Chapter Twenty-Three
“That went well,” Chay whispered, and giggled.
“The man’s an ass,” was Jill’s reply. “I hope Taz rips his fuckin’ throat out.”
“But he’s so gracious. Did you see him lick my hand?”
“Lick your hand... ”
“Oh yes. He ran his fat greasy tongue up between my fingers. You didn’t notice? I’ve never been so charmed.”
“C’mon. Let’s eat before I lose my appetite.”
At the buffet table, Jill helped herself to a thick salmon steak with baby asparagus swimming in a creamy cheese sauce. She watched as the chef sliced a slab of roast beef off the knuckle and, balancing it on his knife, he dropped it onto Chay’s plate. Her wrist bucked under the strain. The meat was a succulent pink, ringed in a greasy, crispy layer of fat. The chef piled on mashed potatoes and smothered Chay’s
