When he groans and drops his head against the head rest, closing his eyes, I try to reassure him. “I’m sure there’s some oil baron with twelve ex-wives and a hundred kids who’d love to move into it. With all the members of his country club. And their housekeeping staff.” Mason opens his eyes and glares at me.
I try to stifle another laugh, but fail. “And the entire population of Portugal.” “Ha ha.”
“Oh, lighten up. It’s not like you can’t sell it.”
Sounding panicked, he says, “But where would I live?”
“You say that like there are zero options between here and a cardboard box.”
“Name one.”
“There’s a house for sale at the end of my block.” That astonishes him so much it leaves him speechless.
“You’re right,” I say solemnly. “It’s only a three-bedroom. There’s not enough space for bot
