventy dollars in front of me is all I can think about, so I just nod. He releases the money, which I pocket instantly. "See you Sunday."

I nod and race out of the office. I'm on cloud nine: never in my life have I had so much money in my possession. I tell myself this will last me a while, although after seeing how quickly $40 disappeared, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep that promise. Nonetheless, I greet Izzy with a smile as I hop into her car.

"Wow, you're only 5 minutes late," she teases. "It's a miracle!"

"Oh, shut up," I joke.

She starts the car and backs out of her parking space. "Well I'm glad you got out early. Tonight's gonna be so much fun! No annoying boys or distractions: just you, me, and Maia."

I nod. "Yeah, this will be fun, won't it?"

So there you go. Any guesses on who Jonathan Christopher Wayland is? ;) And what do you think was the motive behind Jonathan giving Clary so much money for nothing? We all know he isn't just doing it out of the kindness of his heart. Any comments, questions, etc: review!