She'd been about to say she couldn't afford somewhere else, but then she understood what Apollo was actually offering and she made a face, shaking her head.
"No, I like it here," she said with the tone of someone who was going to stick with that lie. (There was something comforting about this neighbourhood though. Cin had lived her entire life here and she knew all the important gossip: She knew that Marianne had killed her teenage son because he took a swing at her. She knew that Mr Bridgers was a pedophile who'd spent four years in jail. She knew that Amir Sykes and Jasmine Nicolls were having the worst hidden affair in history, and that Jasmine's husband pretended to have no idea. She knew which people on which streets sold drugs and which drugs they were. She knew who would buy things for cash, no questions asked. She knew which ones you could trust enough with your kids if you desperately had to.)
"'Sides," she added, sitting backwards and crossing her arms. "I'm ain't having you parade me around to your rich friends like you slumming it."