Then I remembered the actual present.
I drew the coat carefully from its tissue cocoon, shook it out, and put it on. Of course, it was perfect: a simple black trench coat with a high collar and a belt, clinging to my body so well it could have been tailored to my measurements.
It made me feel beautiful and sexy and invincible. And also terrible for being materialistic enough to love it. But I did.
I totally did.
As I brushed my fingers over the smooth fabric, I tried to convince myself I should turn down the amazing present from my billionaire non-boyfriend. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? I was pretty sure there were nebulous moral and social rules governing the acceptance of extravagant gifts from rich, slightly older men.
But I was already sleeping with the said rich, sl
