Windows on the World (OLD VERSION) [BEING REWRITTEN]

[⁵] ᵗʰᵉ ᴶ ʷᵒʳᵈ

"You think having money means you get to pull shit like this? I don't like handouts. And I think I made that pretty clear from the start. I didn't ask you for anything, but you always want a chance to show me how big your wallet is. You're all the same." He'd never seen her dark red eyebrows so angry before. He didn't understand one bit what he'd done that could have gotten her this way.

"Phoebe, it's just a gesture. If you don't want to accept it because your pride won't let you, alright. But there's no reason for you to talk to me like this."

"Leave me alone." Her words were sharp, spaced with small intervals to make her statement with clear emphasis.

They were like a stab between each rib. That's the only way Walter could describe what he felt when he saw the redhead leave with one last bitter look.

He also felt lost, powerless, guilty. And had been given no reason or explanation other than the disapproval of his wealth—something he already knew was a source of irritation for Phoebe. That explanation had been nothing short of vague and oversensitive.

Just two days earlier, she seemed to have looked past it, at least in part, and was more laid back in his presence. What could have changed in one day?

Walter let Phoebe go and get back to work. But a few hours later, when he was done with his work and knew she would soon be done with hers too, he waited down by the lobby on the ground floor, leaning against the wall.

When she finally appeared, stepping out of one of the elevators with the semblance of complete apathy, Walter didn't move one inch. Instead, he kept waiting until she walked past him—without acknowledging his presence—to finally speak up.

"I don't believe you, you know?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, her back to him, but now fully acknowledging him.

Walter ceased to lean on the wall to take the necessary steps to be face to face with her.

"I don't believe it's because you don't like handouts. Because it didn't bother you when I gave you two hundred dollars only to spite that girl." He began to display his reasoning for her attitude in a calm but direct manner. "It can't be because I'm a lawyer, that's something you had to see coming way before I handed you my business card. The only thing that I can think of-and I really hope I'm wrong-is that you saw my name on that card and didn't like it. Otherwise, what are you so worked up about? Please, tell me why. Tell me I'm wrong."

He maintained a penetrating gaze on her face, wanting to catch a glimpse of any small nuance in her expression.

Phoebe didn't say anything, but her face did. Walter closed his mouth slowly, realizing, much to his dismay, that he was right. He actually hadn't expected or anticipated being right, which made it all the more hard to take in.

"Unbelievable." He scoffed. "Look, I don't know what made you like this, kid. But one thing is taking your issues out on me, and another is shunning me because of my religion."

"If you recall correctly, I already disliked you before finding that out."

"But then you started to change your mind. And don't tell me you weren't. I know for a fact that I was starting to win you over."

"Pfft." She mocked. "As if."

Walter pressed a finger against his wrinkled temple.

"When you said we're all the same you weren't simply talking about rich people, were you?" His question was rhetorical. He already knew the answer. But he was just hoping to hear her to admit it. "I took you for impertinent, short-tempered, immature, troubled..." He diverted that intense stare for a second, only to return it with double the force. "But I would've never taken you for an anti-Semite, Phoebe."