Viv:
The zipper gets stuck halfway up my skirt. Story of my damn life.
I’m slipping back into last night’s clothes while the "client" walks into the other room to take a call — something about “a last-minute meeting.” I already know. The tone in his voice shifts, softens. I know what that sounds like.
It’s his wife.
Figures. No ring when he picked me up after my shift, just a fresh shave, pressed shirt, and that practiced charm that made me want to vomit a little. Said he was divorced. They always say that. Just like they always say I’m “not like other girls.” Spoiler alert, I am. I just do it better.
I grab my phone off the floor where it slid under the dresser and shoot a text to Cassie.
You up? Need a ride. ASAP.
She answers in under a minute.
On the way. ETA 10.
Queen.
I hear
