Andrew Carter
Here I am in my cold and solitary world, looking out at New York City from the window of my expansive office. I stand here pondering how amusing fate can be—how it has brought Anne Moore into my company. The prostitute I slept with nearly six years ago.
In the years since, I’ve tried to forget that girl. I’ve been with many prostitutes in a single night, but none compared to the night I had with Anne Moore. It was as if I had been bewitched that night. All my thoughts that year revolved around her. I wondered where she was. Bruce told me she left with another client, which is quite common in her profession.
Anne Moore is a prostitute, or at least I assume she still is.
I was surprised to see her sitting in front of me as a designer in my company. I never expected to see h
